When dreams come true

by Ritter Brown

Pepita took poison and died, but she died not alone—she died in the arms of Chiquita who had but recently returned from the convent.

The latter frequently accompanied Padre Antonio on his charitable missions and thus it chanced that she made Pepita's acquaintance and learned her story. Time passed and all went well with Felipe until the day he chanced to meet Chiquita.

We may deaden our souls to the voice of conscience, disavow a belief in destiny and shut our eyes to those forces of the Invisible which, in spite of ourselves, we know to exist, but how is it, that no man ever succeeds in escaping his fate?

When Don Felipe Ramirez looked for the first time into the two dark lustrous worlds of Chiquita's eyes, he beheld the height and depth of his existence. From that moment he fell at her feet and worshiped her with a passion that consumed and mastered him. Waking and dreaming she was ever in his thoughts—he could not live without her. But not until he was mad, ravished with desire, did she consent to become his wife. A smile, or a gentle pressure of the hand were the only caresses she deigned to bestow upon him; not until they were married would he be permitted to embrace and kiss her, give rein to his passion. A strange attitude for one of her nature to assume, and, as he looked back upon it, he wondered how he had endured it—that he had not suspected something.

At length the day set for the wedding arrived, and Chiquita with Señora Fernandez drove in state to the old Mission church where Padre Antonio awaited them to perform the marriage ceremony.

Don Felipe, in a state of exultation that lifted his soul to the clouds, stood waiting for her on the steps of the church as had been agreed between them; but as the two advanced, Chiquita suddenly paused before the door, and turning, tore the bridal-veil and wreath of orange blossoms from her brow and flung them into his face, crying: "Pepita Delaguerra is avenged!" Then turning, she deliberately descended the church steps and reëntering her carriage, drove home, leaving Don Felipe dazed and speechless before the crowd of spectators that had gathered to witness the passing of the bride and groom.

Later she confessed the reason for her motives to Padre Antonio, but one circumstance she withheld even from him, the nature of which Don Felipe did not suspect, but which he would have given worlds to know.

Chiquita's conduct became the scandal of the country for miles around, and as is invariably the case, the majority of the women sided with Felipe. In more refined circles of society, her act would have been considered highly reprehensible and Felipe overwhelmed with sympathy. His base ingratitude would have been lightly censured in the familiar, sugared terms of the most approved fashion. He would have been forgiven, and petted, and even lauded as a martyr—and then, the world would have forgotten. With the Indian woman, however, it was different.

On the altars of her people was still written, "blood for blood," the same as in the ancient days.

Crushed, humiliated, his pride humbled to the dust, Don Felipe left the country and for four years sought to forget his shame and the taunts of his enemies in the distractions of the world. He traveled everywhere, was presented at the different Courts of Europe, and it was in Washington where his uncle was the Mexican Minister to the United States, that he met Blanch and Mrs. Forest and her niece. In vain did he try to forget. In vain did he search for another woman to supplant his love for Chiquita. He plunged into the wildest dissipation, but to no effect. The beautiful face of the dark woman followed him everywhere, stood between him and the world, lured him, fascinated him still as nothing else could, tortured him day and night and he knew no rest.