A Castle in Spain Part 74

"I know. I begin, I think, to understand all about it. The girl he means to marry is this English girl, the daughter of Mrs. Russell. Captain Lopez loved her, as we were told. He has followed her here, and effected her deliverance from her Carlist captors, and now, as a matter of course, she feels grateful to him and is willing to marry him. But how can I do anything? I cannot. It is horrible sacrilege. It is frightful sin. No; I will tell him the whole truth."

Brooke looked at her with a face of anguish.

"Oh, Talbot," said he, "if you do, what will become of you?"

"What?" said Talbot, in a firm voice.

"He will kill you--and worse than that," said Brooke.

"Why should he kill me?" said Talbot. "It will do him no good. What cause will he have to kill me?"

"I have thought it all over," said Brooke, "all over, a thousand times. I have speculated as to the possible result of a frank disclosure, and I've come to the conclusion that it is better to run every risk in this disguise, and go even to the verge of death, rather than divulge your secret now."

"Divulge my secret!" said Talbot, in surprise. "And why not? What is there to divulge? I have only to say that I am not a priest--I am an English lady, who have a.s.sumed this disguise as a safeguard."

Brooke sighed.

"It's too late, too late! Oh, fool that I was--cursed, cursed fool! But I was afraid to trust those Republicans; I feared that they might harm you if they knew you to be a woman. It was for your sake that I kept your secret, and now it has turned out to be the very worst thing that I could have done."

"I deny that it was the worst," said Talbot, calmly. "Thus far it has protected me most effectively. As for the future, we have yet to choose our plans."

"Too late!" said Brooke.

"I do not think so," said Talbot. "You do not give any reasons. At any rate, I will try--"

"Do not! do not!" said Brooke, earnestly. "It is too late. I will tell you. You see, this deception has gone on so long, and his trust in you is so profound, that the shock would be more than he could bear. As a priest you have won his confidence, even his reverence. If you now tell him that it was all a cheat, his wrath would burst forth beyond all bounds. He would consider it an outrage on his holiest and most generous feelings.

He would believe that you had wantonly trifled with all that is most sacred and most sensitive in the heart. Then there is more than this. For some reason he is bent on marrying this girl. If you refuse now, and tell him the truth, it will only intensify his resentment against you, and turn it into a vengeful fury. There is no pain that he will not inflict.

There will be nothing too horrible for his revenge. He will say that you deceived and cheated him unnecessarily and persistently; that even if there was a necessity for it in the first place, you might at least have confided in him after he had shown himself so merciful to me. He will say that you must have found him out to be a chivalrous gentleman, in whose protection you would have been safe, and this maintenance of your disguise all this time and up to the last moment was a mockery and a sham. And therefore," concluded Brooke, "every other resource ought first to be tried, and this should not be made use of till all others have failed. It will be useless at any time, but if it is made use of at all, it ought to be last of all."

"Well, I don't know," said Talbot, doubtfully. "I will do as you say, Brooke; but to go on in this way, and keep up this disguise till the last, seems to me to involve certain destruction. I suppose he cannot be persuaded to postpone the marriage."

Brooke shook his head despondingly.

"No," said he, "that is impossible. There is some strong reason for this haste. He has, perhaps, extorted some promise from the girl. Perhaps she does not love him. Perhaps he is afraid if he gives her time that she will back out of it, and is determined to marry her while he has the chance."

"If that is the case," said Talbot, "it only makes it worse for me. If she does not love him, and all this is as you say, there is another and a stronger reason for my refusal to have anything to do with such sacrilege and sin."

"Oh, Talbot!" said Brooke. He turned his face toward her. It was a face of agony; there was despair in his look. "Oh, Talbot! I could bear this trial, any trial, for myself; but for you--for you, Talbot," he continued, in thrilling tones, "for you I cannot bear it. Think! Can you not do something?"

Talbot trembled. Her eyes filled with tears. For a time she stood thus with quivering lips and trembling hands, struggling with her emotion, and without much success. When she was able at last to speak it was in tremulous, broken tones.

"Oh, Brooke!" she said, "for your sake I would do anything, anything; but I cannot, even for your sake, do wrong to others. For you--if it were myself alone that were concerned--I might be tempted to do an act of sacrilege--or sin. Ask me to suffer for you, Brooke, and I will suffer: oh, how gladly! Yes, Brooke," she continued, in a voice that sent a thrill through all his being--"yes, Brooke, ask me to die for you, or let the chance arise in which I may die to save you, and I will die. But do not look at me so, Brooke! do not look at me so! Your face is full of despair; your look is the look of one whose heart is breaking; and this, Brooke, this seems worse than death! Be yourself, Brooke! rouse yourself!

Cannot you take refuge in some other thoughts? The very worst of your songs might rouse you now. Sing, Brooke--sing anything. Talk nonsense, and save your heart and mine from breaking!"

Brooke turned away, and walked up and down for a few minutes, while he struggled to regain his composure. The struggle was a severe one, but he succeeded in a.s.suming an outward calm. He at length returned, and, placing himself before Talbot, gave that short laugh of his, and said, with some of his old rattle,

"Well, Talbot lad, you're more than half right. And, as I've always said, there's nothing like a good song--and I've lots of good songs; but as you suggest a bad song--in fact, the worst of all my songs--why, I dare say it wouldn't be a bad idea to sing it. By-the-bye, Talbot, you ought to learn to sing--at least, to hum tunes. I'll teach you how to whistle, if you like. I wonder if this Spanish cur likes music. I'll sing you a song, if you like, and I'll bet ten cents you never heard it before."

And Brooke sang, to a most extraordinary tune, these most extraordinary words:

"Oh, a raggedy gang to the piper danced, Of tatterdemalions all, Till the corpulent butler drove them off Beyond the manor wall.

The raggedy piper shook his fist: 'A minstrel's curse on thee, Thou lubberly, duck-legg'd son of a gun, For settin' dorgs on we!'"

"Brooke," said Talbot, with her usual calm, sad face, "I'm glad that you are singing, though your song is certainly slightly vulgar."

"Oh, I know it," said Brooke; "but then vulgarity is sometimes a very good thing. It don't do for people to be too fastidious. The fact is, this age is over-refined, and I'm bound to reform it, or perish."

CHAPTER XLIX.

HOW LOPEZ INVITES HARRY TO HIS WEDDING, AND HOW HARRY MAKES A DISTURBANCE.

On the following day the prisoners were roused at dawn. First of all, Ashby was taken to the room in which the marriage ceremony was to be performed, which was the same room where the Russell party had been confined. Half a dozen soldiers came for him, and went through the solemn mockery of treating him as an invited guest. He had scarcely arrived here when Harry also reached the place. A special invitation from Lopez to be present at a wedding had attracted him, and filled him with wonder and curiosity. His anxiety about Katie, and his longing to see her, were as strong as ever, and the effect of these feelings was manifest in his pale face and agitated manner; but his desire to please Lopez and retain his good-will had drawn him here to be a spectator, though his abstracted air showed that his thoughts were elsewhere. Thus, silent and preoccupied, Harry stood apart; and Ashby, mindful of their recent hostile meeting, kept to himself, and made no motion toward holding any communication whatever.

As they stood thus, a third comer appeared upon the scene.

This was Russell. He still wore his woman's dress, having a vague idea that it might prove of service in some new attempt to escape, though quite unable to imagine any way in which such escape could be possible. Harry, attracted by this singular figure, looked at him, and recognized him at once, and the effect upon him was so strong that, in spite of his melancholy, he burst into a roar of laughter.

Russell, at this, threw toward him a piteous look of appeal, and then approached him, in search after sympathy. The two were soon engaged in conversation, while Ashby, whom this ludicrous figure had very forcibly affected, stood aloof watching him, with a smile on his face which he was unable to repress.

The unhappy Russell, full of horror at the prospect before him, still clung to some vague and undefined hopes that at the very last moment some chance might intervene to prevent the terrible tragedy of a marriage with Rita. The appearance of Harry seemed a good omen. He hailed it as such; and had an angel appeared, the sight could scarcely have afforded more joy to the virtuous Russell than that which he felt at the sight of Harry.

While these two were conversing, Brooke appeared, followed by Talbot.

Harry's back was turned to the door, so that he did not see Talbot, and Talbot did not see his face.

But even if Harry's face had been full before her, she would not have seen it. With a slow step, a face pale as marble, and eyes fixed on the floor, deep in thoughts which were far, far removed from this room and its surroundings, Talbot entered, following Brooke, who was as blind to the a.s.sembled company and as deeply preoccupied as herself. Before each there was a terrible ordeal. As for Talbot, she was to be the central figure, and how could she perform her part? For Talbot it was a simple matter to sum up the whole situation. She could either consent or refuse. But for Brooke there was a harder task. It was for him to try to discover some way of saving a friend, whom to save was an impossibility. And so all that Talbot suffered was likewise suffered by Brooke, who, in addition, had his own peculiar sufferings to bear, while Talbot, in addition to her own sufferings, was afflicted still more by the full knowledge of all that Brooke was undergoing.

While Harry was talking with Russell he threw a casual glance around, and caught the outline of Talbot's figure. He saw--what? Only the priest, as he thought. It was enough for him. A mere priest was a profoundly uninteresting personage. His eyes saw no deeper than the external dress, and he went on talking with Russell.

Two or three more soldiers now came in, until at length there were about a dozen. All the other soldiers were outside. At any other time this unusual ceremony would have attracted a few idle gazers; but just now all the rest of the men were intent upon the important business of breakfast, which was just being ladled out to each from a huge caldron.

Now Rita entered, and with her came Katie, leaning feebly on her arm.

Lopez followed.

At the sight of these two women Russell and Harry stopped their conversation abruptly. For each one the sight was an overwhelming sensation. To Russell it was as though his last hour had come. Here was his persecutor, his tormentor, who was resolved to marry him whether he would or not. He had confided his griefs to Harry, but had been unable to obtain from him any satisfactory advice. What should he do? He could not say; he could not even think. Could he dare to say "No," when Lopez and Rita and the priest and all the soldiers expected "Yes?" Could he face the awful result of disobedience to Lopez, of defiance to Rita? His whole nature shrank back in terror from the thought, and prompted him, in this dire emergency, of two evils to choose the least.

To Harry, also, the sight of Katie was equally overwhelming. He was struck dumb. He stood rooted to the spot, while wonder, suspicion, and fear all struggled together within him.

What was the meaning of all this? A marriage?--a marriage of this Spanish captain? With whom? Who was the bride? What was Katie doing here? And why was Katie coming here in such a manner, with downcast eyes, death-pale face, and drooping, trembling figure, scarce able to walk, and leaning so heavily upon the arm of this Spanish woman? Such were the questions which Harry, in his bewilderment, asked himself and could not answer. To see Katie thus was like the stroke of a thunder-bolt, and he was dumb with wonder. She came with no word, no smile, no look for him; she came like a helpless victim destined for the sacrifice.

Ashby also saw all of this! He had felt already the extremest bitterness toward Katie, yet the sight of her now was powerful enough to awaken within him the deepest pity. What was the meaning of this? Was Katie the bride? Was she about to marry Lopez? Was this the revenge which Lopez had planned? It was manifestly so; and yet why had Katie consented? He could not understand it. It seemed like a fresh proof of her frivolity and falsity; and at such an exhibition he felt bewildered. She had been false to him for the sake of Rivers; was she also false to Rivers for the sake of Lopez?