Gabriel Conroy

  CHAPTER V.

  IN WHICH THE DONNA MARIA MAKES AN IMPRESSION.

  The Rancho of the Blessed Fisherman looked seaward as became its title.If the founder of the rancho had shown a religious taste in theselection of the site of the dwelling, his charming widow had certainlyshown equal practical taste, and indeed a profitable availing of someadvantages that the founder did not contemplate, in the adornment of thehouse. The low-walled square adobe dwelling had been relieved of much ofits hard practical outline by several feminine additions andsuggestions. The tiled roof had been carried over a very broadverandah, supported by vine-clad columns, and the lounging corridor hadbeen, in defiance of all Spanish custom, transferred from the inside ofthe house to the outside. The interior courtyard no longer existed. Thesombreness of the heavy Mexican architecture was relieved by brightFrench chintzes, delicate lace curtains, and fresh-coloured hangings.The broad verandah was filled with the latest novelties of Chinesebamboo chairs and settees, and a striped Venetian awning shaded theglare of the seaward front. Nevertheless, Donna Maria, out of respect tothe local opinion, which regarded these changes as ominous of, if not asymbolical putting off the weeds of widowhood, still clung to a few ofthe local traditions. It is true that a piano occupied one side of herdrawing-room, but a harp stood in the corner. If a freshly-cut novel layopen on the piano, a breviary was conspicuous on the marblecentre-table. If, on the mantel, an elaborate French clock with bronzeshepherdesses trifled with Time, on the wall above it an iron crucifixspoke of Eternity.

  Mrs. Sepulvida was at home that morning expecting a guest. She was lyingin a Manilla hammock, swung between two posts of the verandah, with herface partially hidden by the netting, and the toe of a little shoe justpeeping beyond. Not that Donna Maria expected to receive her guest thus;on the contrary, she had given orders to her servants that the moment astranger _caballero_ appeared on the road she was to be apprised of thefact. For I grieve to say that, far from taking Arthur's advice, thedetails of the adventure at the Point of Pines had been imparted by herown lips to most of her female friends, and even to the domestics of herhousehold. In the earlier stages of a woman's interest in a man she isapt to be exceedingly communicative; it is only when she becomes fullyaware of the gravity of the stake involved that she begins to hedgebefore the public. The morning after her adventure Donna Maria wasinnocently full of its hero and unreservedly voluble.

  I have forgotten whether I have described her. Certainly I could nothave a better opportunity than the present. In the hammock she looked alittle smaller, as women are apt to when their length is rigidlydefined. She had the average quantity of brown hair, a little badlytreated by her habit of wearing it flat over her temples--a tradition ofher boarding-school days, fifteen years ago. She had soft brown eyes,with a slight redness of the eyelid not inconsistent nor entirelyunbecoming to widowhood; a small mouth depressed at the corners with acharming, childlike discontent; white regular teeth, and the eloquenceof a complexion that followed unvaryingly the spirits of her physicalcondition. She appeared to be about thirty, and had that unmistakable"married" look which even the most amiable and considerate of us, mydear sir, are apt to impress upon the one woman whom we choose to electto years of exclusive intimacy and attention. The late Don Jos['e]Sepulvida's private mark--as well defined as the brand upon hiscattle--was a certain rigid line, like a grave accent, from the angle ofthis little woman's nostril to the corners of her mouth, and possibly toan increased peevishness of depression at those corners. It bore witnessto the fondness of the deceased for bear-baiting and bull-fighting, anda possible weakness for a certain Se[~n]ora X. of San Francisco, whosereputation was none of the best, and was not increased by her distancefrom San Antonio and the surveillance of Donna Maria.

  When an hour later "Pepe" appeared to his mistress, bearing a salverwith Arthur Poinsett's business card and a formal request for aninterview, I am afraid Donna Maria was a little disappointed. If he hadsuddenly scaled the verandah, evaded her servants, and appeared beforeher in an impulsive, forgivable way, it would have seemed consistentwith his character as a hero, and perhaps more in keeping with thegeneral tenor of her reveries when the servitor entered. Howbeit, afterheaving an impatient little sigh, and bidding "Pepe" show the gentlemaninto the drawing-room, she slipped quietly down from the hammock in adeft womanish way, and whisked herself into her dressing-room.

  "He couldn't have been more formal if Don Jos['e] had been alive," she saidto herself as she walked to her glass and dressing-table.

  Arthur Poinsett entered the vacant drawing-room not in the best of hismany humours. He had read in the eyes of the lounging _vaqueros_, in thecovert glances of the women servants, that the story of his adventurewas known to the household. Habitually petted and spoiled as he had beenby the women of his acquaintance, he was half inclined to attribute thisreference and assignment of his client's business to the hands of Mrs.Sepulvida, as the result of a plan of Father Felipe's, or absolutecollusion between the parties. A little sore yet, and irritated by hisrecollection of the Padre's counsel, and more impatient of theimputation of a weakness than anything else, Arthur had resolved tolimit the interview to the practical business on hand, and in so doinghad, for a moment, I fear, forgotten his native courtesy. It did nottend to lessen his irritation and self-consciousness when Mrs. Sepulvidaentered the room without the slightest evidence of her recentdisappointment visible in her perfectly easy, frank self-possession, andafter a conventional, half Spanish solicitousness regarding his healthsince their last interview, without any further allusions to theiradventure, begged him to be seated. She herself took an easy chair onthe opposite of the table, and assumed at once an air of respectful butsomewhat indifferent attention.

  "I believe," said Arthur, plunging at once into his subject to get ridof his embarrassment and the slight instinct of antagonism he wasbeginning to feel toward the woman before him, "I believe--that is, I amtold--that besides your own business, you are intrusted with somedocuments and facts regarding a claim of the Donna Dolores Salvatierra.Which shall we have first? I am entirely at your service for the nexttwo hours, but we shall proceed faster and with less confusion by takingup one thing at a time."

  "Then let us begin with Donna Dolores, by all means," said Donna Maria;"my own affairs can wait. Indeed," she added, languidly, "I daresay oneof your clerks could attend to it as well as yourself. If your time isvaluable--as indeed it must be--I can put the papers in his hands andmake him listen to all my foolish, irrelevant talk. He can sift it foryou, Don Arturo. I really am a child about business, really."

  Arthur smiled, and made a slight gesture of deprecation. In spite of hisprevious resolution, Donna Maria's tone of slight pique pleased him. Yethe gravely opened his note-book, and took up his pencil without a word.Donna Maria observed the movements, and said more seriously--

  "Ah yes! how foolish! Here I am talking about my own affairs, when Ishould be speaking of Donna Dolores! Well, to begin. Let me firstexplain why she has put this matter in my hands. My husband and herfather were friends, and had many business interests in common. As youhave doubtless heard, she has always been very quiet, very reserved,very religious--almost a nun. I daresay she was driven into thisisolation by reason of the delicacy of her position here, for youknow--do you not?--that her mother was an Indian. It is only a few yearsago that the old Governor, becoming a widower and childless, bethoughthimself of this Indian child, Dolores. He found the mother dead, andthe girl living somewhere at a distant Mission as an acolyte. He broughther to San Antonio, had her christened, and made legally his daughterand heiress. She was a mere slip of a thing, about fourteen or fifteen.She might have had a pretty complexion, for some of these half-breedsare nearly white, but she had been stained when an infant with somebarbarous and indelible dye, after the savage custom of her race. She isnow a light copper colour, not unlike those bronze shepherdesses onyonder clock. In spite of all this I call her pretty. Perhaps it isbecause I love her and am prejudiced. But you gentlemen are so cr
iticalabout complexion and colour--no wonder that the poor child refuses tosee anybody, and never goes into society at all. It is a shame!But--pardon, Mr. Poinsett, here am I gossiping about your client'slooks, when I should be stating her grievances."

  "No, no!" said Arthur, hastily, "go on--in your own way."

  Mrs Sepulvida lifted her forefinger archly.

  "Ah! is it so, Don Arturo? I thought so! Well, it is a great shame thatshe is not here for you to judge for yourself."

  Angry with himself for his embarrassment, and for the rising colour onhis cheek, Arthur would have explained himself, but the lady, withfeminine tact, did not permit him.

  "To proceed: Partly because I did not participate in the prejudices withwhich the old families here regarded her race and colour, partly,perhaps, because we were both strangers here, we became friends. Atfirst she resisted all my advances--indeed, I think she was more shy ofme than the others, but I triumphed in time, and we became good friends.Friends, you understand, Mr. Poinsett, not _confidants_. You men, Iknow, deem this impossible, but Donna Dolores is a singular girl, and Ihave never, except upon the most general topics, won her from herhabitual reserve. And I possess perhaps her only friendship."

  "Except Father Felipe, her confessor?"

  Mrs. Sepulvida shrugged her shoulders, and then borrowed the habitualsceptical formula of San Antonio.

  "_Quien sabe?_ But I am rambling again. Now for the case."

  She rose, and taking from the drawer of the secretary an envelope, drewout some papers it contained, and referred to them as she went on.

  "It appears that a grant of Micheltorena to Salvatierra was discoveredrecently at Monterey, a grant of which there was no record amongSalvatierra's papers. The explanation given is that it was placed somefive years ago in trust with a Don Pedro Ruiz, of San Francisco assecurity for a lease now expired. The grant is apparently regular,properly witnessed, and attested. Don Pedro has written that some of thewitnesses are still alive, and remember it."

  "Then why not make the proper application for a patent?"

  "True, but if that were all, Don Arturo would not have been summonedfrom San Francisco for consultation. There is something else. Don Pedrowrites that another grant for the same land has been discovered recordedto another party."

  "That is, I am sorry to say, not a singular experience in ourprofession," said Arthur, with a smile. "But Salvatierra's knownreputation and probity would probably be sufficient to outweigh equaldocumentary evidence on the other side. It's unfortunate he's dead, andthe grant was discovered after his death."

  "But the holder of the other grant is dead too!" said the widow.

  "That makes it about equal again. But who is he?"

  Mrs. Sepulvida referred to her papers, and then said--

  "Dr. Devarges."

  "Who?"

  "Devarges," said Mrs. Sepulvida, referring to her notes. "A singularname--a foreigner, I suppose. No, really Mr. Poinsett, you shall notlook at the paper until I have copied it--it's written horribly--youcan't understand it! I'm really ashamed of my writing, but I was in sucha hurry, expecting you every moment! Why, la! Mr. Poinsett, how coldyour hands are!"

  Arthur Poinsett had risen hurriedly, and reached out almost brusquelyfor the paper that she held. But the widow had coquettishly resisted himwith a mischievous show of force, and had caught and--dropped his hand!

  "And you are pale, too. Dear me! I'm afraid you took cold that morning,"said Mrs. Sepulvida. "I should never forgive myself if you did. I shouldcry my eyes out!" and Donna Maria cast a dangerous look from under herslightly swollen lids that looked as if they might threaten a deluge.

  "Nothing, nothing, I have ridden far this morning, and rose early," saidArthur, chafing his hands with a slightly embarrassed smile. "But Iinterrupted you. Pray go on. Has Dr. Devarges any heirs to contest thegrant?"

  But the widow did not seem inclined to go on. She was positive thatArthur wanted some wine. Would he not let her order some slight repastbefore they proceeded further in this horrid business? She was tired.She was quite sure that Arthur must be so too.

  "It is my business," said Arthur, a little stiffly, but, recoveringhimself again in a sudden and new alarm of the widow, he smiled andsuggested the sooner the business was over, the sooner he would be ableto partake of her hospitality.

  The widow beamed prospectively.

  "There are no heirs that we can find. But there is a--what do you callit?--a something or other--in possession!"

  "A squatter?" said Poinsett, shortly.

  "Yes," continued the widow, with a light laugh; "a 'squatter,' by thename of--of--my writing is so horrid--let me see, oh, yes! 'GabrielConroy.'"

  Arthur made an involuntary gesture toward the paper with his hand, butthe widow mischievously skipped toward the window, and, luckily for thespectacle of his bloodless face, held the paper before her dimpled faceand laughing eyes, as she did so.

  "Gabriel Conroy," repeated Mrs. Sepulvida, "and--and--and--his"----

  "His sister?" said Arthur, with an effort.

  "No, sir!" responded Mrs. Sepulvida, with a slight pout, "his _wife_!Sister indeed! As if we married women are always to be ignored by youlegal gentlemen!"

  Arthur remained silent, with his face turned toward the sea. When he didspeak his voice was quite natural.

  "Might I change my mind regarding your offer of a moment ago, and take aglass of wine and a biscuit now?"

  Mrs. Sepulvida ran to the door.

  "Let me look over your notes while you are gone," said Arthur.

  "You won't laugh at my writing?"

  "No!"

  Donna Maria tossed him the envelope gaily and flew out of the room.Arthur hurried to the window with the coveted memoranda. There were thenames she had given him--but nothing more! At least this was some slightrelief.

  The suddenness of the shock, rather than any moral sentiment or fear,had upset him. Like most imaginative men, he was a trifle superstitious,and with the first mention of Devarges's name came a swift recollectionof Padre Felipe's analysis of his own character, his sad, ominousreverie in the chapel, the trifling circumstance that brought himinstead of his partner to San Antonio, and the remoter chance that haddiscovered the forgotten grant and selected him to prosecute itsrecovery. This conviction entertained and forgotten, all the resourcesof his combative nature returned. Of course he could not prosecute thisclaim; of course he ought to prevent others from doing it. There wasevery probability that the grant of Devarges was a true one--and Gabrielwas in possession! Had he really become Devarges's heir, and if so, whyhad he not claimed the grant boldly? And where was Grace?

  In this last question there was a slight tinge of sentimentalrecollection, but no remorse or shame. That he might in some way be ofservice to her, he fervently hoped. That, time having blotted out theromantic quality of their early acquaintance, there would really besomething fine and loyal in so doing, he did not for a moment doubt. Hewould suggest a compromise to his fair client, himself seek out andconfer with Grace and Gabriel, and all should be made right. Hisnervousness and his agitation was, he was satisfied, only the result ofa conscientiousness and a delicately honourable nature, perhaps too fineand spiritual for the exigencies of his profession. Of one thing he wasconvinced: he really ought to carefully consider Father Felipe's advice;he ought to put himself beyond the reach of these romantic relapses.

  In this self-sustained, self-satisfied mood, Mrs. Sepulvida found him onher return. Since she had been gone, he said, he had been able to seehis way quite clearly into this case, and he had no doubt hisperspicacity was greatly aided by the admirable manner in which she hadindicated the various points on the paper she had given him. He was nowready to take up her own matters, only he begged as clear and concise abrief as she had already made for her friend. He was so cheerful andgallant that by the time luncheon was announced the widow found himquite charming, and was inclined to forgive him for the disappointmentof the morning. And when, after luncheon, he challenged her to a
sharpcanter with him along the beach, by way, as he said, of keeping hermemory from taking cold, and to satisfy herself that the Point of Pinescould be doubled without going out to sea, I fear that, without aprudent consideration of the gossips of San Antonio before her eyes, sheassented. There could be no harm in riding with her late husband's legaladviser, who had called, as everybody knew, on business, and whose timewas so precious that he must return even before the business wasconcluded. And then "Pepe" could follow them, to return with her!

  It did not, of course, occur to either Arthur or Donna Maria that theymight outrun "Pepe," who was fat and indisposed to violent exertion; northat they should find other things to talk about than the details ofbusiness; nor that the afternoon should be so marvellously beautiful asto cause them to frequently stop and admire the stretch of glitteringsea beyond; nor that the roar of the waves was so deafening as to obligethem to keep so near each other for the purposes of conversation thatthe widow's soft breath was continually upon Arthur's cheek; nor thatDonna Maria's saddle girth should become so loose that she was forced todismount while Arthur tightened it, and that he should be obliged tolift her in his arms to restore her to her seat again. But finally, whenthe Point of Pines was safely rounded, and Arthur was delivering a fewparting words of legal counsel, holding one of her hands in his, whilewith the other he was untwisting a long tress of her blown down hair,that, after buffeting his cheek into colour, had suddenly twined itselfaround his neck, an old-fashioned family carriage, drawn by four blackmules with silver harness, passed them suddenly on the road.

  Donna Maria drew her head and her hand away with a quick blush andlaugh, and then gaily kissed her finger-tips to the retreating carriage.Arthur laughed also--but a little foolishly--and looked as if expectingsome explanation.

  "You should have your wits about you, sir. Did you know who that was?"

  Arthur sincerely confessed ignorance. He had not noticed the carriageuntil it had passed.

  "Think what you have lost! That was your fair young client."

  "I did not even see her," laughed Arthur.

  "But she saw you! She never took her eyes off you. Adios!"