CHAPTER VI.
AN EXPERT.
A cold, grey fog had that night stolen noiselessly in from the sea, and,after possessing the town, had apparently intruded itself in the long,low plain before the _hacienda_ of the Rancho of the Holy Trinity, whereit sullenly lingered even after the morning sun had driven in itseastern outposts. Viewed from the Mission towers, it broke a cold greysea against the corral of the _hacienda_, and half hid the white wallsof the _hacienda_ itself. It was characteristic of the Rancho that,under such conditions, at certain times it seemed to vanish entirelyfrom the sight, or rather to lose and melt itself into the outlines ofthe low foot-hills, and Mr. Perkins, the English translator, driving abuggy that morning in that direction, was forced once or twice to stopand take his bearings anew, until the grey sea fell, and the _hacienda_again heaved slowly into view.
Although Mr. Perkins' transformations were well known to his intimateassociates, it might have been difficult for any stranger to haverecognised the slovenly drudge of Pacific Street, in the antique dandywho drove the buggy. Mr. Perkins' hair was brushed, curled, and darkenedby dye. A high stock of a remote fashion encompassed his neck, abovewhich his face, whitened by cosmetics to conceal his high complexion,rested stiffly and expressionless as a mask. A light blue coat buttonedtightly over his breast, and a pair of close-fitting trousers strappedover his japanned leather boots, completed his remarkable _ensemble_. Itwas a figure well known on Montgomery Street after three o'clock--seldomconnected with the frousy visitor of the Pacific Street den, and totallyunrecognisable on the plains of San Antonio.
It was evident, however, that this figure, eccentric as it was, wasexpected at the _hacienda_, and recognised as having an importancebeyond its antique social distinction. For, when Mr. Perkins drew up inthe courtyard, the grave _major domo_ at once ushered him into theformal, low-studded drawing-room already described in these pages, andin another instant the Donna Dolores Salvatierra stood before him.
With a refined woman's delicacy of perception, Donna Dolores instantlydetected under this bizarre exterior something that atoned for it, whichshe indicated by the depth of the half-formal curtsey she made it. Mr.Perkins met the salutation with a bow equally formal and respectful. Hewas evidently agreeably surprised at his reception, and impressed withher manner. But like most men of ill-assured social position, he was atrifle suspicious and on the defensive. With a graceful gesture of herfan, the Donna pointed to a chair, but her guest remained standing.
"_I_ am a stranger to you, Se[~n]or, but _you_ are none to me," she said,with a gracious smile. "Before I ventured upon the boldness of seekingthis interview, your intelligence, your experience, your honourablereport was already made known to me by your friends. Let me call myselfone of these--even before I break the business for which I have summonedyou."
The absurd figure bowed again, but even through the pitiable chalk andcosmetics of its complexion, an embarrassed colour showed itself. DonnaDolores noticed it, but delicately turned toward an old-fashionedsecretary, and opened it, to give her visitor time to recover himself.She drew from a little drawer a folded, legal-looking document, and thenplacing two chairs beside the secretary, seated herself in one. Thuspractically reminded of his duty, Mr. Perkins could no longer declinethe proffered seat.
"I suppose," said Donna Dolores, "that my business, although familiar toyou generally--although you are habitually consulted upon just suchquestions--may seem strange to you, when you frankly learn my motives.Here is a grant purporting to have been made to my--father--the late DonJos['e] Salvatierra. Examine it carefully, and answer me a single questionto the best of your judgment." She hesitated, and then added--"Let mesay, before you answer yes or no, that to me there are no pecuniaryinterests involved--nothing that should make you hesitate to express anopinion which you might be called upon legally to prove. _That_ you willnever be required to give. Your answer will be accepted by me inconfidence; will not, as far as the world is concerned, alter the moneyvalue of this document--will leave you free hereafter to express adifferent opinion, or even to reverse your judgment publicly if theoccasion requires it. You seem astounded, Se[~n]or Perkins. But I am a richwoman. I have no need to ask your judgment to increase my wealth."
"Your question is"----said Mr. Perkins, speaking for the first timewithout embarrassment.
"Is that document a forgery?"
He took it out of her hand, opened it with a kind of professionalcarelessness, barely glanced at the signature and seals, and returnedit.
"The signatures are genuine," he said, with business-like brevity; thenhe added, as if in explanation of that brevity, "I have seen it before."
Donna Dolores moved her chair with the least show of uneasiness. Themovement attracted Mr. Perkins' attention. It was something novel. Herewas a woman who appeared actually annoyed that her claim to a valuableproperty was valid. He fixed his eyes upon her curiously.
"Then you think it is a genuine grant?" she said, with a slight sigh.
"As genuine as any that receive a patent at Washington," he replied,promptly.
"Ah!" said Donna Dolores, simply. The feminine interjection appeared toput a construction upon Se[~n]or Perkins' reply that both annoyed andchallenged him. He assumed the defensive.
"Have you any reason to doubt the genuineness of this particulardocument?"
"Yes. It was only recently discovered among Don Jos['e]'s papers, and thereis another in existence."
Se[~n]or Perkins again reached out his hand, took the paper, examined itattentively, held it to the light and then laid it down. "It is allright," he said. "Where is the other?"
"I have it not," said Donna Dolores.
Se[~n]or Perkins shrugged his shoulders respectfully as to Donna Dolores,but scornfully of an unbusiness-like sex. "How did you expect me toinstitute a comparison?"
"There is no comparison necessary if that document is genuine," said theDonna, quickly.
Se[~n]or Perkins was embarrassed for a moment. "I mean there might be somemistake. Under what circumstances is it held--who holds it? To whom wasit given?"
"That is a part of my story. It was given five years ago to a Dr.Devarges--I beg your pardon, did you speak?"
Se[~n]or Perkins had not spoken, but was staring with grim intensity atDonna Dolores. "You--said--Dr. Devarges," he repeated, slowly.
"Yes. Did you know him?" It was Donna Dolores' turn to be embarrassed.She bit her lip and slightly contracted her eyebrows. For a moment theyboth stood on the defensive.
"I have heard the name before," Mr. Perkins said at last, with a forcedlaugh.
"Yes, it is the name of a distinguished _savant_," said Donna Dolores,composedly. "Well--_he_ is dead. But he gave this grant to a young girlnamed--named"--Dolores paused as if to recall the name--"named GraceConroy."
She stopped and raised her eyes quickly to her companion, but his facewas unmoved, and his momentary excitement seemed to have passed. Henodded his head for her to proceed.
"Named Grace Conroy," repeated Donna Dolores, more rapidly, and withfreer breath. "After the lapse of five years a woman--animpostor--appears to claim the grant under the name of Grace Conroy. Butperhaps finding difficulty in carrying out her infamous scheme, by somewicked, wicked art, she gains the affections of the brother of thisGrace, and marries him as the next surviving heir." And Donna Dolorespaused, a little out of breath, with a glow under her burnished cheekand a slight metallic quality in her voice. It was perhaps no more thanthe natural indignation of a quickly sympathising nature, but Mr.Perkins did not seem to notice it. In fact, within the last few secondshis whole manner had become absent and preoccupied; the stare which hehad fixed a moment before on Donna Dolores was now turned to the wall,and his old face, under its juvenile mask, looked still older.
"Certainly, certainly," he said at last, recalling himself with aneffort. "But all this only goes to prove that the grant may be asfraudulent as the owner. Then, you have nothing really to make yoususpicious of your own claim but the fact of its r
ecent discovery? Well,that I don't think need trouble you. Remember your grant was given whenlands were not valuable, and your late father might have overlooked itas unimportant." He rose with a slight suggestion in his manner that theinterview had closed. He appeared anxious to withdraw, and not entirelyfree from the same painful pre-absorption that he had lately shown. Witha slight shade of disappointment in her face Donna Dolores also rose.
In another moment he would have been gone, and the lives of these twopeople thus brought into natural yet mysterious contact have flowed onunchanged in each monotonous current. But as he reached the door heturned to ask a trivial question. On that question trembled the futureof both.
"This real Grace Conroy then I suppose has disappeared. Andthis--Doctor--Devarges"--he hesitated at the name as something equallyfictitious--"you say is dead. How then did this impostor gain theknowledge necessary to set up the claim? Who is _she_?"
"Oh, she is--that is--she married Gabriel Conroy under the name of thewidow of Dr. Devarges. Pardon me! I did not hear what you said. HolyVirgin! What is the matter? You are ill. Let me call Sanchez! Sit here!"
He dropped into a chair, but only for an instant. As she turned to callassistance he rose and caught her by the arm.
"I am better," he said. "It is nothing--I am often taken in this way.Don't look at me. Don't call anybody except to get me a glass ofwater--there, that will do."
He took the glass she brought him, and instead of drinking it threw backhis head and poured it slowly over his forehead and face as he leanedbackward in the chair. Then he drew out a large silk handkerchief andwiped his face and hair until they were dry. Then he sat up and facedher. The chalk and paint was off his face, his high stock had becomeunbuckled, he had unbuttoned his coat and it hung loosely over his gauntfigure; his hair, although still dripping, seemed to have becomesuddenly bristling and bushy over his red face. But he was perfectlyself-possessed, and his voice had completely lost its previousembarrassment.
"Rush of blood to the head," he said, quietly; "felt it coming on allthe morning. Gone now. Nothing like cold water and sitting posture. HopeI didn't spoil your carpet. And now to come back to your business." Hedrew up his chair, without the least trace of his former diffidence,beside Donna Dolores, "Let's take another look at your grant." He tookit up, drew a small magnifying glass from his pocket and examined thesignature. "Yes, yes! signature all right. Seal of the Custom House.Paper all regular." He rustled it in his fingers, "You're all right--theswindle is with Madame Devarges. There's the forgery--there's thisspurious grant."
"I think not," said Donna Dolores, quietly.
"Why?"
"Suppose the grant is exactly like this in everything, paper, signature,seal and all."
"That proves nothing," said Mr. Perkins, quickly. "Look you. When thisgrant was drawn--in the early days--there were numbers of these grantslying in the Custom House like waste paper, drawn and signed by theGovernor, in blank, only wanting filling in by a clerk to make them avalid document. She!--this impostor--this Madame Devarges, has hadaccess to these blanks, as many have since the American Conquest, andthat grant is the result. But she is not wise, no! I know thehandwriting of the several copyists and clerks--I was one myself. Put meon the stand, Donna Dolores--put me on the stand, and I'll confront heras I have the others."
"You forget," said Donna Dolores, coldly, "that I have no desire tolegally test this document. And if Spanish grants are so easily made,why might not this one of mine be a fabrication? You say you know thehandwriting of the copyists--look at this."
Mr. Perkins seized the grant impatiently, and ran his eye quickly overthe interlineations between the printed portions. "Strange!" hemuttered. "This is not my own nor Sanchez; nor Ruiz; it is a new hand.Ah! what have we here--a correction in the date--in still another hand?And this--surely I have seen something like it in the office. Butwhere?" He stopped, ran his fingers through his hair, but after aneffort at recollection abandoned the attempt. "But why?" he said,abruptly, "why should this be forged?"
"Suppose that the other were genuine, and suppose that this woman gotpossession of it in some wicked way. Suppose that some one, knowing ofthis, endeavoured by this clever forgery to put difficulties in her waywithout exposing her."
"But who would do that?"
"Perhaps the brother--her husband! Perhaps some one," continued DonnaDolores, embarrassedly, with the colour struggling through her coppercheek, "some--one--who--did--not--believe that the real Grace Conroywas dead or missing!"
"Suppose the devil!--I beg your pardon. But people don't forge documentsin the interests of humanity and justice. And why should it be given to_you_?"
"I am known to be a rich woman," said Donna Dolores. "I believe," sheadded, dropping her eyes with a certain proud diffidence that troubledeven the preoccupied man before her, "I--believe--that is I amtold--that I have a reputation for being liberal, and--and just."
Mr. Perkins looked it her for a moment with undisguised admiration. "Butsuppose," he said, with a bitterness that seemed to grow out of thatvery contemplation, "suppose this woman, this adventuress, thisimpostor, were a creature that made any such theory impossible. Supposeshe were one who could poison the very life and soul of any man--to saynothing of the man who was legally bound to her; suppose she were adevil who could deceive the mind and heart, who could make the very manshe was betraying most believe her guiltless and sinned against; supposeshe were capable of not even the weakness of passion; but that all heracts were shrewd, selfish, pre-calculated even to a smile or a tear--doyou think such a woman--whom, thank God! such as _you_ cannot evenimagine--do you suppose such a woman would not have guarded against eventhis? No! no!"
"Unless," said Donna Dolores, leaning against the secretary with theglow gone from her dark face and a strange expression trembling over hermouth, "unless it were the revenge of some rival."
Her companion started. "Good! It is so," he muttered to himself. "_I_would have done it. I could have done it! You are right, Donna Dolores."He walked to the window and then came hurriedly back, buttoning hiscoat as he did so, and rebuckling his stock. "Some one is coming! Leavethis matter with me. I will satisfy you and myself concerning thisaffair. Will you trust this paper with me?" Donna Dolores without a wordplaced it in his hand. "Thank you," he said, with a slight return of hisformer embarrassment, that seemed to belong to his ridiculous stock andhis buttoned coat rather than any physical or moral quality. "Don'tbelieve me entirely disinterested either," he added, with a strangesmile. "_Adios._"
She would have asked another question, but at that instant the clatterof hoofs and sound of voices arose from the courtyard, and with ahurried bow he was gone. The door opened again almost instantly to thebright laughing face and coquettish figure of Mrs. Sepulvida.
"Well!" said that little lady, as soon as she recovered her breath. "Fora religiously inclined young person and a notorious recluse, I must sayyou certainly have more masculine company than falls to the lot of theworldly. Here I ran across a couple of fellows hanging around the _casa_as I drove up, and come in only to find you closeted with an oldexquisite. Who was it--another lawyer, dear? I declare, it's too bad._I_ have only one!"
"And that one is enough, eh?" smiled Donna Dolores, somewhat gravely, asshe playfully tapped Mrs. Sepulvida's fair cheek with her fan.
"Oh yes!" she blushed a little coquettishly--"of course! And here I rodeover, post haste, to tell you the news. But first, tell me who is thatwicked, dashing-looking fellow outside the courtyard? It can't be thelawyer's clerk."
"I don't know who you mean; but it is, I suppose," said Donna Dolores, alittle wearily. "But tell me the news. I am all attention."
But Mrs. Sepulvida ran to the deep embrasured window and peeped out. "Itisn't the lawyer, for he is driving away in his buggy, as if he werehurrying to get out of the fog, and my gentleman still remains.Dolores!" said Mrs. Sepulvida, suddenly facing her friend with anexpression of mock gravity and humour, "this won't do! Who is thatcavalier?"
> With a terrible feeling that she was about to meet the keen eyes ofVictor, Donna Dolores drew near the window from the side where she couldlook out without being herself seen. Her first glance at the figure ofthe stranger satisfied her that her fears were unfounded; it was notVictor. Reassured, she drew the curtain more boldly. At that instant themysterious horseman wheeled, and she met full in her own the black eyesof Mr. Jack Hamlin. Donna Dolores instantly dropped the curtain andturned to her friend.
"I don't know!"
"Truly, Dolores?"
"Truly, Maria."
"Well, I believe you. I suppose then it must be _me_!"
Donna Dolores smiled, and playfully patted Mrs. Sepulvida's joyous face.
"Well, then?" she said invitingly.
"Well, then," responded Mrs. Sepulvida, half in embarrassment and halfin satisfaction.
"The news!" said Donna Dolores.
"Oh--well," said Mrs. Sepulvida, with mock deliberation, "it has come atlast!"
"It has?" said Donna Dolores, looking gravely at her friend.
"Yes. He has been there again to-day."
"And he asked you?" said Donna Dolores, opening her fan and turning herface toward the window.
"He asked me."
"And you said"----
Mrs. Sepulvida tripped gaily toward the window and looked out.
"I said"----
"What?"
"NO!"
BOOK V.
_THE VEIN._