Rezanov

  XIX

  It was ten o'clock when Rezanov, who had supped on the Juno, metSantiago in a sandy valley half a mile from the Presidio and mountedthe horse his young friend himself had saddled and brought. The longride was a silent one. The youth was not talkative at any time, andRezanov was conscious of little else save an overwhelming desire to seeConcha again. One secret of his success in life was his gift ofyielding to one energy at a time, oblivious at the moment to aught thatmight distract or enfeeble the will. To-night, as he rode toward theMission on as romantic a quest as ever came the way of a lover, thediplomat, the anxious director of a great Company, the representativeof one of the mighty potentates of earth, were submerged, forgotten, inthe thrilling anticipation of his hour with the woman for whom everyfiber of his being yearned.

  Nor ever was there more appropriate a setting for one of thoseinaugural chapters in mating, half appreciated at the time, thatglimmer as a sort of morning twilight on mountain tops over the mildundulations of matrimony. The moon rode without a masking cloud acrossthe ambiguous night blue of the California sky, a blue that looks likethe fire of strange elements, where the stars glow like silver coals,and out of whose depths intense shadows of blue and black fall; shadowsin which all the terrestrial world seems to float and recombine, wherehouses are ghosts of ancient selves and men but the eidola of forgottendust. To-night the little estate of Juan Moraga, the most isolated andeastern of the settlement, surrounded by its high white wall, looked asunreal and formless as the blue oval of water and black trees behindit, but Rezanov knew that it enfolded warm and palpitating womanhoodand was steeped in the sweetness of Castilian roses.

  The riders, who had taken a path far to the east of the Missiondismounted and tied their horses among the willows, then, in their darkcloaks but a part of the shadows, stole toward the wall designed toimpress hostile tribes rather than to resist onslaught; at the firstwarning the settlement invariably fled to the church, where walls weremassive and windows high.

  In three of Moraga's four walls was a grille, or wicket of slender ironbars, whence the open could be swept with glass, or gun at a pinch; andtoward the grille looking eastward went Rezanov as swiftly as theuneven ground would permit. As Concha watched him gather form in themoonlight and saw him jerk his cloak off impatiently, she flung hersoft body against the wall and shook the bars with her strong littlehands. But when he faced her she was erect and smiling; in a suddenuprush of spirits, almost indifferent. She wore a white gown and arose in her hair. A rosebush as dense as an arbor spread its pricklyarms between herself and the windows of the house.

  "Good-evening," she whispered.

  Rezanov gave the grill an angry shake. (Santiago had consideratelyretired.) "Come out," he said peremptorily, "or let me in."

  "There is but one gate, senor, and that is directly in front of thehouse door, that stands open--"

  "Then I shall get over the wall--"

  "Madre de Dios! You would leave your fine clothes and more on thethorns. My cousin planted those roses not for ornament, but to let theblood of defiant lovers. Not one has come twice--"

  "Do you think I came here to talk to you through a grating? I am noserenading Spaniard."

  His eyes were blazing. Adobe is not stone. Rezanov took the light barsin both hands and wrenched them out; then, as Concha, divided betweenlaughter and a sudden timidity, would have retreated, he dexterouslyclasped her neck and drew her head through the embrasure. As Santiago,who had watched Rezanov from a distance with some curiosity, saw hissister's beautiful face emerge from the wall to disappear at oncebehind another rampart, he turned abruptly on his heel and could havewept as he thought of Pilar Ortego of Santa Barbara. But there was ahope that he would be a cadet of the Southern Company before the yearwas out, and his parents and hers were indulgent. Even as he sighed,his own impending happiness infused him with an almost patronizingsympathy for the twain with the wall between, and he concealed himselfamong the willows that they might feel to the full the blessedisolation of lovers. His Pilar presented him with twenty-two hostages,and he lived to enjoy an honorable and prosperous career, but he neverforgot that night and the part he had played in one of the poignant andhappy hours of his sister's life.

  Day and night a great silence reigned in the Mission valley, brokenonly by the hoot of the owl, the singing of birds, the flight of horsesacross the plain. Even the low huddle of Mission buildings and the fewhomes beyond looked an anomaly in that vast quiet valley asleep andunknown for so many centuries in the wide embrace of the hills. Itsjewel oasis alone made it acceptable to the Spaniard, but to Rezanovthe sandy desert, with its close companionable silences, its cool nightair sweet with the light chaste fragrance of the roses, the simple,almost primitive, conditions environing the girl, possessed a power tostir the depths of his emotions as no artful reinforcement to passionhad ever done. He forgot the wall. His ego melted in a sense ofcomplete union and happiness. Even when they returned to earth anddiscussed the dubious future, he was conscious of an odd resignation,very alien in his nature, not only to the barrier but to all thestrange conditions of his wooing. He had felt something of thisbefore, although less definitely, and to-night he concluded that shehad the gift of clothing the inevitable with the semblance and thesweetness of choice; and wondered how long it would be able to skirtthe arid steppes of philosophy.

  She told him that she had talked daily with Father Abella. "He willsay nothing to admit he is weakening, but I feel sure he has realizednot only that our marriage will be for the best interests ofCalifornia, but that to forbid it would wreck my life; and from thisresponsibility he shrinks. I can see it in his kind, shrewd, perplexedeyes, in the hesitating inflections of his voice, to say nothing of thepoor arguments he advances to mine. What of my father and mother?"

  "They look troubled, almost ill, but nothing could exceed theirkindness to me, although they have pointedly given me no opportunity tointroduce the subject of our marriage again. The Governor makes nosign that he knows of any aspiration of mine above corn, but heinformed me to-day that California is doomed to abandonment, that theIndians are hopeless, that Spain will withdraw troops before she willsend others, and that the country will either revert to savagery orfall a prey to the first enterprising outsider. As he was incomparison cheerful before, I fancy he apprehends the irresistibleappeal of your father's surrender."

  Concha nodded. "If my father yields he will see that you haveeverything else that you wish. He may have advocated meeting yourwishes in other respects in order to leave you without excuse tolinger, but that argument is not strong enough for the Governor,whereas if he made up his mind to accept you as a son he would throwthe whole force of his character and will into the scale; and when hereaches that pitch he wins--with men. I must, must bring you goodfortune," she added anxiously. "Marriage with a little Californiagirl--are you sure it will not ruin your career?"

  "I can think of nothing that would advantage it more. What are yougoing to call me?"

  "I cannot say Petrovich or Nicolai--my Spanish tongue rebels. I shallcall you Pedro. That is a very pretty name with us."

  "My own harsh names suit my battered self rather better, but the moreCalifornian you are and remain the happier I shall be. When am I tosee your ears? Are they deformed, pointed and furry like a fawn's? Dothey stand out? Were all the women of California tattooed in someIndian raid--"

  Concha glanced about apprehensively, but not even Santiago was there tosee the dreadful deed. With a defiant sweep of her hands she liftedboth loops of hair, and two little ears, rosy even in the moonlight,commanded amends and more from penitent lips.

  "No man has ever seen them before--since I was a baby; not even myfather and brothers," said Concha, trembling between horror and raptureat the tremendous surrender. "You will never remind me of it. Ay yi!promise--Pedro mio!"

  "On condition that you promise not to confess it. I should like to besure that your mind belonged as much to me and as little to others a
spossible. I do not object to confession--we have it in our church; butremember that there are other things as sacred as your religion."

  She nodded. "I understand--better than you understand Romanism. Imust confess that I met you to-night, but Father Abella is too discreetto ask for more. It is such blessed memories that feed the soul, andthey would fly away on a whisper."