Page 21 of Selected Stories of Bret Harte

  THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH

  The American paused. He had evidently lost his way. For the last halfhour he had been wandering in a medieval town, in a profound medievaldream. Only a few days had elapsed since he had left the steamship thatcarried him hither; and the accents of his own tongue, the idioms ofhis own people, and the sympathetic community of New World tastes andexpressions still filled his mind until he woke up, or rather, as itseemed to him, was falling asleep in the past of this Old World townwhich had once held his ancestors. Although a republican, he had likedto think of them in quaint distinctive garb, representing state andimportance--perhaps even aristocratic pre-eminence--content to let theresponsibility of such "bad eminence" rest with them entirely, but ahabit of conscientiousness and love for historic truth eventually ledhim also to regard an honest BAUER standing beside his cattle in thequaint market place, or a kindly-faced black-eyed DIENSTMADCHEN in adoorway, with a timid, respectful interest, as a possible type of hisprogenitors. For, unlike some of his traveling countrymen in Europe, hewas not a snob, and it struck him--as an American--that it was,perhaps, better to think of his race as having improved than as havingdegenerated. In these ingenuous meditations he had passed the long rowsof quaint, high houses, whose sagging roofs and unpatched dilapidationswere yet far removed from squalor, until he had reached the roadbordered by poplars, all so unlike his own country's waysides--and knewthat he had wandered far from his hotel.

  He did not care, however, to retrace his steps and return by the wayhe had come. There was, he reasoned, some other street or turning thatwould eventually bring him to the market place and his hotel, and yetextend his experience of the town. He turned at right angles into anarrow grass lane, which was, however, as neatly kept and apparently aspublic as the highway. A few moments' walking convinced him that it wasnot a thoroughfare and that it led to the open gates of a park. This hadsomething of a public look, which suggested that his intrusion might beat least a pardonable trespass, and he relied, like most strangers, onthe exonerating quality of a stranger's ignorance. The park lay in thedirection he wished to go, and yet it struck him as singular that a parkof such extent should be still allowed to occupy such valuable urbanspace. Indeed, its length seemed to be illimitable as he wandered on,until he became conscious that he must have again lost his way, and hediverged toward the only boundary, a high, thickset hedge to the right,whose line he had been following.

  As he neared it he heard the sound of voices on the other side, speakingin German, with which he was unfamiliar. Having, as yet, met no one, andbeing now impressed with the fact that for a public place the park wassingularly deserted, he was conscious that his position was gettingserious, and he determined to take this only chance of inquiring hisway. The hedge was thinner in some places than in others, and at timeshe could see not only the light through it but even the moving figuresof the speakers, and the occasional white flash of a summer gown. Atlast he determined to penetrate it, and with little difficulty emergedon the other side. But here he paused motionless. He found himselfbehind a somewhat formal and symmetrical group of figures with theirbacks toward him, but all stiffened into attitudes as motionless as hisown, and all gazing with a monotonous intensity in the direction of ahandsome building, which had been invisible above the hedge but whichnow seemed to arise suddenly before him. Some of the figures were inuniform. Immediately before him, but so slightly separated fromthe others that he was enabled to see the house between her and hercompanions, he was confronted by the pretty back, shoulders, and blondbraids of a young girl of twenty. Convinced that he had unwittinglyintruded upon some august ceremonial, he instantly slipped back intothe hedge, but so silently that his momentary presence was evidentlyundetected. When he regained the park side he glanced back throughthe interstices; there was no movement of the figures nor break in thesilence to indicate that his intrusion had been observed. With a longbreath of relief he hurried from the park.

  It was late when he finally got back to his hotel. But his little modernadventure had, I fear, quite outrun his previous medieval reflections,and almost his first inquiry of the silver-chained porter in thecourtyard was in regard to the park. There was no public park inAlstadt! The Herr possibly alluded to the Hof Gardens--the Schloss,which was in the direction he indicated. The Schloss was the residencyof the hereditary Grand Duke. JA WOHL! He was stopping there withseveral Hoheiten. There was naturally a party there--a family reunion.But it was a private enclosure. At times, when the Grand Duke was "not inresidence," it was open to the public. In point of fact, at such timestickets of admission were to be had at the hotel for fifty pfennigeeach. There was not, of truth, much to see except a model farm anddairy--the pretty toy of a previous Grand Duchess.

  But he seemed destined to come into closer collision with the modernlife of Alstadt. On entering the hotel, wearied by his long walk, hepassed the landlord and a man in half-military uniform on the landingnear his room. As he entered his apartment he had a vague impression,without exactly knowing why, that the landlord and the militarystranger had just left it. This feeling was deepened by the evidentdisarrangement of certain articles in his unlocked portmanteau and thedisorganization of his writing case. A wave of indignation passed overhim. It was followed by a knock at the door, and the landlord blandlyappeared with the stranger.

  "A thousand pardons," said the former, smilingly, "but Herr Sanderman,the Ober-Inspector of Police, wishes to speak with you. I hope we arenot intruding?"

  "Not NOW," said the American, dryly.

  The two exchanged a vacant and deprecating smile.

  "I have to ask only a few formal questions," said the Ober-Inspector inexcellent but somewhat precise English, "to supplement the report which,as a stranger, you may not know is required by the police from thelandlord in regard to the names and quality of his guests who areforeign to the town. You have a passport?"

  "I have," said the American still more dryly. "But I do not keep it inan unlocked portmanteau or an open writing case."

  "An admirable precaution," said Sanderman, with unmoved politeness."May I see it? Thanks," he added, glancing over the document which theAmerican produced from his pocket. "I see that you are a born Americancitizen--and an earlier knowledge of that fact would have preventedthis little contretemps. You are aware, Mr. Hoffman, that your name isGerman?"

  "It was borne by my ancestors, who came from this country two centuriesago," said Hoffman, curtly.

  "We are indeed honored by your return to it," returned Sandermansuavely, "but it was the circumstance of your name being a local one,and the possibility of your still being a German citizen liable tounperformed military duty, which has caused the trouble." His manner wasclearly civil and courteous, but Hoffman felt that all the time his ownface and features were undergoing a profound scrutiny from the speaker.

  "And you are making sure that you will know me again?" said Hoffman,with a smile.

  "I trust, indeed, both," returned Sanderman, with a bow, "althoughyou will permit me to say that your description here," pointing to thepassport, "scarcely does you justice. ACH GOTT! it is the same in allcountries; the official eye is not that of the young DAMEN."

  Hoffman, though not conceited, had not lived twenty years withoutknowing that he was very good-looking, yet there was something in theremark that caused him to color with a new uneasiness.

  The Ober-Inspector rose with another bow, and moved toward the door. "Ihope you will let me make amends for this intrusion by doing anything Ican to render your visit here a pleasant one. Perhaps," he added, "it isnot for long."

  But Hoffman evaded the evident question, as he resented what he imaginedwas a possible sneer.

  "I have not yet determined my movements," he said.

  The Ober-Inspector brought his heels together in a somewhat stiffermilitary salute and departed.

  Nothing, however, could have exceeded the later almost servile urbanityof the landlord, who seemed to have been proud of the official visit tohis guest. He was profu
se in his attentions, and even introduced him toa singularly artistic-looking man of middle age, wearing an order in hisbuttonhole, whom he met casually in the hall.

  "Our Court photographer," explained the landlord with some fervor,"at whose studio, only a few houses distant, most of the Hoheiten andPrinzessinen of Germany have sat for their likenesses."

  "I should feel honored if the distinguished American Herr would giveme a visit," said the stranger gravely, as he gazed at Hoffman with anintensity which recalled the previous scrutiny of the Police Inspector,"and I would be charmed if he would avail himself of my poor skill totransmit his picturesque features to my unique collection."

  Hoffman returned a polite evasion to this invitation, although he wasconscious of being struck with this second examination of his face, andthe allusion to his personality.

  The next morning the porter met him with a mysterious air. The Herrwould still like to see the Schloss? Hoffman, who had quite forgottenhis adventure in the park, looked vacant. JA WOHL--the Hof authoritieshad no doubt heard of his visit and had intimated to the hotelproprietor that he might have permission to visit the model farm anddairy. As the American still looked indifferent the porter pointed outwith some importance that it was a Ducal courtesy not to be lightlytreated; that few, indeed, of the burghers themselves had ever beenadmitted to this eccentric whim of the late Grand Duchess. He would, ofcourse, be silent about it; the Court would not like it known that theyhad made an exception to their rules in favor of a foreigner; he wouldenter quickly and boldly alone. There would be a housekeeper or adairymaid to show him over the place.

  More amused at this important mystery over what he, as an American, wasinclined to classify as a "free pass" to a somewhat heavy "side show,"he gravely accepted the permission, and the next morning after breakfastset out to visit the model farm and dairy. Dismissing his driver, ashe had been instructed, Hoffman entered the gateway with a mingling ofexpectancy and a certain amusement over the "boldness" which theporter had suggested should characterize his entrance. Before him wasa beautifully kept lane bordered by arbored and trellised roses, whichseemed to sink into the distance. He was instinctively following it whenhe became aware that he was mysteriously accompanied by a man in thelivery of a chasseur, who was walking among the trees almost abreastof him, keeping pace with his step, and after the first introductorymilitary salute preserving a ceremonious silence. There was somethingso ludicrous in this solemn procession toward a peaceful, rural industrythat by the time they had reached the bottom of the lane the Americanhad quite recovered his good humor. But here a new astonishment awaitedhim. Nestling before him in a green amphitheater lay a little woodenfarm-yard and outbuildings, which irresistibly suggested that it hadbeen recently unpacked and set up from a box of Nuremberg toys. Thesymmetrical trees, the galleried houses with preternaturally glazedwindows, even the spotty, disproportionately sized cows in thewhite-fenced barnyards were all unreal, wooden and toylike.

  Crossing a miniature bridge over a little stream, from which he wasquite prepared to hook metallic fish with a magnet their own size,he looked about him for some real being to dispel the illusion. Themysterious chasseur had disappeared. But under the arch of an arbor,which seemed to be composed of silk ribbons, green glass, and pinktissue paper, stood a quaint but delightful figure.

  At first it seemed as if he had only dispelled one illusion for another.For the figure before him might have been made of Dresden china--sodaintily delicate and unique it was in color and arrangement. It wasthat of a young girl dressed in some forgotten medieval peasant garbof velvet braids, silver-staylaced corsage, lace sleeves, and helmetedmetallic comb. But, after the Dresden method, the pale yellow of herhair was repeated in her bodice, the pink of her cheeks was in theroses of her chintz overskirt. The blue of her eyes was the blue of herpetticoat; the dazzling whiteness of her neck shone again in thesleeves and stockings. Nevertheless she was real and human, for thepink deepened in her cheeks as Hoffman's hat flew from his head, and sherecognized the civility with a grave little curtsy.

  "You have come to see the dairy," she said in quaintly accurate English;"I will show you the way."

  "If you please," said Hoffman, gaily, "but--"

  "But what?" she said, facing him suddenly with absolutely astonishedeyes.

  Hoffman looked into them so long that their frank wonder presentlycontracted into an ominous mingling of restraint and resentment. Nothingdaunted, however, he went on:

  "Couldn't we shake all that?"

  The look of wonder returned. "Shake all that?" she repeated. "I do notunderstand."

  "Well! I'm not positively aching to see cows, and you must be sick ofshowing them. I think, too, I've about sized the whole show. Wouldn'tit be better if we sat down in that arbor--supposing it won't falldown--and you told me all about the lot? It would save you a heap oftrouble and keep your pretty frock cleaner than trapesing round. Ofcourse," he said, with a quick transition to the gentlest courtesy, "ifyou're conscientious about this thing we'll go on and not spare a cow.Consider me in it with you for the whole morning."

  She looked at him again, and then suddenly broke into a charming laugh.It revealed a set of strong white teeth, as well as a certain barbarictrace in its cadence which civilized restraint had not entirelyoverlaid.

  "I suppose she really is a peasant, in spite of that pretty frock," hesaid to himself as he laughed too.

  But her face presently took a shade of reserve, and with a gentle butsingular significance she said:

  "I think you must see the dairy."

  Hoffman's hat was in his hand with a vivacity that tumbled the browncurls on his forehead. "By all means," he said instantly, and beganwalking by her side in modest but easy silence. Now that he thought hera conscientious peasant he was quiet and respectful.

  Presently she lifted her eyes, which, despite her gravity, had notentirely lost their previous mirthfulness, and said:

  "But you Americans--in your rich and prosperous country, with your largelands and your great harvests--you must know all about farming."

  "Never was in a dairy in my life," said Hoffman gravely. "I'm fromthe city of New York, where the cows give swill milk, and are kept incellars."

  Her eyebrows contracted prettily in an effort to understand. Then sheapparently gave it up, and said with a slanting glint of mischief in hereyes:

  "Then you come here like the other Americans in hope to see the GrandDuke and Duchess and the Princesses?"

  "No. The fact is I almost tumbled into a lot of 'em--standing like waxfigures--the other side of the park lodge, the other day--and got awayas soon as I could. I think I prefer the cows."

  Her head was slightly turned away. He had to content himself withlooking down upon the strong feet in their serviceable but smartlybuckled shoes that uplifted her upright figure as she moved beside him.

  "Of course," he added with boyish but unmistakable courtesy, "if it'spart of your show to trot out the family, why I'm in that, too. I daresay you could make them interesting."

  "But why," she said with her head still slightly turned away towarda figure--a sturdy-looking woman, which, for the first time, Hoffmanperceived was walking in a line with them as the chasseur had done--"whydid you come here at all?"

  "The first time was a fool accident," he returned frankly. "I was makinga short cut through what I thought was a public park. The second timewas because I had been rude to a Police Inspector whom I found goingthrough my things, but who apologized--as I suppose--by getting me aninvitation from the Grand Duke to come here, and I thought it only thesquare thing to both of 'em to accept it. But I'm mighty glad I came;I wouldn't have missed YOU for a thousand dollars. You see I haven'tstruck anyone I cared to talk to since." Here he suddenly remarked thatshe hadn't looked at him, and that the delicate whiteness of her neckwas quite suffused with pink, and stopped instantly. Presently he saidquite easily:

  "Who's the chorus?"

  "The lady?"

  "Yes. She's watching us as if she
didn't quite approve, you know--justas if she didn't catch on."

  "She's the head housekeeper of the farm. Perhaps you would prefer tohave her show you the dairy; shall I call her?"

  The figure in question was very short and stout, with voluminouspetticoats.

  "Please don't; I'll stay without your setting that paperweight on me.But here's the dairy. Don't let her come inside among those pans offresh milk with that smile, or there'll be trouble."

  The young girl paused too, made a slight gesture with her hand, and thefigure passed on as they entered the dairy. It was beautifully clean andfresh. With a persistence that he quickly recognized as mischievous andironical, and with his characteristic adaptability accepted with evengreater gravity and assumption of interest, she showed him all thedetails. From thence they passed to the farmyard, where he hung withbreathless attention over the names of the cows and made her repeatthem. Although she was evidently familiar with the subject, he could seethat her zeal was fitful and impatient.

  "Suppose we sit down," he said, pointing to an ostentatious rustic seatin the center of the green.

  "Sir down?" she repeated wonderingly. "What for?"

  "To talk. We'll knock off and call it half a day."

  "But if you are not looking at the farm you are, of course, going," shesaid quickly.

  "Am I? I don't think these particulars were in my invitation."

  She again broke into a fit of laughter, and at the same time cast abright eye around the field.

  "Come," he said gently, "there are no other sightseers waiting, and yourconscience is clear," and he moved toward the rustic seat.

  "Certainly not--there," she added in a low voice.

  They moved on slowly together to a copse of willows which overhung theminiature stream.

  "You are not staying long in Alstadt?" she said.

  "No; I only came to see the old town that my ancestors came from."

  They were walking so close together that her skirt brushed his trousers,but she suddenly drew away from him, and looking him fixedly in the eyesaid:

  "Ah, you have relations here?"

  "Yes, but they are dead two hundred years."

  She laughed again with a slight expression of relief. They had enteredthe copse and were walking in dense shadow when she suddenly stopped andsat down upon a rustic bench. To his surprise he found that they werequite alone.

  "Tell me about these relatives," she said, slightly drawing aside herskirt to make room for him on the seat.

  He did not require a second invitation. He not only told her all abouthis ancestral progenitors, but, I fear, even about those more recent andmore nearly related to him; about his own life, his vocation--he was aclever newspaper correspondent with a roving commission--his ambitions,his beliefs and his romance.

  "And then, perhaps, of this visit--you will also make 'copy'?"

  He smiled at her quick adaptation of his professional slang, but shookhis head.

  "No," he said gravely. "No--this is YOU. The CHICAGO INTERVIEWER is bigpay and is rich, but it hasn't capital enough to buy you from me."

  He gently slid his hand toward hers and slipped his fingers softlyaround it. She made a slight movement of withdrawal, but even then--asif in forgetfulness or indifference--permitted her hand to restunresponsively in his. It was scarcely an encouragement to gallantry,neither was it a rejection of an unconscious familiarity.

  "But you haven't told me about yourself," he said.

  "Oh, I," she returned, with her first approach to coquetry in a laughand a sidelong glance, "of what importance is that to you? It is theGrand Duchess and Her Highness the Princess that you Americans seek toknow. I am--what I am--as you see."

  "You bet," said Hoffman with charming decision.

  "I WHAT?"

  "You ARE, you know, and that's good enough for me, but I don't even knowyour name."

  She laughed again, and after a pause, said: "Elsbeth."

  "But I couldn't call you by your first name on our first meeting, youknow."

  "Then you Americans are really so very formal--eh?" she said slyly,looking at her imprisoned hand.

  "Well, yes," returned Hoffman, disengaging it. "I suppose we arerespectful, or mean to be. But whom am I to inquire for? To write to?"

  "You are neither to write nor inquire."

  "What?" She had moved in her seat so as to half-face him with eyes inwhich curiosity, mischief, and a certain seriousness alternated, but forthe first time seemed conscious of his hand, and accented her words witha slight pressure.

  "You are to return to your hotel presently, and say to your landlord:'Pack up my luggage. I have finished with this old town and myancestors, and the Grand Duke, whom I do not care to see, and I shallleave Alstadt tomorrow!'"

  "Thank you! I don't catch on."

  "Of what necessity should you? I have said it. That should be enough fora chivalrous American like you." She again significantly looked down ather hand.

  "If you mean that you know the extent of the favor you ask of me, I cansay no more," he said seriously; "but give me some reason for it."

  "Ah so!" she said, with a slight shrug of her shoulders. "Then I musttell you. You say you do not know the Grand Duke and Duchess. Well! THEYKNOW YOU. The day before yesterday you were wandering in the park, asyou admit. You say, also, you got through the hedge and interruptedsome ceremony. That ceremony was not a Court function, Mr. Hoffman, butsomething equally sacred--the photographing of the Ducal familybefore the Schloss. You say that you instantly withdrew. But after thephotograph was taken the plate revealed a stranger standing actuallyby the side of the Princess Alexandrine, and even taking the PAS of theGrand Duke himself. That stranger was you!"

  "And the picture was spoiled," said the American, with a quiet laugh.

  "I should not say that," returned the lady, with a demure glance at hercompanion's handsome face, "and I do not believe that the Princess--whofirst saw the photograph--thought so either. But she is very youngand willful, and has the reputation of being very indiscreet, andunfortunately she begged the photographer not to destroy the plate, butto give it to her, and to say nothing about it, except that the platewas defective, and to take another. Still it would have ended there ifher curiosity had not led her to confide a description of the strangerto the Police Inspector, with the result you know."

  "Then I am expected to leave town because I accidentally stumbled into afamily group that was being photographed?"

  "Because a certain Princess was indiscreet enough to show her curiosityabout you," corrected the fair stranger.

  "But look here! I'll apologize to the Princess, and offer to pay for theplate."

  "Then you do want to see the Princess?" said the young girl smiling;"you are like the others."

  "Bother the Princess! I want to see YOU. And I don't see how they canprevent it if I choose to remain."

  "Very easily. You will find that there is something wrong with yourpassport, and you will be sent on to Pumpernickel for examination. Youwill unwittingly transgress some of the laws of the town and be orderedto leave it. You will be shadowed by the police until you quarrel withthem--like a free American--and you are conducted to the frontier.Perhaps you will strike an officer who has insulted you, and then youare finished on the spot."

  The American's crest rose palpably until it cocked his straw hat overhis curls.

  "Suppose I am content to risk it--having first laid the whole matter andits trivial cause before the American Minister, so that he could make ithot for this whole caboodle of a country if they happened to 'down me.'By Jove! I shouldn't mind being the martyr of an international episodeif they'd spare me long enough to let me get the first 'copy' over tothe other side." His eyes sparkled.

  "You could expose them, but they would then deny the whole story, andyou have no evidence. They would demand to know your informant, and Ishould be disgraced, and the Princess, who is already talked about,made a subject of scandal. But no matter! It is right that an American'sindependence
shall not be interfered with."

  She raised the hem of her handkerchief to her blue eyes and slightlyturned her head aside. Hoffman gently drew the handkerchief away, and inso doing possessed himself of her other hand.

  "Look here, Miss--Miss--Elsbeth. You know I wouldn't give you away,whatever happened. But couldn't I get hold of that photographer--I sawhim, he wanted me to sit to him--and make him tell me?"

  "He wanted you to sit to him," she said hurriedly, "and did you?"

  "No," he replied. "He was a little too fresh and previous, though Ithought he fancied some resemblance in me to somebody else."

  "Ah!" She said something to herself in German which he did notunderstand, and then added aloud:

  "You did well; he is a bad man, this photographer. Promise me you shallnot sit for him."

  "How can I if I'm fired out of the place like this?" He added ruefully,"But I'd like to make him give himself away to me somehow."

  "He will not, and if he did he would deny it afterward. Do not go nearhim nor see him. Be careful that he does not photograph you with hisinstantaneous instrument when you are passing. Now you must go. I mustsee the Princess."

  "Let me go, too. I will explain it to her," said Hoffman.

  She stopped, looked at him keenly, and attempted to withdraw herhands. "Ah, then it IS so. It is the Princess you wish to see. You arecurious--you, too; you wish to see this lady who is interested in you. Iought to have known it. You are all alike."

  He met her gaze with laughing frankness, accepting her outburst as acharming feminine weakness, half jealousy, half coquetry--but retainedher hands.

  "Nonsense," he said. "I wish to see her that I may have the right to seeyou--that you shall not lose your place here through me; that I may comeagain."

  "You must never come here again."

  "Then you must come where I am. We will meet somewhere when you havean afternoon off. You shall show me the town--the houses of myancestors--their tombs; possibly--if the Grand Duke rampages--theprobable site of my own."

  She looked into his laughing eyes with her clear, stedfast, gravelyquestioning blue ones. "Do not you Americans know that it is not thefashion here, in Germany, for the young men and the young women to walktogether--unless they are VERLOBT?"

  "VER--which?"

  "Engaged." She nodded her head thrice: viciously, decidedly,mischievously.

  "So much the better."

  "ACH GOTT!" She made a gesture of hopelessness at his incorrigibility,and again attempted to withdraw her hands.

  "I must go now."

  "Well then, good-by."

  It was easy to draw her closer by simply lowering her still captivehands. Then he suddenly kissed her coldly startled lips, and instantlyreleased her. She as instantly vanished.

  "Elsbeth," he called quickly. "Elsbeth!"

  Her now really frightened face reappeared with a heightened color fromthe dense foliage--quite to his astonishment.

  "Hush," she said, with her finger on her lips. "Are you mad?"

  "I only wanted to remind you to square me with the Princess," he laughedas her head disappeared.

  He strolled back toward the gate. Scarcely had he quitted the shrubberybefore the same chasseur made his appearance with precisely the samesalute; and, keeping exactly the same distance, accompanied him to thegate. At the corner of the street he hailed a droshky and was driven tohis hotel.

  The landlord came up smiling. He trusted that the Herr had greatlyenjoyed himself at the Schloss. It was a distinguished honor--in fact,quite unprecedented. Hoffman, while he determined not to commit himself,nor his late fair companion, was nevertheless anxious to learn somethingmore of her relations to the Schloss. So pretty, so characteristic, andmarked a figure must be well known to sightseers. Indeed, once or twicethe idea had crossed his mind with a slightly jealous twinge that lefthim more conscious of the impression she had made on him than he haddeemed possible. He asked if the model farm and dairy were always shownby the same attendants.

  "ACH GOTT! no doubt, yes; His Royal Highness had quite a retinue when hewas in residence."

  "And were these attendants in costume?"

  "There was undoubtedly a livery for the servants."

  Hoffman felt a slight republican irritation at the epithet--he knew notwhy. But this costume was rather a historical one; surely it was notentrusted to everyday menials--and he briefly described it.

  His host's blank curiosity suddenly changed to a look of mysterious andarch intelligence.

  "ACH GOTT! yes!" He remembered now (with his finger on his nose) thatwhen there was a fest at the Schloss the farm and dairy were filled withshepherdesses, in quaint costume worn by the ladies of the Grand Duke'sown theatrical company, who assumed the characters with great vivacity.Surely it was the same, and the Grand Duke had treated the Herr to thisspecial courtesy. Yes--there was one pretty, blonde young lady--theFraulein Wimpfenbuttel, a most popular soubrette, who would play it tothe life! And the description fitted her to a hair! Ah, there was nodoubt of it; many persons, indeed, had been so deceived.

  But happily, now that he had given him the wink, the Herr couldcorroborate it himself by going to the theater tonight. Ah, it would bea great joke--quite colossal! if he took a front seat where she couldsee him. And the good man rubbed his hands in gleeful anticipation.

  Hoffman had listened to him with a slow repugnance that was only equalto his gradual conviction that the explanation was a true one, andthat he himself had been ridiculously deceived. The mystery of his faircompanion's costume, which he had accepted as part of the "show"; theinconsistency of her manner and her evident occupation; her undeniablewish to terminate the whole episode with that single interview;her mingling of worldly aplomb and rustic innocence; her perfectself-control and experienced acceptance of his gallantry under thesimulated attitude of simplicity--all now struck him as perfectlycomprehensible. He recalled the actress's inimitable touch in certainpicturesque realistic details in the dairy--which she had not sparedhim; he recognized it now even in their bowered confidences (how like apretty ballet scene their whole interview on the rustic bench was!),and it breathed through their entire conversation--to their theatricalparting at the close! And the whole story of the photograph was, nodoubt, as pure a dramatic invention as the rest! The Princess's romanticinterest in him--that Princess who had never appeared (why had he notdetected the old, well-worn, sentimental situation here?)--was all apart of it. The dark, mysterious hint of his persecution by the policewas a necessary culmination to the little farce. Thank Heaven! he hadnot "risen" at the Princess, even if he had given himself away to theclever actress in her own humble role. Then the humor of the wholesituation predominated and he laughed until the tears came to his eyes,and his forgotten ancestors might have turned over in their graveswithout his heeding them. And with this humanizing influence upon him hewent to the theater.

  It was capacious even for the town, and although the performance was aspecial one he had no difficulty in getting a whole box to himself. Hetried to avoid this public isolation by sitting close to the next box,where there was a solitary occupant--an officer--apparently as lonely ashimself. He had made up his mind that when his fair deceiver appearedhe would let her see by his significant applause that he recognized her,but bore no malice for the trick she had played on him. After all, hehad kissed her--he had no right to complain. If she should recognizehim, and this recognition led to a withdrawal of her prohibition, andtheir better acquaintance, he would be a fool to cavil at her pleasantartifice. Her vocation was certainly a more independent and originalone than that he had supposed; for its social quality and inequality hecared nothing. He found himself longing for the glance of her calm blueeyes, for the pleasant smile that broke the seriousness of her sweetlyrestrained lips. There was no doubt that he should know her even as theheroine of DER CZAR UND DER ZIMMERMANN on the bill before him. He wasbecoming impatient. And the performance evidently was waiting. A stirin the outer gallery, the clatter of sabers, the filing of unifo
rmsinto the royal box, and a triumphant burst from the orchestra showed thecause. As a few ladies and gentlemen in full evening dress emerged fromthe background of uniforms and took their places in the front of thebox, Hoffman looked with some interest for the romantic Princess.Suddenly he saw a face and shoulders in a glitter of diamonds thatstartled him, and then a glance that transfixed him.

  He leaned over to his neighbor. "Who is the young lady in the box?"

  "The Princess Alexandrine."

  "I mean the young lady in blue with blond hair and blue eyes."

  "It is the Princess Alexandrine Elsbeth Marie Stephanie, the daughter ofthe Grand Duke--there is none other there."

  "Thank you."

  He sat silently looking at the rising curtain and the stage. Then herose quietly, gathered his hat and coat, and left the box. When hereached the gallery he turned instinctively and looked back at the royalbox. Her eyes had followed him, and as he remained a moment motionlessin the doorway her lips parted in a grateful smile, and she waved herfan with a faint but unmistakable gesture of farewell.

  The next morning he left Alstadt. There was some little delay at theZoll on the frontier, and when Hoffman received back his trunk it wasaccompanied by a little sealed packet which was handed to him by theCustomhouse Inspector. Hoffman did not open it until he was alone.

  There hangs upon the wall of his modest apartment in New York a narrow,irregular photograph ingeniously framed, of himself standing sideby side with a young German girl, who, in the estimation of hiscompatriots, is by no means stylish and only passably good-looking.When he is joked by his friends about the post of honor given to thisproduction, and questioned as to the lady, he remains silent. ThePrincess Alexandrine Elsbeth Marie Stephanie von Westphalen-Alstadt,among her other royal qualities, knew whom to trust.

  THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ

  In another chronicle which dealt with the exploits of "Chu Chu,"a Californian mustang, I gave some space to the accomplishments ofEnriquez Saltillo, who assisted me in training her, and who was alsobrother to Consuelo Saitillo, the young lady to whom I had freely givenboth the mustang and my youthful affections. I consider it a proof ofthe superiority of masculine friendship that neither the subsequentdesertion of the mustang nor that of the young lady ever made theslightest difference to Enriquez or me in our exalted amity. To awondering doubt as to what I ever could possibly have seen in his sisterto admire he joined a tolerant skepticism of the whole sex. This he waswont to express in that marvelous combination of Spanish precision andCalifornia slang for which he was justly famous. "As to thees women andtheir little game," he would say, "believe me, my friend, your oldOncle 'Enry is not in it. No; he will ever take a back seat when lofe isaround. For why? Regard me here! If she is a horse, you shall say, 'Shewill buck-jump,' 'She will ess-shy,' 'She will not arrive,' or 'She willarrive too quick.' But if it is thees women, where are you? For when youshall say, 'She will ess-shy,' look you, she will walk straight; orshe will remain tranquil when you think she buck-jump; or else she willarrive and, look you, you will not. You shall get left. It is ever so.My father and the brother of my father have both make court to my motherwhen she was but a senorita. My father think she have lofe his brothermore. So he say to her: 'It is enofe; tranquillize yourself. I will go.I will efface myself. Adios! Shake hands! Ta-ta! So long! See youagain in the fall.' And what make my mother? Regard me! She marry myfather--on the instant! Of thees women, believe me, Pancho, you shallknow nothing. Not even if they shall make you the son of your father orhis nephew."

  I have recalled this characteristic speech to show the general tendencyof Enriquez' convictions at the opening of this little story. It isonly fair to say, however, that his usual attitude toward the sex he socheerfully maligned exhibited little apprehension or caution in dealingwith them. Among the frivolous and light-minded intermixture of his racehe moved with great freedom and popularity. He danced well; when we wentto fandangos together his agility and the audacity of his figuresalways procured him the prettiest partners, his professed sentiments,I presume, shielding him from subsequent jealousies, heartburnings,or envy. I have a vivid recollection of him in the mysteries of theSEMICUACUA, a somewhat corybantic dance which left much to the inventionof the performers, and very little to the imagination of the spectator.In one of the figures a gaudy handkerchief, waved more or lessgracefully by dancer and danseuse before the dazzled eyes of each other,acted as love's signal, and was used to express alternate admirationand indifference, shyness and audacity, fear and transport, coynessand coquetry, as the dance proceeded. I need not say that Enriquez'pantomimic illustration of these emotions was peculiarly extravagant;but it was always performed and accepted with a gravity that was anessential feature of the dance. At such times sighs would escape himwhich were supposed to portray the incipient stages of passion;snorts of jealousy burst from him at the suggestion of a rival; he wasovertaken by a sort of St. Vitus's dance that expressed his timidity inmaking the first advances of affection; the scorn of his ladylove struckhim with something like a dumb ague; and a single gesture of invitationfrom her produced marked delirium. All this was very like Enriquez; buton the particular occasion to which I refer, I think no one was preparedto see him begin the figure with the waving of FOUR handkerchiefs! Yetthis he did, pirouetting, capering, brandishing his silken signals likea ballerina's scarf in the languishment or fire of passion, until, in afinal figure, where the conquered and submitting fair one usuallysinks into the arms of her partner, need it be said that the ingeniousEnriquez was found in the center of the floor supporting four of thedancers! Yet he was by no means unduly excited either by the plaudits ofthe crowd or by his evident success with the fair. "Ah, believe me, itis nothing," he said quietly, rolling a fresh cigarette as he leanedagainst the doorway. "Possibly, I shall have to offer the chocolate orthe wine to thees girls, or make to them a promenade in the moonlighton the veranda. It is ever so. Unless, my friend," he said, suddenlyturning toward me in an excess of chivalrous self-abnegation, "unlessyou shall yourself take my place. Behold, I gif them to you! I vamos!I vanish! I make track! I skedaddle!" I think he would have carriedhis extravagance to the point of summoning his four gypsy witches ofpartners, and committing them to my care, if the crowd had not atthat moment parted before the remaining dancers, and left one ofthe onlookers, a tall, slender girl, calmly surveying them throughgold-rimmed eyeglasses in complete critical absorption. I stared inamazement and consternation; for I recognized in the fair stranger MissUrania Mannersley, the Congregational minister's niece!

  Everybody knew Rainie Mannersley throughout the length and breadth ofthe Encinal. She was at once the envy and the goad of the daughters ofthose Southwestern and Eastern immigrants who had settled in the valley.She was correct, she was critical, she was faultless and observant. Shewas proper, yet independent; she was highly educated; she was suspectedof knowing Latin and Greek; she even spelled correctly! She could witherthe plainest field nosegay in the hands of other girls by giving theflowers their botanical names. She never said "Ain't you?" but "Aren'tyou?" She looked upon "Did I which?" as an incomplete and imperfectform of "What did I do?" She quoted from Browning and Tennyson, and wasbelieved to have read them. She was from Boston. What could she possiblybe doing at a free-and-easy fandango?

  Even if these facts were not already familiar to everyone there, heroutward appearance would have attracted attention. Contrasted withthe gorgeous red, black, and yellow skirts of the dancers, herplain, tightly fitting gown and hat, all of one delicate gray, weresufficiently notable in themselves, even had they not seemed, like thegirl herself, a kind of quiet protest to the glaring flounces beforeher. Her small, straight waist and flat back brought into greater reliefthe corsetless, waistless, swaying figures of the Mexican girls, and herlong, slim, well-booted feet, peeping from the stiff, white edges of hershort skirt, made their broad, low-quartered slippers, held on by thebig toe, appear more preposterous than ever. Suddenly she seemedto realize that she was standing there alone, but
without fear orembarrassment. She drew back a little, glancing carelessly behind heras if missing some previous companion, and then her eyes fell upon mine.She smiled an easy recognition; then a moment later, her glance restedmore curiously upon Enriquez, who was still by my side. I disengagedmyself and instantly joined her, particularly as I noticed that a few ofthe other bystanders were beginning to stare at her with little reserve.

  "Isn't it the most extraordinary thing you ever saw?" she said quietly.Then, presently noticing the look of embarrassment on my face, she wenton, more by way of conversation than of explanation:

  "I just left uncle making a call on a parishioner next door, and wasgoing home with Jocasta (a peon servant of her uncle's), when I heardthe music, and dropped in. I don't know what has become of her," sheadded, glancing round the room again; "she seemed perfectly wild whenshe saw that creature over there bounding about with his handkerchiefs.You were speaking to him just now. Do tell me--is he real?"

  "I should think there was little doubt of that," I said with a vaguelaugh.

  "You know what I mean," she said simply. "Is he quite sane? Does he dothat because he likes it, or is he paid for it?"

  This was too much. I pointed out somewhat hurriedly that he was a scionof one of the oldest Castilian families, that the performance was anational gypsy dance which he had joined in as a patriot and a patron,and that he was my dearest friend. At the same time I was conscious thatI wished she hadn't seen his last performance.

  "You don't mean to say that all that he did was in the dance?" she said."I don't believe it. It was only like him." As I hesitated over thispalpable truth, she went on: "I do wish he'd do it again. Don't youthink you could make him?"

  "Perhaps he might if YOU asked him," I said a little maliciously.

  "Of course I shouldn't do that," she returned quietly. "All the same, Ido believe he is really going to do it--or something else. Do look!"

  I looked, and to my horror saw that Enriquez, possibly incited by thedelicate gold eyeglasses of Miss Mannersley, had divested himself ofhis coat, and was winding the four handkerchiefs, tied together,picturesquely around his waist, preparatory to some new performance. Itried furtively to give him a warning look, but in vain.

  "Isn't he really too absurd for anything?" said Miss Mannersley, yetwith a certain comfortable anticipation in her voice. "You know, I neversaw anything like this before. I wouldn't have believed such a creaturecould have existed."

  Even had I succeeded in warning him, I doubt if it would have been ofany avail. For, seizing a guitar from one of the musicians, he struck afew chords, and suddenly began to zigzag into the center of the floor,swaying his body languishingly from side to side in time with themusic and the pitch of a thin Spanish tenor. It was a gypsy love song.Possibly Miss Mannersley's lingual accomplishments did not include aknowledge of Castilian, but she could not fail to see that the gesturesand illustrative pantomime were addressed to her. Passionately assuringher that she was the most favored daughter of the Virgin, that her eyeswere like votive tapers, and yet in the same breath accusing her ofbeing a "brigand" and "assassin" in her attitude toward "his heart," hebalanced with quivering timidity toward her, threw an imaginary cloakin front of her neat boots as a carpet for her to tread on, and with afinal astonishing pirouette and a languishing twang of his guitar, sankon one knee, and blew, with a rose, a kiss at her feet.

  If I had been seriously angry with him before for his grotesqueextravagance, I could have pitied him now for the young girl's absoluteunconsciousness of anything but his utter ludicrousness. The applauseof dancers and bystanders was instantaneous and hearty; her onlycontribution to it was a slight parting of her thin red lips in ahalf-incredulous smile. In the silence that followed the applause, asEnriquez walked pantingly away, I heard her saying, half to herself,"Certainly a most extraordinary creature!" In my indignation I could nothelp turning suddenly upon her and looking straight into her eyes. Theywere brown, with that peculiar velvet opacity common to the pupils ofnearsighted persons, and seemed to defy internal scrutiny. She onlyrepeated carelessly, "Isn't he?" and added: "Please see if you can findJocasta. I suppose we ought to be going now; and I dare say he won't bedoing it again. Ah! there she is. Good gracious, child! what have yougot there?"

  It was Enriquez' rose which Jocasta had picked up, and was timidlyholding out toward her mistress.

  "Heavens! I don't want it. Keep it yourself."

  I walked with them to the door, as I did not fancy a certain glitter inthe black eyes of the Senoritas Manuela and Pepita, who were watchingher curiously. But I think she was as oblivious of this as she was ofEnriquez' particular attentions. As we reached the street I felt that Iought to say something more.

  "You know," I began casually, "that although those poor people meet herein this public way, their gathering is really quite a homely pastoraland a national custom; and these girls are all honest, hardworking peonsor servants enjoying themselves in quite the old idyllic fashion."

  "Certainly," said the young girl, half-abstractedly. "Of course it'sa Moorish dance, originally brought over, I suppose, by those oldAndalusian immigrants two hundred years ago. It's quite Arabic in itssuggestions. I have got something like it in an old CANCIONERO I pickedup at a bookstall in Boston. But," she added, with a gasp of reminiscentsatisfaction, "that's not like HIM! Oh, no! HE is decidedly original.Heavens! yes."

  I turned away in some discomfiture to join Enriquez, who was calmlyawaiting me, with a cigarette in his mouth, outside the sala. Yet helooked so unconscious of any previous absurdity that I hesitated in whatI thought was a necessary warning. He, however, quickly precipitated it.Glancing after the retreating figures of the two women, he said: "Theesmees from Boston is return to her house. You do not accompany her? Ishall. Behold me--I am there." But I linked my arm firmly in his. ThenI pointed out, first, that she was already accompanied by a servant;secondly, that if I, who knew her, had hesitated to offer myself as anescort, it was hardly proper for him, a perfect stranger, to take thatliberty; that Miss Mannersley was very punctilious of etiquette, whichhe, as a Castilian gentleman, ought to appreciate.

  "But will she not regard lofe--the admiration excessif?" he said,twirling his thin little mustache meditatively.

  "No; she will not," I returned sharply; "and you ought to understandthat she is on a different level from your Manuelas and Carmens."

  "Pardon, my friend," he said gravely; "thees women are ever the same.There is a proverb in my language. Listen: 'Whether the sharp blade ofthe Toledo pierce the satin or the goatskin, it shall find behind itever the same heart to wound.' I am that Toledo blade--possibly it isyou, my friend. Wherefore, let us together pursue this girl of Boston onthe instant."

  But I kept my grasp on Enriquez' arm, and succeeded in restraining hismercurial impulses for the moment. He halted, and puffed vigorously athis cigarette; but the next instant he started forward again. "Let us,however, follow with discretion in the rear; we shall pass her house; weshall gaze at it; it shall touch her heart."

  Ridiculous as was this following of the young girl we had only justparted from, I nevertheless knew that Enriquez was quite capable ofattempting it alone, and I thought it better to humor him by consentingto walk with him in that direction; but I felt it necessary to say:

  "I ought to warn you that Miss Mannersley already looks upon yourperformances at the sala as something outre and peculiar, and if I wereyou I shouldn't do anything to deepen that impression."

  "You are saying she ees shock?" said Enriquez, gravely.

  I felt I could not conscientiously say that she was shocked, and he sawmy hesitation. "Then she have jealousy of the senoritas," he observed,with insufferable complacency. "You observe! I have already said. It isever so."

  I could stand it no longer. "Look here, Harry," I said, "if you mustknow it, she looks upon you as an acrobat--a paid performer."

  "Ah!"--his black eyes sparkled--"the torero, the man who fights thebull, he is also an acrobat."

  "Y
es; but she thinks you a clown!--a GRACIOSO DE TEATRO--there!"

  "Then I have make her laugh?" he said coolly.

  I don't think he had; but I shrugged my shoulders.

  "BUENO!" he said cheerfully. "Lofe, he begin with a laugh, he makefeenish with a sigh."

  I turned to look at him in the moonlight. His face presented itshabitual Spanish gravity--a gravity that was almost ironical. Hissmall black eyes had their characteristic irresponsible audacity--theirresponsibility of the vivacious young animal. It could not bepossible that he was really touched with the placid frigidities ofMiss Mannersley. I remembered his equally elastic gallantries with MissPinkey Smith, a blonde Western belle, from which both had harmlesslyrebounded. As we walked on slowly I continued more persuasively: "Ofcourse this is only your nonsense; but don't you see, Miss Mannersleythinks it all in earnest and really your nature?" I hesitated, forit suddenly struck me that it WAS really his nature. "And--hang itall!--you don't want her to believe you a common buffoon., or someintoxicated muchacho."

  "Intoxicated?" repeated Enriquez, with exasperating languishment. "Yes;that is the word that shall express itself. My friend, you have madea shot in the center--you have ring the bell every time! It isintoxication--but not of aguardiente. Look! I have long time an ancestorof whom is a pretty story. One day in church he have seen a younggirl--a mere peasant girl--pass to the confessional. He look her inher eye, he stagger"--here Enriquez wobbled pantomimically into theroad--"he fall!"--he would have suited the action to the word if I hadnot firmly held him up. "They have taken him home, where he have remainwithout his clothes, and have dance and sing. But it was the drunkennessof lofe. And, look you, thees village girl was a nothing, not evenpretty. The name of my ancestor was--"

  "Don Quixote de La Mancha," I suggested maliciously. "I suspected asmuch. Come along. That will do."

  "My ancestor's name," continued Enriquez, gravely, "was AntonioHermenegildo de Salvatierra, which is not the same. Thees Don Quixote ofwhom you speak exist not at all."

  "Never mind. Only, for heaven's sake, as we are nearing the house, don'tmake a fool of yourself again."

  It was a wonderful moonlight night. The deep redwood porch of theMannersley parsonage, under the shadow of a great oak--the largest inthe Encinal--was diapered in black and silver. As the women steppedupon the porch their shadows were silhouetted against the door. MissMannersley paused for an instant, and turned to give a last look at thebeauty of the night as Jocasta entered. Her glance fell upon us aswe passed. She nodded carelessly and unaffectedly to me, but as sherecognized Enriquez she looked a little longer at him with her previouscold and invincible curiosity. To my horror Enriquez began instantly toaffect a slight tremulousness of gait and a difficulty of breathing; butI gripped his arm savagely, and managed to get him past the house as thedoor closed finally on the young lady.

  "You do not comprehend, friend Pancho," he said gravely, "but those eyesin their glass are as the ESPEJO USTORIO, the burning mirror. They burn,they consume me here like paper. Let us affix to ourselves thees tree.She will, without doubt, appear at her window. We shall salute her forgood night."

  "We will do nothing of the kind," I said sharply. Finding that I wasdetermined, he permitted me to lead him away. I was delighted tonotice, however, that he had indicated the window which I knew wasthe minister's study, and that as the bedrooms were in the rear of thehouse, this later incident was probably not overseen by the young ladyor the servant. But I did not part from Enriquez until I saw himsafely back to the sala, where I left him sipping chocolate, hisarm alternating around the waists of his two previous partners in adelightful Arcadian and childlike simplicity, and an apparent utterforgetfulness of Miss Mannersley.

  The fandangos were usually held on Saturday night, and the next day,being Sunday, I missed Enriquez; but as he was a devout Catholic Iremembered that he was at mass in the morning, and possibly at thebullfight at San Antonio in the afternoon. But I was somewhat surprisedon the Monday morning following, as I was crossing the plaza, to havemy arm taken by the Rev. Mr. Mannersley in the nearest approach tofamiliarity that was consistent with the reserve of this eminent divine.I looked at him inquiringly. Although scrupulously correct in attire,his features always had a singular resemblance to the nationalcaricature known as "Uncle Sam," but with the humorous expressionleft out. Softly stroking his goatee with three fingers, he begancondescendingly: "You are, I think, more or less familiar with thecharacteristics and customs of the Spanish as exhibited by the settlershere." A thrill of apprehension went through me. Had he heard ofEnriquez' proceedings? Had Miss Mannersley cruelly betrayed him to heruncle? "I have not given that attention myself to their language andsocial peculiarities," he continued, with a large wave of the hand,"being much occupied with a study of their religious beliefs andsuperstitions"--it struck me that this was apt to be a common fault ofpeople of the Mannersley type--"but I have refrained from a personaldiscussion of them; on the contrary, I have held somewhat broad viewson the subject of their remarkable missionary work, and have suggesteda scheme of co-operation with them, quite independent of doctrinalteaching, to my brethren of other Protestant Christian sects. Theseviews I first incorporated in a sermon last Sunday week, which I am toldhas created considerable attention." He stopped and coughed slightly. "Ihave not yet heard from any of the Roman clergy, but I am led to believethat my remarks were not ungrateful to Catholics generally."

  I was relieved, although still in some wonder why he should address meon this topic. I had a vague remembrance of having heard that he hadsaid something on Sunday which had offended some Puritans of hisflock, but nothing more. He continued: "I have just said that I wasunacquainted with the characteristics of the Spanish-American race. Ipresume, however, they have the impulsiveness of their Latin origin.They gesticulate--eh? They express their gratitude, their joy, theiraffection, their emotions generally, by spasmodic movements? Theynaturally dance--sing--eh?" A horrible suspicion crossed my mind;I could only stare helplessly at him. "I see," he said graciously;"perhaps it is a somewhat general question. I will explain myself.A rather singular occurrence happened to me the other night. I hadreturned from visiting a parishioner, and was alone in my studyreviewing my sermon for the next day. It must have been quite latebefore I concluded, for I distinctly remember my niece had returnedwith her servant fully an hour before. Presently I heard the sounds ofa musical instrument in the road, with the accents of someone singing orrehearsing some metrical composition in words that, although couchedin a language foreign to me, in expression and modulation gave me theimpression of being distinctly adulatory. For some little time, inthe greater preoccupation of my task, I paid little attention to theperformance; but its persistency at length drew me in no mere idlecuriosity to the window. From thence, standing in my dressing-gown,and believing myself unperceived, I noticed under the large oak in theroadside the figure of a young man who, by the imperfect light, appearedto be of Spanish extraction. But I evidently miscalculated my owninvisibility; for he moved rapidly forward as I came to the window, andin a series of the most extraordinary pantomimic gestures saluted me.Beyond my experience of a few Greek plays in earlier days, I confess Iam not an adept in the understanding of gesticulation; but it struck methat the various phases of gratitude, fervor, reverence, and exaltationwere successively portrayed. He placed his hands upon his head,his heart, and even clasped them together in this manner." To myconsternation the reverend gentleman here imitated Enriquez' mostextravagant pantomime. "I am willing to confess," he continued, "thatI was singularly moved by them, as well as by the highly creditable andChristian interest that evidently produced them. At last I opened thewindow. Leaning out, I told him that I regretted that the lateness ofthe hour prevented any further response from me than a grateful thoughhurried acknowledgment of his praiseworthy emotion, but that I should beglad to see him for a few moments in the vestry before service the nextday, or at early candlelight, before the meeting of the Bible class. Itold him that as my sole purpose had
been the creation of an evangelicalbrotherhood and the exclusion of merely doctrinal views, nothing couldbe more gratifying to me than his spontaneous and unsolicited testimonyto my motives. He appeared for an instant to be deeply affected, and,indeed, quite overcome with emotion, and then gracefully retired, withsome agility and a slight saltatory movement."

  He paused. A sudden and overwhelming idea took possession of me, andI looked impulsively into his face. Was it possible that for onceEnriquez' ironical extravagance had been understood, met, and vanquishedby a master hand? But the Rev. Mr. Mannersley's self-satisfied facebetrayed no ambiguity or lurking humor. He was evidently in earnest; hehad complacently accepted for himself the abandoned Enriquez' serenadeto his niece. I felt a hysterical desire to laugh, but it was checked bymy companion's next words.

  "I informed my niece of the occurrence in the morning at breakfast. Shehad not heard anything of the strange performance, but she agreed withme as to its undoubted origin in a grateful recognition of my liberalefforts toward his coreligionists. It was she, in fact, who suggestedthat your knowledge of these people might corroborate my impressions."

  I was dumfounded. Had Miss Mannersley, who must have recognizedEnriquez' hand in this, concealed the fact in a desire to shield him?But this was so inconsistent with her utter indifference to him, exceptas a grotesque study, that she would have been more likely to tellher uncle all about his previous performance. Nor could it be that shewished to conceal her visit to the fandango. She was far too independentfor that, and it was even possible that the reverend gentleman, in hisdesire to know more of Enriquez' compatriots, would not have objected.In my confusion I meekly added my conviction to hers, congratulated himupon his evident success, and slipped away. But I was burning witha desire to see Enriquez and know all. He was imaginative but notuntruthful. Unfortunately, I learned that he was just then following oneof his erratic impulses, and had gone to a rodeo at his cousin's, inthe foothills, where he was alternately exercising his horsemanship incatching and breaking wild cattle and delighting his relatives with hisincomparable grasp of the American language and customs, and of the airsof a young man of fashion. Then my thoughts recurred to Miss Mannersley.Had she really been oblivious that night to Enriquez' serenade? Iresolved to find out, if I could, without betraying Enriquez. Indeed, itwas possible, after all, that it might not have been he.

  Chance favored me. The next evening I was at a party whereMiss Mannersley, by reason of her position and quality, was adistinguished--I had almost written a popular--guest. But, as Ihave formerly stated, although the youthful fair of the Encinal wereflattered by her casual attentions, and secretly admired her superiorstyle and aristocratic calm, they were more or less uneasy under thedominance of her intelligence and education, and were afraid to attempteither confidence or familiarity. They were also singularly jealousof her, for although the average young man was equally afraid of hercleverness and her candor, he was not above paying a tremulous and timidcourt to her for its effect upon her humbler sisters. This evening shewas surrounded by her usual satellites, including, of course, the localnotables and special guests of distinction. She had been discussing,I think, the existence of glaciers on Mount Shasta with a spectacledgeologist, and had participated with charming frankness in aconversation on anatomy with the local doctor and a learned professor,when she was asked to take a seat at the piano. She played withremarkable skill and wonderful precision, but coldly and brilliantly.As she sat there in her subdued but perfectly fitting evening dress,her regular profile and short but slender neck firmly set upon her highshoulders, exhaling an atmosphere of refined puritanism and provocativeintelligence, the utter incongruity of Enriquez' extravagant attentionsif ironical, and their equal hopelessness if not, seemed to me plainerthan ever. What had this well-poised, coldly observant spinster to dowith that quaintly ironic ruffler, that romantic cynic, that rowdy DonQuixote, that impossible Enriquez? Presently she ceased playing. Herslim, narrow slipper, revealing her thin ankle, remained upon thepedal; her delicate fingers were resting idly on the keys; her head wasslightly thrown back, and her narrow eyebrows prettily knit toward theceiling in an effort of memory.

  "Something of Chopin's," suggested the geologist, ardently.

  "That exquisite sonata!" pleaded the doctor.

  "Suthin' of Rubinstein. Heard him once," said a gentleman of Siskiyou."He just made that pianner get up and howl. Play Rube."

  She shook her head with parted lips and a slight touch of girlishcoquetry in her manner. Then her fingers suddenly dropped upon the keyswith a glassy tinkle; there were a few quick pizzicato chords, down wentthe low pedal with a monotonous strumming, and she presently began tohum to herself. I started--as well I might--for I recognized one ofEnriquez' favorite and most extravagant guitar solos. It was audacious;it was barbaric; it was, I fear, vulgar. As I remembered it--as hesang it--it recounted the adventures of one Don Francisco, a provincialgallant and roisterer of the most objectionable type. It had one hundredand four verses, which Enriquez never spared me. I shuddered as in apleasant, quiet voice the correct Miss Mannersley warbled in musicalpraise of the PELLEJO, or wineskin, and a eulogy of the dicebox camecaressingly from her thin red lips. But the company was far differentlyaffected: the strange, wild air and wilder accompaniment were evidentlycatching; people moved toward the piano; somebody whistled the air froma distant corner; even the faces of the geologist and doctor brightened.

  "A tarantella, I presume?" blandly suggested the doctor.

  Miss Mannersley stopped, and rose carelessly from the piano. "It is aMoorish gypsy song of the fifteenth century," she said dryly.

  "It seemed sorter familiar, too," hesitated one of the young men,timidly, "like as if--don't you know?--you had without knowing it, don'tyou know?"--he blushed slightly--"sorter picked it up somewhere."

  "I 'picked it up,' as you call it, in the collection of medievalmanuscripts of the Harvard Library, and copied it," returned MissMannersley coldly as she turned away.

  But I was not inclined to let her off so easily. I presently made my wayto her side. "Your uncle was complimentary enough to consult me as tothe meaning of the appearance of a certain exuberant Spanish visitorat his house the other night." I looked into her brown eyes, but myown slipped off her velvety pupils without retaining anything. Then shereinforced her gaze with a pince-nez, and said carelessly:

  "Oh, it's you? How are you? Well, could you give him any information?"

  "Only generally," I returned, still looking into her eyes. "These peopleare impulsive. The Spanish blood is a mixture of gold and quicksilver."

  She smiled slightly. "That reminds me of your volatile friend. He wasmercurial enough, certainly. Is he still dancing?"

  "And singing sometimes," I responded pointedly. But she only addedcasually, "A singular creature," without exhibiting the leastconsciousness, and drifted away, leaving me none the wiser. I felt thatEnriquez alone could enlighten me. I must see him.

  I did, but not in the way I expected. There was a bullfight at SanAntonio the next Saturday afternoon, the usual Sunday performance beingchanged in deference to the Sabbatical habits of the Americans. Anadditional attraction was offered in the shape of a bull-and-bear fight,also a concession to American taste, which had voted the bullfight"slow," and had averred that the bull "did not get a fair show." I amglad that I am able to spare the reader the usual realistic horrors, forin the Californian performances there was very little of the brutalitythat distinguished this function in the mother country. The horses werenot miserable, worn-out hacks, but young and alert mustangs; and thedisplay of horsemanship by the picadors was not only wonderful, butsecured an almost absolute safety to horse and rider. I never sawa horse gored; although unskillful riders were sometimes thrown inwheeling quickly to avoid the bull's charge, they generally regainedtheir animals without injury.

  The Plaza de Toros was reached through the decayed and tile-strewnoutskirts of an old Spanish village. It was a rudely built ovalamphitheater, with crumbling, whi
tewashed adobe walls, and roofed onlyover portions of the gallery reserved for the provincial "notables," butnow occupied by a few shopkeepers and their wives, with a sprinkling ofAmerican travelers and ranchmen. The impalpable adobe dust of the arenawas being whirled into the air by the strong onset of the afternoontrade winds, which happily, however, helped also to dissipate a reekof garlic, and the acrid fumes of cheap tobacco rolled in cornhuskcigarettes. I was leaning over the second barrier, waiting for themeager and circuslike procession to enter with the keys of the bull pen,when my attention was attracted to a movement in the reserved gallery.A lady and gentleman of a quality that was evidently unfamiliar to therest of the audience were picking their way along the rickety benchesto a front seat. I recognized the geologist with some surprise, and thelady he was leading with still greater astonishment. For it was MissMannersley, in her precise, well-fitting walking-costume--a monotone ofsober color among the parti-colored audience.

  However, I was perhaps less surprised than the audience, for I was notonly becoming as accustomed to the young girl's vagaries as I had beento Enriquez' extravagance, but I was also satisfied that her unclemight have given her permission to come, as a recognition of the Sundayconcession of the management, as well as to conciliate his supposedCatholic friends. I watched her sitting there until the first bullhad entered, and, after a rather brief play with the picadors andbanderilleros, was dispatched. At the moment when the matador approachedthe bull with his lethal weapon I was not sorry for an excuse to glanceat Miss Mannersley. Her hands were in her lap, her head slightly bentforward over her knees. I fancied that she, too, had dropped hereyes before the brutal situation; to my horror, I saw that she had adrawing-book in her hand and was actually sketching it. I turned my eyesin preference to the dying bull.

  The second animal led out for this ingenious slaughter was, however,more sullen, uncertain, and discomposing to his butchers. He acceptedthe irony of a trial with gloomy, suspicious eyes, and he declinedthe challenge of whirling and insulting picadors. He bristled withbanderillas like a hedgehog, but remained with his haunches backedagainst the barrier, at times almost hidden in the fine dust raised bythe monotonous stroke of his sullenly pawing hoof--his one dull, heavyprotest. A vague uneasiness had infected his adversaries; the picadorsheld aloof, the banderilleros skirmished at a safe distance. Theaudience resented only the indecision of the bull. Galling epithetswere flung at him, followed by cries of "ESPADA!" and, curving his elbowunder his short cloak, the matador, with his flashing blade in hand,advanced and--stopped. The bull remained motionless.

  For at that moment a heavier gust of wind than usual swept down uponthe arena, lifted a suffocating cloud of dust, and whirled it around thetiers of benches and the balcony, and for a moment seemed to stop theperformance. I heard an exclamation from the geologist, who had risen tohis feet. I fancied I heard even a faint cry from Miss Mannersley; butthe next moment, as the dust was slowly settling, we saw a sheetof paper in the air, that had been caught up in this brief cyclone,dropping, dipping from side to side on uncertain wings, until it slowlydescended in the very middle of the arena. It was a leaf from MissMannersley's sketchbook, the one on which she had been sketching.

  In the pause that followed it seemed to be the one object that at lastexcited the bull's growing but tardy ire. He glanced at it with murky,distended eyes; he snorted at it with vague yet troubled fury. Whetherhe detected his own presentment in Miss Mannersley's sketch, orwhether he recognized it as an unknown and unfamiliar treachery in hissurroundings, I could not conjecture; for the next moment the matador,taking advantage of the bull's concentration, with a complacent leer atthe audience, advanced toward the paper. But at that instant a youngman cleared the barrier into the arena with a single bound, shoved thematador to one side, caught up the paper, turned toward the balconyand Miss Mannersley with a gesture of apology, dropped gaily before thebull, knelt down before him with an exaggerated humility, and held upthe drawing as if for his inspection. A roar of applause broke from theaudience, a cry of warning and exasperation from the attendants, as thegoaded bull suddenly charged the stranger. But he sprang to one sidewith great dexterity, made a courteous gesture to the matador as ifpassing the bull over to him, and still holding the paper in his hand,re-leaped the barrier, and rejoined the audience in safety. I did notwait to see the deadly, dominant thrust with which the matador receivedthe charging bull; my eyes were following the figure now bounding up thesteps to the balcony, where with an exaggerated salutation he laid thedrawing in Miss Mannersley's lap and vanished. There was no mistakingthat thin lithe form, the narrow black mustache, and gravely dancingeyes. The audacity of conception, the extravagance of execution, thequaint irony of the sequel, could belong to no one but Enriquez.

  I hurried up to her as the six yoked mules dragged the carcass of thebull away. She was placidly putting up her book, the unmoved focus ofa hundred eager and curious eyes. She smiled slightly as she saw me. "Iwas just telling Mr. Briggs what an extraordinary creature it was, andhow you knew him. He must have had great experience to do that sort ofthing so cleverly and safely. Does he do it often? Of course, not justthat. But does he pick up cigars and things that I see they throw to thematador? Does he belong to the management? Mr. Briggs thinks the wholething was a feint to distract the bull," she added, with a wicked glanceat the geologist, who, I fancied, looked disturbed.

  "I am afraid," I said dryly, "that his act was as unpremeditated andgenuine as it was unusual."

  "Why afraid?"

  It was a matter-of-fact question, but I instantly saw my mistake. Whatright had I to assume that Enriquez' attentions were any more genuinethan her own easy indifference; and if I suspected that they were, wasit fair in me to give my friend away to this heartless coquette?"You are not very gallant," she said, with a slight laugh, as I washesitating, and turned away with her escort before I could frame areply. But at least Enriquez was now accessible, and I should gain someinformation from him. I knew where to find him, unless he were stilllounging about the building, intent upon more extravagance; but Iwaited until I saw Miss Mannersley and Briggs depart without furtherinterruption.

  The hacienda of Ramon Saltillo, Enriquez' cousin, was on the outskirtsof the village. When I arrived there I found Enriquez' pinto mustangsteaming in the corral, and although I was momentarily delayed by theservants at the gateway, I was surprised to find Enriquez himself lyinglanguidly on his back in a hammock in the patio. His arms were hangingdown listlessly on each side as if in the greatest prostration, yet Icould not resist the impression that the rascal had only just got intothe hammock when he heard of my arrival.

  "You have arrived, friend Pancho, in time," he said, in accents ofexaggerated weakness. "I am absolutely exhaust. I am bursted, caved in,kerflummoxed. I have behold you, my friend, at the barrier. I speak not,I make no sign at the first, because I was on fire; I speak not at thefeenish--for I am exhaust."

  "I see; the bull made it lively for you."

  He instantly bounded up in the hammock. "The bull! Caramba! Not athousand bulls! And thees one, look you, was a craven. I snap my fingersover his horn; I roll my cigarette under his nose."

  "Well, then--what was it?"

  He instantly lay down again, pulling up the sides of the hammock.Presently his voice came from its depths, appealing in hollow tones tothe sky. "He asks me--thees friend of my soul, thees brother of my life,thees Pancho that I lofe--what it was? He would that I should tell himwhy I am game in the legs, why I shake in the hand, crack in the voice,and am generally wipe out! And yet he, my pardner--thees Francisco--knowthat I have seen the mees from Boston! That I have gaze into the eye,touch the hand, and for the instant possess the picture that hand havedrawn! It was a sublime picture, Pancho," he said, sitting up againsuddenly, "and have kill the bull before our friend Pepe's sword havetouch even the bone of hees back and make feenish of him."

  "Look here, Enriquez," I said bluntly, "have you been serenading thatgirl?"

  He shrugged his shoulders
without the least embarrassment, and said:"Ah, yes. What would you? It is of a necessity."

  "Well," I retorted, "then you ought to know that her uncle took it all tohimself--thought you some grateful Catholic pleased with his religioustolerance."

  He did not even smile. "BUENO," he said gravely. "That make something,too. In thees affair it is well to begin with the duenna. He is theduenna."

  "And," I went on relentlessly, "her escort told her just now that yourexploit in the bull ring was only a trick to divert the bull, suggestedby the management."

  "Bah! her escort is a geologian. Naturally, she is to him as a stone."

  I would have continued, but a peon interrupted us at this moment with asign to Enriquez, who leaped briskly from the hammock, bidding me waithis return from a messenger in the gateway.

  Still unsatisfied of mind, I waited, and sat down in the hammock thatEnriquez had quitted. A scrap of paper was lying in its meshes, whichat first appeared to be of the kind from which Enriquez rolled hiscigarettes; but as I picked it up to throw it away, I found it was ofmuch firmer and stouter material. Looking at it more closely, I wassurprised to recognize it as a piece of the tinted drawing-paper tornoff the "block" that Miss Mannersley had used. It had been deeplycreased at right angles as if it had been folded; it looked as if itmight have been the outer half of a sheet used for a note.

  It might have been a trifling circumstance, but it greatly excited mycuriosity. I knew that he had returned the sketch to Miss Mannersley,for I had seen it in her hand. Had she given him another? And if so, whyhad it been folded to the destruction of the drawing? Or was it partof a note which he had destroyed? In the first impulse of discoveryI walked quickly with it toward the gateway where Enriquez haddisappeared, intending to restore it to him. He was just outside talkingwith a young girl. I started, for it was Jocasta--Miss Mannersley'smaid.

  With this added discovery came that sense of uneasiness and indignationwith which we illogically are apt to resent the withholding of afriend's confidence, even in matters concerning only himself. It was nouse for me to reason that it was no business of mine, that he was rightin keeping a secret that concerned another--and a lady; but I was afraidI was even more meanly resentful because the discovery quite upset mytheory of his conduct and of Miss Mannersley's attitude toward him. Icontinued to walk on to the gateway, where I bade Enriquez a hurriedgood-by, alleging the sudden remembrance of another engagement, butwithout appearing to recognize the girl, who was moving away when, tomy further discomfiture, the rascal stopped me with an appealing wink,threw his arms around my neck, whispered hoarsely in my ear, "Ah! yousee--you comprehend--but you are the mirror of discretion!" and returnedto Jocasta. But whether this meant that he had received a message fromMiss Mannersley, or that he was trying to suborn her maid to carry one,was still uncertain. He was capable of either. During the next twoor three weeks I saw him frequently; but as I had resolved to try theeffect of ignoring Miss Mannersley in our conversation, I gatheredlittle further of their relations, and, to my surprise, after one or twocharacteristic extravagances of allusion, Enriquez dropped the subject,too. Only one afternoon, as we were parting, he said carelessly: "Myfriend, you are going to the casa of Mannersley tonight. I too have thehonor of the invitation. But you will be my Mercury--my Leporello--youwill take of me a message to thees Mees Boston, that I am crushed,desolated, prostrate, and flabbergasted--that I cannot arrive, for Ihave of that night to sit up with the grand-aunt of my brother-in-law,who has a quinsy to the death. It is sad."

  This was the first indication I had received of Miss Mannersley'sadvances. I was equally surprised at Enriquez' refusal.

  "Nonsense!" I said bluntly. "Nothing keeps you from going."

  "My friend," returned Enriquez, with a sudden lapse into languishmentthat seemed to make him absolutely infirm, "it is everything thatshall restrain me. I am not strong. I shall become weak of the knee andtremble under the eye of Mees Boston. I shall precipitate myself to thegeologian by the throat. Ask me another conundrum that shall be easy."

  He seemed idiotically inflexible, and did not go. But I did. I foundMiss Mannersley exquisitely dressed and looking singularly animated andpretty. The lambent glow of her inscrutable eye as she turned toward memight have been flattering but for my uneasiness in regard to Enriquez.I delivered his excuses as naturally as I could. She stiffened for aninstant, and seemed an inch higher. "I am so sorry," she said at last ina level voice. "I thought he would have been so amusing. Indeed, I hadhoped we might try an old Moorish dance together which I have found andwas practicing."

  "He would have been delighted, I know. It's a great pity he didn't comewith me," I said quickly; "but," I could not help adding, with emphasison her words, "he is such an 'extraordinary creature,' you know."

  "I see nothing extraordinary in his devotion to an aged relative,"returned Miss Mannersley quietly as she turned away, "except that itjustifies my respect for his character."

  I do not know why I did not relate this to him. Possibly I had given uptrying to understand them; perhaps I was beginning to have an idea thathe could take care of himself. But I was somewhat surprised a few dayslater when, after asking me to go with him to a rodeo at his uncle's headded composedly, "You will meet Mees Boston."

  I stared, and but for his manner would have thought it part of hisextravagance. For the rodeo--a yearly chase of wild cattle for thepurpose of lassoing and branding them--was a rather brutal affair,and purely a man's function; it was also a family affair--a propertystock-taking of the great Spanish cattle-owners--and strangers,particularly Americans, found it difficult to gain access to itsmysteries and the fiesta that followed.

  "But how did she get an invitation?" I asked. "You did not dare toask--" I began.

  "My friend," said Enriquez, with a singular deliberation, "the great andrespectable Boston herself, and her serene, venerable oncle, and otherBoston magnificos, have of a truth done me the inexpressible honor tosolicit of my degraded, papistical oncle that she shall come--that sheshall of her own superior eye behold the barbaric customs of our race."

  His tone and manner were so peculiar that I stepped quickly before him,laid my hands on his shoulders, and looked down into his face. But theactual devil which I now for the first time saw in his eyes went outof them suddenly, and he relapsed again in affected languishment in hischair. "I shall be there, friend Pancho," he said, with a preposterousgasp. "I shall nerve my arm to lasso the bull, and tumble him before herat her feet. I shall throw the 'buck-jump' mustang at the same sacredspot. I shall pluck for her the buried chicken at full speed from theground, and present it to her. You shall see it, friend Pancho. I shallbe there."

  He was as good as his word. When Don Pedro Amador, his uncle, installedMiss Mannersley, with Spanish courtesy, on a raised platform in the longvalley where the rodeo took place, the gallant Enriquez selected a bullfrom the frightened and galloping herd, and, cleverly isolating himfrom the band, lassoed his hind legs, and threw him exactly before theplatform where Miss Mannersley was seated. It was Enriquez who caughtthe unbroken mustang, sprang from his own saddle to the bare back of hiscaptive, and with the lasso for a bridle, halted him on rigid haunchesat Miss Mannersley's feet. It was Enriquez who, in the sports thatfollowed, leaned from his saddle at full speed, caught up the chickenburied to its head in the sand, without wringing its neck, and tossedit unharmed and fluttering toward his mistress. As for her, she worethe same look of animation that I had seen in her face at our previousmeeting. Although she did not bring her sketchbook with her, as at thebullfight, she did not shrink from the branding of the cattle, whichtook place under her very eyes.

  Yet I had never seen her and Enriquez together; they had never, to myactual knowledge, even exchanged words. And now, although she was theguest of his uncle, his duties seemed to keep him in the field, andapart from her. Nor, as far as I could detect, did either apparentlymake any effort to have it otherwise. The peculiar circumstance seemedto attract no attention from anyone else. But f
or what I alone knew--orthought I knew--of their actual relations, I should have thought themstrangers.

  But I felt certain that the fiesta which took place in the broad patioof Don Pedro's casa would bring them together. And later in the evening,as we were all sitting on the veranda watching the dancing of theMexican women, whose white-flounced sayas were monotonously rising andfalling to the strains of two melancholy harps, Miss Mannersley rejoinedus from the house. She seemed to be utterly absorbed and abstracted inthe barbaric dances, and scarcely moved as she leaned over the railingwith her cheek resting on her hand. Suddenly she arose with a littlecry.

  "What is it?" asked two or three.

  "Nothing--only I have lost my fan." She had risen, and was lookingabstractedly on the floor.

  Half a dozen men jumped to their feet. "Let me fetch it," they said.

  "No, thank you. I think I know where it is, and will go for it myself."She was moving away.

  But Don Pedro interposed with Spanish gravity. Such a thing was not tobe heard of in his casa. If the senorita would not permit HIM--an oldman--to go for it, it must be brought by Enriquez, her cavalier of theday.

  But Enriquez was not to be found. I glanced at Miss Mannersley'ssomewhat disturbed face, and begged her to let me fetch it. I thought Isaw a flush of relief come into her pale cheek as she said, in a lowervoice, "On the stone seat in the garden."

  I hurried away, leaving Don Pedro still protesting. I knew the gardens,and the stone seat at an angle of the wall, not a dozen yards fromthe casa. The moon shone full upon it. There, indeed, lay the littlegray-feathered fan. But beside it, also, lay the crumpled blackgold-embroidered riding-gauntlet that Enriquez had worn at the rodeo.

  I thrust it hurriedly into my pocket, and ran back. As I passed throughthe gateway I asked a peon to send Enriquez to me. The man stared. Did Inot know that Don Enriquez had ridden away two minutes ago?

  When I reached the veranda, I handed the fan to Miss Mannersley withouta word. "BUENO," said Don Pedro, gravely; "it is as well. There shall beno bones broken over the getting of it, for Enriquez, I hear, has had toreturn to the Encinal this very evening."

  Miss Mannersley retired early. I did not inform her of my discovery, nordid I seek in any way to penetrate her secret. There was no doubt thatshe and Enriquez had been together, perhaps not for the first time; butwhat was the result of their interview? From the young girl's demeanorand Enriquez' hurried departure, I could only fear the worst for him.Had he been tempted into some further extravagance and been angrilyrebuked, or had he avowed a real passion concealed under his exaggeratedmask and been deliberately rejected? I tossed uneasily half the night,following in my dreams my poor friend's hurrying hoofbeats, and everstarting from my sleep at what I thought was the sound of gallopinghoofs.

  I rose early, and lounged into the patio; but others were there beforeme, and a small group of Don Pedro's family were excitedly discussingsomething, and I fancied they turned away awkwardly and consciously asI approached. There was an air of indefinite uneasiness everywhere. Astrange fear came over me with the chill of the early morning air. Hadanything happened to Enriquez? I had always looked upon his extravaganceas part of his playful humor. Could it be possible that under the stingof rejection he had made his grotesque threat of languishing effacementreal? Surely Miss Mannersley would know or suspect something, if it werethe case.

  I approached one of the Mexican women and asked if the senorita hadrisen. The woman started, and looked covertly round before she replied.Did not Don Pancho know that Miss Mannersley and her maid had not sleptin their beds that night, but had gone, none knew where?

  For an instant I felt an appalling sense of my own responsibility inthis suddenly serious situation, and hurried after the retreatingfamily group. But as I entered the corridor a vaquero touched me on theshoulder. He had evidently just dismounted, and was covered with thedust of the road. He handed me a note written in pencil on a leaffrom Miss Mannersley's sketchbook. It was in Enriquez' hand, and hissignature was followed by his most extravagant rubric.

  Friend Pancho: When you read this line you shall of a possibility thinkI am no more. That is where you shall slip up, my little brother! I ammuch more--I am two times as much, for I have marry Miss Boston. At theMission Church, at five of the morning, sharp! No cards shall be left! Ikiss the hand of my venerable uncle-in-law. You shall say to him thatwe fly to the South wilderness as the combined evangelical missionary tothe heathen! Miss Boston herself say this. Ta-ta! How are you now?

  Your own Enriquez.

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