The Bandolero; Or, A Marriage among the Mountains

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

  AT MATINS.

  It was the first time I had made my devotions in a Roman CatholicCathedral; and I shall not say that I then worshipped as I should havedone.

  Santa Gaudalupe--beautiful as the sensuous Mexican priesthood have hadthe cunning to conceive her--glorious as she appeared in her goldenshrine--was scarce regarded by me.

  More attractive were the black lace shawl and high comb of MercedesVilla-Senor--not for themselves, but for the lovely countenance I knewto be underneath them.

  I watched them with eyes that wandered not. In my heart I anathematisedthem as the most detestable screens ever interposed between a lover'seye and its idol.

  While engaged in her devotions a Mexican _senorita_ assumes threedistinct attitudes. She stands, she kneels, she _squats_. I regret myinability to express in more elegant phrase, that peculiar species ofgenuflexion, which may be described as the dropping down from thekneeling attitude to one a degree lower. It is a feat of femininegymnastics that has long mystified me; and I am not anatomist enougheither to comprehend or explain it.

  Mercedes Villa-Senor appeared perfect in every _pose_. Even her_squatting_ was graceful!

  I watched her changing attitudes as the ceremony proceeded--the chant,the prayer, the lesson. During all these she never once looked round.I thought she must be a _saint_--a thought scarce in keeping with theconjectures I had hitherto shaped concerning her.

  It gave me but slight pleasure to think she was so holy. I should havepreferred finding her human--that angel of angels!

  Dolores appeared less devout. At all events, she was less attentive toher prayers. Twenty times I perceived her eyes averted from the altar--turned toward the doorway--peering into shadowy aisles--lookingeverywhere but upon the officiating priest.

  His shaven crown had no attraction for her. She searched for theshining curls of "querido Francisco!"

  He was not in the Cathedral--at least, I could not see him. I had myown thoughts about the cause of his absence.

  Less accustomed to "sparkling wine," he had not borne its effects likethe boon companion who shared the revel along with him; or had not soreadily recovered from it.

  Certainly he was not there. So much the less trouble for Tia Josefa!

  I could have told Dolores a tale that would have given hergratification. I wanted to do as much for Mercedes.

  The time passed--chant and psalm, lesson and prayer, rapidly succeedingone another. Bells were tinkled, incense burnt, and wax candles carriedabout.

  Still kept Mercedes her eyes upon the altar; still seemed she absorbedby a ceremonial, which to me appeared more than absurd--idolatrous.

  In my heart I hated it worse than ever in my life. I could scarcerestrain myself from scowling upon the priest. I envied him theposition that could make his paltry performance so attractive--to eyeslike those then looking upon him.

  Thank heaven they are mine at last--at last!

  Yes: at last they were mine. I was seen, and recognised.

  I had entered the Cathedral without thought of worshipping at its altar.The love I carried in my heart was different from that inculcatedwithin those sacred walls--far different from that inscribed upon thetablet: "God is love." My love was human; and, perhaps, impure! Ishall not say that it was what it should have been--a love, such as weread of among troubadours and knights-errant of the olden time. I canlay claim to belong to no other class than that of the simple_adventurer_; who, with tongue, pen, or sword--as the chances turnedup--has been able, in some sort, to make his way through the world!

  In my designs there may have been selfishness; but not one iota in thepassion I felt for Mercedes Villa-Senor. It was too romantic to bemean.

  In her first glance I read recognition. Only that and nothing more,--atleast nothing to gratify me.

  But it was soon followed by another, on which I was pleased to place adifferent interpretation. It was the warm look that had won, and oncemore seemed to _welcome_ me!

  There was a third, and a fourth, timidly stolen through the fringe ofthe _chale_. The very stealth flattered my vanity, and gave a newimpulse to my hopes. There was more than one reason for it: thesacredness of the place; the reticence of maiden modesty; and perhapsmore than either: the presence of Tia Josefa.

  Again our glances met--mine given with all the ardour of a love longrestrained.

  Once more they met in sweet exchanging--once more, and once more. I hadwon Mercedes from her worship!

  No doubt it was wicked of me to feel joy at the thought; and, no doubt,I deserved the punishment that was in store for me.