University of Virginia Library

23. CHAPTER XXIII.
PRECAUTIONS AGAINST PERIL—NEW PROMISES FOR THE FUTURE.

That night of strife and perilous events was not yet
over, and it will be fitting that we return to Santo Domingo,
leaving the flying rebel to his fortunes on the sea,
and look into the progress of such other parties to our story
as have a claim to our regards. We left Vasco Nunez after
his brief pursuit of the cassique, a wondering spectator
of the scene in which the assassination of Garabito had
taken place. The dead body of that miscreant lay before
him beneath the tree where he had harboured himself for
the prosecution of his meditated crime, but which had
been fated to behold his own sudden and deserved punishment.
The noble enemy whom his scheme had threatened,
stooped down and inspected his wounds, and carefully felt
his heart to ascertain if help could yet be made available to
life. His own generous and unsuspecting nature never
for a moment conjectured the motive of Garabito's presence
in such a place, for any dishonourable object; and
could he have found any sign of life in the bosom of the
victim, his succour would have been bestowed as readily
as if demanded by his most precious friend. But though
obviously beyond all help of man, and skill of art, the
generous cavalier found no little difficulty in resolving
whether to leave the body where it was, or to convey it
for the remainder of the night to the shelter of his own
bohio; and his irresolution increased duly with the degree

of deliberation which he bestowed upon the subject. To
retire in silence leaving the body of a Christian man without
watch or tendance, and to the possible attack of the
mountain wolf, was scarcely justifiable to his own mind,
particularly when he remembered that that man had been
his bitter foe. To bear him away, and to be found with
his blood upon his hands or his carcass upon his shoulder,
was to subject himself to those suspicions of his murder,
which would have been natural enough when the conflict
was remembered which had taken place between the two
only the day just past. While he stood musing and yet bewildered,
the tread of a light footstep reached his ears, and
before he could place himself within the shadow of the fig
to which he retired, a third person came upon the scene
whom he at once recognised as the astrologer.

“Micer Codro,” said the cavalier in a low tone while
he re-advanced to the place of blood—“thou art come in
season to resolve me.”

“Thou livest! Jesu be praised—God is merciful—he
hath heard the prayer of a sinner. Oh, my son, bitter
have been my thoughts—great my fears—wonderful and
many the troublous doubts which I have had of thy fate
to-night. I dreaded that the uplifted dagger was in thy
heart; nay—did I not see the stroke? did not the blood
stream before and darken up all my sight? Tell me, my
son, by what holy help didst thou escape the danger?
Who turned aside the dagger? who came to thy succour
in the dreaded time? Speak! name the good being that I
may put another Christian name in the prayers of a hopeful
sinner.”

“Thy words are strange, Micer Codro; what danger is
this of which thou speakest? I have had no peril—I have
had no strife; and seest thou not, this is the body of mine
enemy—of Garabito.”

“Then he hath been in watch for thee, and thou hast
slain him!”

“Nay—arm of mine hath not been put forth in anger
since thou left'st me. I am guiltless of his blood.”

“Hah! can it be—and this? How is this—Wherefore?”

“I know not. I heard the shriek of one in sudden pain
as I left the cottage of Teresa.”

“Thou hast sought her—thou hast seen her, then, and
she—”

“Is nothing to the poor cavalier of fortune!” was the
bitter interruption. “We will say nothing more of her.
Let it be enough that, in justice to thee, I declare thy knowledge
of the woman's nature to be better than my own.”

“Yet I would, my son, thou hadst not sought one so
vain and insensible. I would—”

“Spare her thy reproaches—we will speak not of her
henceforward. As I have said, when I left the bohio, I
heard the cries of one in a sudden agony, and hurried to
the spot. There I saw this man upon the earth, and another
flying from him. I pursued the murderer but he
gained the hills ere I could compass the space between,
and failing in his pursuit I returned to the victim, whom,
until now, I knew not to be Garabito. Ere thou camest, I
was in doubt whether to bear the body with me.”

“Touch it not!” was the sudden exclamation of the
astrologer. “Wouldst thou be questioned for the deed,
as assuredly even now thou wilt if thou fliest not. Thou
must fly, Vasco Nunez—the hills must hide thee until
thou canst shake the dust of Española from thy feet; for,
of a surety, will the officers of Obando be upon thee, and
that selfish tyrant will gladly find fault in thee to wreak
his bitter hate upon thy head. They will fix this deed
upon thee.”

“Nay, I defy their malice. I have used no weapon
this night.”

“And what will thy bare assurance avail thee? Be sure
there has been a scheme set here for thy destruction. He
who slew Garabito was, perchance, thy friend. Why was
Garabito here—had he sought the Señora would he not
have gone to the bohio? But he sought thee—he sought
thee to slay thee in the dark as thou camest unheeding
from her habitation;—and look, is not this the drawn sword
of the assassin? Look, my son, does not this speak for the
murderous purposes of the villain, set on, perchance, by
murderous vain, cruel woman herself?”

“Peace, Micer Codro—thou speakest like a madman,
when thou speakest of her.”

“Do I not know her, my son?”

“No! even now thou dost not know her, if such is thy
knowledge. But I pray thee, speak of other persons and

things. It is true, this, which I saw not before, is the
sword of Garabito; but he seems not to have struck a
stroke with it against his enemy. It hath no fresh tokens
upon its blade.”

“He hath been taken from behind,” replied the astrologer,
who was busy inspecting the body. “See, the knife hath
gone down—a death, itself—between the neck and shoulder.
The assassin hath marked out special places for his strokes.
There are three, and any one of them were beyond the
succour of the leech. Be sure, his weapon hath done thee
service—Garabito hath lain in wait for thy coming.”

“I had not feared the coward were it so, but it cannot
be—a creature so worthless had not spirit even for the
secret business of the matador. His nerves had yielded at
the sound of my footstep—he had never lifted weapon to
my heart. No! no! He hath had no such purpose—an
enemy hath overtaken him as he drew nigh to the bohio—
and—but how idle is all this conjecture. Shall we not
take the body with us or give notice to his friends of the
place to find it?”

“Neither, my son. Let it lie, even where it was left
by the murderer—and do thou speed with me to the rocks
where I can put thee in secret till the truth be known and
thy safety made secure. There is a mystery in this matter,
and I fear me, a secret purpose among thy enemies to
entrap and to destroy thee. They will place this deed
against thee even couldst thou show thy hands white, and
thy blade undarkened by blood. Get thee in secret and I
will glean intelligence for thee of what they do, and what
may be done for thee. If thou hast many enemies, as the
lofty have ever, thou hast also friends among those to
whom the noble soul and the high purpose is dear, and
they shall be busy in thy behalf. But in flight alone canst
thou find safety now.”

“They will assume the flight as countenance for the
suspicion. 'Tis the guilty alone that fly,” said Vasco
Nunez.

“Alas! would this were true, but the world's history
proves against it. 'Tis the good that most fly from the
guilty, who are always bold in numbers, and by their
clamours strengthen themselves in evil while they drive
the few, the timid and the good, from the field which they
thence cover with blood, and make loathsome with the

licentiousness of their crime. It is no shame to fly from
these when it is not in thy power to contend with them.
The friends of Garabito, and Obando himself is a close
one, are thy foes already; and his death in the close
neighbourhood of the bohio of Davila, which thou art
known to seek nightly, and which many eyes may have
beheld thee seek to-night, will, when thy strife with him is
remembered, be strong presumption against thee. Fly,
then, if it be for the rest of the night and the morrow only,
until it be known what is said of the deed, and if thy name
be spoken when it is hinted among the people; I, meanwhile,
will go abroad and bring thee tidings, it may be of
good, which shall enable thee to come forth in safety.”

The arguments of the astrologer were those of plain
sense; and though for a long time resisted by the cavalier,
who felt some shame at a flight which argued guilt and
savoured of timidity, he yet yielded at last to the solicitations
of his companion, and prepared to fly while the night
lasted, to the secret places in the neighbouring mountains,
with which a war with the cassiques had already made
him familiar.

“I will but take Leonchico with me,” said Vasco Nunez,
as he moved from the spot, followed by his companion, in
the direction of his own dwelling. “They shall not make
the dog answer for the flight of the master, and if they follow
hard upon our footsteps in anger, there shall be two
foes to encounter instead of one; but thou spokest of signs
that affrighted thee, Micer Codro—and wherefore didst
thou think that I stood in danger from mine enemies?
What didst thou see in the heavens—in the aspect of that
star which thou hast so fondly assumed to be mine own?
Speak, my father, and if thou canst find for me a present
promise of good in its ever-changing aspects, then declare
it quickly to my ears, for never, since the day when my
feet first pressed the deck of the caravel which was to bear
me to the strange lands and waters, hath my heart sank
in sadness more grievous than is that which afflicts it now.
Never did I more perfectly need the consolation of a
friend, and the promise of the future than in this dim and
troublous hour.”

“And never yet hath thy star shot forth more favouring
glances than I gather from its aspects now. Strange and
sudden are its changing glories. But a little while, and it

spoke of the dagger of the assassin, hanging upon thy
path, and pointed at thy breast. Now—let us forward my
son, for crossing lights dazzle my eyes, and sudden malignant
fires start up and shoot along the path of thy fortune,
betokening still pressing danger, though the aspect of thy
own star would seem to declare that a heavy burden of
evil had already fallen from thy wing. I see dangers, but
thou shalt escape them—troubles conflict with thee—the
strifes of men who hate and men who fear, and men who
have not yet learned to follow and obey thee. But the day
springs suddenly up with a new joy, even from the
deepest and darkest caverns of the night; and, strange as
it may seem, now that thou art helpless and beset—with
friends that fear to serve, and enemies prompt to pursue—
yet wert thou never nigher to the bright fulfilment of thy
hopes, even when the Maragnon lay ready to thy command
on the quiet bosom of the Ozama. But let us onward, my
son. I would look at the blessed faces above from the
mountain peaks to which thou fliest. I would read more
closely this chronicle of thy life, to which my own desire
no less than my own life, is inseparably linked for ever.”