University of Virginia Library

47. CHAPTER XLVII.

Colonel Wade had desired to experience the
sensation of having performed a generous act.
The desire was laudable, but could hardly be expected
to inspire profound confidence in his ordinary
rules of action. Sentiments of that nature
depend much upon the state of the blood.

But Colonel Wade was sincere at the moment.
The bearing of Mliss on the night of the storm
had touched a responsive chord in his heart.
Physically insensible to fear himself, he admired
fearlessness in man or woman. Afterward, when
she confided to him the perilous situation in
which she was placed, he had promised to protect
her. We have seen how he fulfilled that
promise.

He passed out of the hotel with the hand of
his new charge in his own. He reflected that
he was a man of thirty-five—she a girl of about
fourteen. The desire to experience the sensation
of having performed a generous action still
actuated him. It suggested to him that a decent
regard to appearances must be observed.

Mliss was placed in temporary ledgings in a
respectable hotel The landlady was requested
to take Mliss under her especial charge. So far
the colonel acquitted himself of the self-imposed
duties of his position in an exemplary manner.
Had he sat weekly under the administration of our
worthy Dr. Fox, he could not have done better.

Mliss applied herself to the study of Spanish. Her
quick perception and retentive memory enabled her
to accomplish in a week what an ordinary girl would
have accomplished in a month. Colonel Wade, who
paid her a short visit every afternoon, was astonished
at her rapid progress.

As days passed he was astonished also at the improvement
in her appearance. She had not struck
him at first as a pretty child. Hers was a face to remember,
but hardly, at first glance, one to love.
Gradually, however, her features grew in harmony
and beauty. The transformation which often takes
place in girls of her age was visible in her. Her
splendid black eyes became softer in their expressions,
her cheeks rounder, her lips more full and red. Her
clear, dark complexion assumed a transparant brilliancy
that was sometimes dazzling. Her countenance,
usually grave for a child, would occasionally
light up with a rare and tender smile. Her supple
and graceful figure developed into more womanly
proportions.

As these budding beauties unfolded under Colonel
Wade's experienced eye, he began to regard her with
a certain pride and affection. It was pleasant to be
the protector of a young girl who attracted admiring
glances whenever she appeared in public. Fortune
had favored him during his sojourn in Valparaiso;
and, with the superstition inherent in the true gambler's
nature, he had ascribed her favors to his connection
with Mliss. She seemed to have brought him
good luck at a moment when a little good luck was exceedingly
desirable. In recognition of these services,
he presented Mliss with a wardrobe an American
belle of fourteen might have envied. He not only
bought her dresses of every color and variety of
material, but he made her toilet a study. A ribbon
that harmonized with her complexion less than another
was cast aside. There might be but little difference
in shade, but that little difference was essential
in his eyes.

Mliss experienced for the first time the intoxicating
sensation arising from a consciousness of a power to
please. The contumely heaped upon her neglected
childhood had impressed her with a feeling that this
power was not hers. She had been dimly conscious
that she owed to compassion rather than admiration
the friendship of Mr. Gray. His love for her was not
less prized on that account, but it had not touched her
vanity. He had taken her to his heart because she
was poor, neglected, ignorant, and despised—not because
her personal qualities inspired admiration.
Now the sweet consciousness stole upon her that she
possessed this much-coveted power to please. Under
their influence her character underwent some change.
The hardness and defiance formerly visible in her
bearing were the product of a consciousness that she
was not lovable united with a disposition to disparage
gifts she did not possess. Clytie's superior
beauty and softness of manner had inspired her with
a dislike that she had tried to persuade herself was
contempt. It was simply the envy of a proud and undisciplined
nature.

But, while Mliss became more gentle in expression,
more graceful in beauty, more suave and decorous in
speech, she lost none of the piquancy and originality
that constituted the charm of her childhood days. She
was as frank and fearless and ardent as ever. Her intellect
had ripened early by reflection at an age when
happier children are too joyous to think, and now
gave promise of unusual brilliancy. The blase man
of the world found in her a charming companion.

Let it not be supposed that Mliss had forgotten the
friends from whom she had been so ruthlessly separated.
The sense of gratitude she experienced for
one who had done so much to make her life pleasant
did not impair her affection for her earlier friend.
The colonel had promised to restore her to her friends,
and she waited with confidence the fulfillment of that
promise. Once or twice, when she had reminded him
of his promise, a shadow had come over his face, as if
in reproach of her eagerness to leave him. So she
waited, dimly conscious that any movement of her
own to communicate with her friends would incur his
displeasure.

During three months Colonel Wade enjoyed the sensation
arising from the performance of a generous act.
The novelty of the situation began to wear off. The
task he had imposed upon his lawless disposition was
more burdensome than he had imagined. Fifteen
years before he had loved a coquette, and for fifteen
years he had lived without faith in women. Better
women had since loved him, and, with his heart untouched,
he had yielded to their charms. Now, at the
mature age of thirty-five, a little girl had become necessary
to his happiness. Should he fulfill his promise
and return her to her friends? Her friends would
thank him, doubtless, but take good care to keep her
out of his sight.

One cool afternoon in August Mliss and the daughter
of the landlady were sauntering through the Plaza.
The air was crisp and cool, and the south wind came
with a flavor of snow and ice. The companion of
Mliss was a dark-eyed Chileno not more than fifteen
years of age, but in appearance a young woman. They
walked leisurely along, chatting merrily, criticising, as
girls of all nations will, such of their fellow-idlers as
seemed most susceptible of criticism. The walks were
pretty well filled, and among the throng were many
whom Mliss recognized as Americans. One, especially
attracted her attention, perhaps because she remembered
having encountered him twice or three times in
her walk, and each time had been sensible of a quick
and scrutinizing regard. He was apparently a man of
the middle class, forty-five or fifty years of age, plainly
but respectably dressed, having the appearance of an
ordinary citizen of the model Republic.

“Mira!” exclaimed the vivacious companion of
Mliss. “el Americano.”

And the dark-eyed senorita drew her mantle of
crimson and gold across the lower part of her face, so
that only a low, dusky brow and a pair of handsome
black eyes could be seen.

Mliss looked up. The American was approaching
from a walk that led, at a little distance in advance, into
the one in which they were. Looking at him more
intently, she observed in his hand, which he held
against his breast, the upper edge of what appeared to
be a letter.

Mliss paused instinctively. In foreign lands little
visited by Americans, all Amerioans are acquaintances
and friends.

“Buenos tardes, senoritas,” said the man, with a
bad Spanish accent.

“Good afternoon,” responded Mliss. “I am an
American.”

“I thought you was,” replied the gentleman, “but.
I wasn't sure. Does your friend speak English?”

“A few words only. Are you from San Francisco?'

“Arrived yesterday. Are you from San Francisco?”

“Yes.”

“Have you been here long?”

“About three months.”

The man hesitated for a moment, regarding Mliss
with quick glances of his keen, gray eyes.

“There is a young American lady somewhere in Valparaiso,”
he said, at length, “whom I wish to find.
She is a friend of a friend of mine—a Mr. Gray”

Mliss was about to utter an exclamation, which a
gesture from her new acquaitance checked.

“I know you now,” he continued. “You are the
young lady I want to find, You are taller than you

were described. and—pardon me—prettier. Does
your companion comprehend what we say?”

“No. Do you come from Mr. Gray! Have you a
letter for me?”

“One question at a time, please. If I am rightly
informed, the gentleman in whose charge you are
will not thank me for putting in an appearance. I
know him of old, and don't care to renew the acquaintance
unless it becomes positively necessary.”

“Do you mean Colonel—”

“Don't mention names. That little girl's ears are
wide open, and she looks as if she might put two and
two together and count four. I want to see you alone
for fifteen minutes.”

“Well,” said Mliss: “to-morrow I will walk here
alone.”

“That will do. Now walk with me a few steps, and
arrange that pretty mantle so that I can slip something
into your hand without being seen.”

Mliss moved slowly along by her companion—the
strange gentleman on the other side. Soon she felt a
letter slipped into her hand, and the gentleman, bidding
her good afternoon, with a buenos tardes for her
companion, raised his hat and walked off in the opposite
direction.

The young Chileno damsel began to rally Mliss on
her new conquest. To these imaginative and ardent
creatures every man is a possible lover, no matter
what may be his age or personal appearance.

Mliss replied with less than her usual spirit, and
soon returned home. Locked secretly in her own
room, she looked at the letter for the first time. I
was in Mr. Gray's hand-writing. She knew the firm
bold characters well. She opened it and rend:

She kissed the signature time and again. It was
Mr. Gray who had sent this man to take her home. It
was Mr. Gray who was waiting for her return. She
experienced a moment of the most profound happiness
she had ever known as she read again and again
the characters a beloved hand had traced.

At last the letter was laid on the sweet, soft pillow,
where favored letters have laid since the art of writing
was invented, and the young girl began to think.

Would Colonel Wade let her go? Would Colonel
Wade give her up at the call of her young guardian?
The answer that her heart gave to these questions
caused the blood to rise to her temples. She had interpreted
with a woman's glance the nature of the
love that brought the handsome colonel every day to
her side. She knew this mature, self-willed, reckless
man loved her with such a love as a man of his nature
could experience.

These reflections were interrupted by a knock on
the door. A servant had come to summon her to the
parlor, where Colonel Wade was waiting.

The Colonel received her gravely, and, kissing her
cheek, as was his custom, placed her in a chair.

“The mail steamer is in,” he said, “and it brings
news from California.”

“What news?” she asked. “Anything that concerns
me?”

“Yes; your suit is won. It's in all the papers; but
they think you are dead.”

“Well,” she said, impressed by his grave manner,
“we know I am not.”

He bent over her, passing his arm around her
waist.

“Let them think so, Lissy. Let us remain here or
go to some other land where no one knows us. Who
has a better right to you than I?”

Mliss sat in trembling silence. With all her courage
she dreaded the power of this man, who had made
himself in one sense her master.

“I love you, Lissy—I love you,” he continued drawing
her gently to his side. “I cannot part with you
Look up, my darling! Tell me that you will be my
wife.”

She looked up to his face, and her frank, free, fearless
eyes encountered his passionate gaze.

“I can't be your wife, Colonel Wade. I am only a
child. You have been a true friend, and I love and
honor you as such.”

He turned from her in silence, and walked across
the room. His face was dark and his stormy eyes
gleamed with half-suppressed fury. At last he came
and stood before her.

“I expected this answer,” he said, in a low sad
tone. “You are young, rich, and beautiful. The
world is open to you, and a brilliant future awaits
you. I am past the age you call young, and my name
is blackened with what you call crimes. Still, child as
you are, I love you. Call me selfish; tell me I am a
villain—a coward! I can bear these taunts better than
can bear to lose you.”

“You need not lose me,” he replied; “you need
not part with me. Take me to San Francisco, and I
will love you as long as I live.”

“Love me as a child loves its father. I don't want
that love—I want you, heart, soul, body—you, my life,
my love, my mistress, my little wife.”

He bent as he spoke, and with his resistless arm,
raised her to his breast. He covered her face and lips
with passionate kisses, and whispered in her ears the
most ardent expressions of love.

In her struggle to free herself the letter that she
had placed in her bosom fell to the floor. He saw her
name, and, with an oath, threw her back in the chair,
stooped and picked up the letter.

“So!” he said, “you have correspondents! Shall I
read this letter?'

“Read it!” she replied, with a flash of the old defiance
in her eyes.

He read the letter, placed it in the envelope, and put
it in his pocket.

“When did you receive this?” he asked.

“To-day.”

“Who gave it to you?”

“A man—I don't know his name.”

“A man you might trust as you would the writer!
A man who hopes to steal you away from me and take
you back to that white-livered lawyer. Do you imagine
that I will let you go?”

“Yes.”

“Well, for once your marvelous instinct served you

badly. You can marry no man but me. For three
months you have lived under my protection—for three
months I have visited you every day, and every day
you have been seen in public with me. Do you know
what people say?”

“I don't care what people say.”

“You shall care. I meant you no harm. I have
been careful of your reputation, and intend to return
you to your friends as pure as when I first beheld you.
But people say that you are my mistress, and I give
you an opportunity to become my wife.”

The young girl smiled scornfully. Colonel Wade
committed a fatal error when he forfeited his claim to
her gratitude and affection.

“You smile!” he continued. “Do you not know
that you are in my power?”

“You are stronger than I—you can crash me between
your two hands; but you cannot make me live
an hour after I wish to die.”

He looked for a moment into her clear, calm eyes.

“That is true,” he said, bowing his head. “I ought
to have remembered the night of the storm. You
have a rare spirit. You are a glorious girl! No, child,
I dare not harm you.”

He seated himself at a little distance, regarding her
with a kind of awe. His eyes, in which the fire of
passion was now quenched, dwelt upon her face with
mournful tenderness.

The young girl approached, knelt by his side, and
took his hand.

“You are yourself now,” she said, gently. “We
will go to San Francisco.”

“Do you love this Mr. Gray, Lissy?”

“Not as you understand love. He has been to me
father, brother, friend—all a true, brave man could be
to a helpless girl.”

“And you want to go back and marry him?”

“I never thought of marrying him. I do not know
as I wish to be his wife. But I would do anything in
my power to make him happy. If I was in Heaven,
and he wanted me on earth. I would come to him.”

“You love him as a sister. You will love some
other man as a lover. Lissy! Lissy! I cannot give
you up without a hope. You shall go back to San
Francisco, but with me and in my time. If this man
who has come for you crosses my path, I will kill
him! Do you hear?”

“Yes; but if the man goes back without me, Mr.
Gray will come himself. You won't kill him!”

“Why do you think so?”

“Because I wont let you.”

The colonel laughed.

“What a charming little bully you are! I'm almost
afraid of you.”

She looked at him with a wicked flash in her eyes.

“Here,” he said, extending his arm, his hand a
few inches above the floor, “place one foot in my
hand.”

Mliss did so.

“Now the other.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Never mind—the other.”

Carefully balancing herself, the young girl stood
erect, supported on his hand. Then, without seeming
effort, he raised her slowly almost to a level with his
breast, held her there a moment, then lowered her to
floor.

“You are pretty strong,” she said, pleased with this
magnificent exhibition of muscular power.

“Yes; and I'm as ugly as I'm strong.'

Mliss smiled.

“And you won't let me kill Mr. Gray?”

“No.”

“How will you prevent me?”

“I will find a way.”

“D—n me! I believe you would. But don't let us
quarrel. To-morrow morning we leave Valparaiso.”

“Where shall we go?”

“We'll join a pleasure party that is going on an excursion
into the interior.”

“How long shall we be gone?”

“Can't tell. You needn't be alarmed—there are ladies
in the party.”

“May I write to Mr. Gray?”

“Yes. I will tell you what to write. Get your pen,
ink, and paper.”

Mliss got her writing materials, and seated herself
at a table. The colonel stood by her shoulder.

“Write,” he said: “Dear Mr. Gray: I received
your letter, and am pleased to know you are all well.
To-morrow I go on a trip to the interior, and do not
expect to return for ten days. If I return in time, I
will take the next steamer for Panama. I am well,
happy, and contented. Give my love to Regina. Your
little pupil—Lissy.”

“I won't write that,” said Mliss.

“Very well—you need not. I'll write a note and
sign it `Colonel Wade.”'

“I won't leave the city, either.”

“You will! If you don't go willingly, I'll have you
put in a box, with holes bored in the top so that you
may breathe, and send you as baggage.”

Mliss looked into the eyes of her master. They
were implacable.

“You can do that,” she said, bending her head.
“You are strong and I am weak.”

“Listen, Lissy. You are safe with me—you are
safe, because I know if I should make you mine
against your will, you would revenge the wrong by
killing yourself or me. You are the only girl I ever
saw who could daunt me by such a threat; but I know
what stuff you are made of. Yielding this, I yield no
more. You may remain with me as you have—indulged,
respected and beloved—or I will hold you by
force.”

“Very well,” said the young girl; “I will go with
you.”

The next day Mr. Gray's agent was disappointed.
Mliss did not keep her appointment. He instituted
inquiries, and soon obtained the information that
Colonel Wade and lady had started with a government
train on a trip across the continent to Buenos Ayres.