University of Virginia Library

23. CHAPTER XXIII.

It will not be difficult to conjecture what were the terms which Don
Balthazar was prepared to make with the outlaw, or the character
of the services which the latter was to render, by which to secure
the pardon which he desired and the office which he claimed.
The knight saw, in the appearance of Mateo, the means by which
to relieve himself from all danger at the hands of Philip de Vasconselos.
He was one of those persons who readily adapt the
tool to their uses which offers itself most readily to their hands;
and saw, at a glance, in what way the outlaw could promote his
purposes. We are not now to be told that he was a man of few
scruples when he was eager for his objects; his fears and virtues
equally failing to suggest considerations of doubt to a very ductile
conscience. Strange to say, the conditions which he demanded
of the outlaw, were not so readily accepted by this person.
Mateo was not without his own rude virtues. He had been impressed
with the knightly graces and valor of Vasconselos—had
seen with delight his wonderful skill in the tournament, and had
hailed his successes as if he shared in them. Besides, he was
aware of the isolation of the Portuguese cavalier, and well knew
the reluctance with which the Spaniards had acknowledged his superiority.
Mateo had too little of the Spanish blood in him to
feel with them, and adversely to one whose isolation so much reminded
him of his own; and he gave him his sympathies on this
account, as well as because of his valiant bearing. But he was
a person in a situation which did not suffer him to withstand the
tempter; and, though slowly and reluctantly, he, at length, yielded

to the temptation. He was bought by the promise of pardon,
and the hope of reward; and consented to become the assassin
of the knight of Portugal. That night he confided the
whole secret to his sister, Juana, expecting her to be gratified
with an arrangement which promised him security and trust, and
freedom to herself. But he was confounded to find that she saw
the affair in a very different aspect.

“Do n't you believe Don Balthazar, my brother!” said the
girl. “He has some snare for your feet. It was because you
had him in your power that he made this bargain with you. He
keeps terms with no one; and I am only afraid that he throws
dust in your eyes, while he puts the alguazils upon your foot-steps!
Besides, you don't know what a noble gentleman this
knight of Portugal is.”

“Do n't I, then! Haven't I seen him with lance and sword;
on horse and foot; and do n't I know how these Spaniards hate and
fear him? Jesu! It did my heart good to see how he carried himself;—how
he managed the horse and lance, and made the sword
fly, here and there, at every point in the heavens, wherever the
enemy attacked. Oh! but I do know him, and I was very loth
to promise to lift knife against his breast!”

“And why did you do it?”

“Demonios! What was I to do? Here was my own pardon
offered me, your freedom, and the whole charge of the hacienda.”

“You will get none of these! Don Balthazar means only to
betray thee. He wishes, no doubt, to get this knight of Portugal
out of his way; for there are precious reasons, my brother,
why he should fear the presence of the Portuguese. Ah! if thou
knew'st! But when thou hast done the service, then will he be
the first to denounce thee. He is a bitter traitor. His whole
life is a treachery. His heart is full of serpents. He has lied
to thee with sweetness, and thou hast tasted of the sweetness
till thou dost not feel the poison! He is a poisoner! Ah! if
thou knew'st! Know I not that he keeps many poisons in his
closet? Did I not tell thee that our mother died by poison?
Whence did it come?”

“He says a woman poisoned her.”

“A woman! He might just as well have said that I did it,
or the Lady Olivia. There was none other to do it; for Sylvia
came hither only after our mother was dead. No! no! Mateo,
he was the poisoner, be sure; and thou hast sold thyself to do
this bad man's bad work, making the good man thy victim, only
to feed on his poison thyself, when thou little dream'st of such
danger!”

“Hush up, child! He dare not deceive me! Let him try it!
Let me but find him at his treachery, and I will slit his throat
with a whistle.”

“Ah! if he be not too quick for thee. I nothing doubt that
he will have the alguazils upon thy steps before another day is
over.”

“I shall keep mine eyes about me, girl; and, hark thee, I shall
hide here in these thickets, and thou shalt feed me from the
house. They will never dream of looking for me here. I know
the hours when to steal forth, but hither will I come to sleep.
Dost thou hear?”

“Yes! It is best, perhaps. The plan is a good one. But
thou wilt not kill this knight of Portugal to pleasure this bad
man?”

“It must be done! I will do as I have said; and if Don Balthazar,
then, does not as he hath sworn to me, I will cut out his
lying tongue, and he shall see me eat it ere he dies!”

We need not farther pursue the conference, which ended in an
arrangement by which the outlaw, unknown to any but Juana,
was to find his nightly refuge, in the groves and harboring places
belonging to the grounds of the knight's own dwelling, and be
supplied with food at her hands. He was also to time carefully
his moments of sallying forth; and it was deemed only a proper
precaution that Don Balthazar was not to know where he harbored,
or be permitted any knowledge of his movements; at all
events, until it was certain that Juana's suspicions were groundless.

This conference took place outside of the house, and among

the thick groves by which it was environed. While it was in
progress, Don Balthazar contrived to find his way into the domain
of Sylvia, and free her from her unpleasant bandagings.
He affected great surprise at her condition, and gave her no clues
to the secret of it. Nor, while he was present, did she conjecture
who was the bold ruffian by whom she had been plundered.
But scarcely had the knight retired, when she received a gleam
of intelligence from a simple discovery enough. The bandage
about her eyes was a scarf which she had often seen in the possession
of Juana—that, or one very much like it. Now, where
one is disposed to dislike, or suspect, the proofs rapidly accumulate.
This discovery, though by no means conclusive—since the
ruffian might very well have caught up, and made use of, the scarf
of the innocent serving-maid—yet set the memories and wits of
old Sylvia busy. She saw the mystery at a glance. Was not
Mateo the brother of Juana;—was not Mateo an outlaw;—and
had she not heard that Mateo had been seen in the bull-fight,
and that her excellent master—ever to be honored—had actually
set certain alguazils upon his footsteps? Nay, did not Don Balthazar,
only two nights before, give her warning to keep a close
eye upon Juana, for that the outlaw, her brother, was at hand?
And, O, shame to her prudence, had she not been too careless
of this counsel; and was it not for this very incautiousness that
she had fallen a victim to the robber! Now it was that she
remembered the frequent stealthy absences of the girl at night—
her window open—her chamber empty—and a hundred other
matters; which, in her present keen suspicions, were proofs like
holy writ—confirmations strong—not to be gainsayed in any
court of justice.

Sylvia was resolved in her suspicions. They were clear
enough as proofs. “And now,” mused the sagacious old woman,
“how to recover my property—how to enjoy my revenges! I
see through the whole affair. Juana harbors her brother here!
Truly, a most excellent notion, that of making the house of the
most noble knight, Don Balthazar, the place of refuge for the

very outlaw whom he has sent the alguazils to find! But I will
be too much for them both—they shall see! they shall see!”

Her plans were soon devised, and the very next morning,
bright and early, she sallied forth on some professedly innocent
pretences. We need not follow her footsteps, but content ourselves
with reporting, in brief, the object of her expedition. It
was to seek out the alguazils—the chief of them, rather—and bestow
upon him the benefit of her discovery. She made an effort
to see Don Balthazar, and to enlighten him on the subject; but,
to her surprise, he seemed to have left the hacienda after relieving
her of her bonds. He did not again, that night, occupy his
own chamber; possibly, because of its assumed insecurity; and
during the day following, he did not re-appear. He was busy
in the city.

Meanwhile, what of Olivia—the poor victim, torn by love on
the one hand, by a bitter consciousness of wrong and shame on
the other; by passions which she could not control, by fears
which she dared not name; by vague, vain hopes, which fluctuated
in a sort of shadowy existence in her soul, keeping her
restless, dreaming of possibilities, and the most mocking fancies,
which left her, half the time, in the greatest uncertainty of reason!
Her health seemed to improve, however, and, though pale and
sad as ever, there were symptoms of better spirits and a greater
cheerfulness. Love itself was her only stimulant, while it was
also one of her most disturbing griefs. The image of Philip de
Vasconselos was ever present to her imagination, coming always
clothed with promise. The more she reflected upon the probability
of his addressing her, the more she began to doubt of her
own strength to say him nay. But, even then, her conscience
smote her with the criminality of consent; and she would thus
sink back into hopelessness and sorrow. But why was it that
he came not? To this inquiry, which again suggested a painful
doubt of her conquest—painful still, though she had resolved to
reject his suit—her lively friend, Leonora de Tobar, brought a
sufficiently explanatory answer. He was close in attendance
upon, and anxious for the safety of, his sick brother. Now, however,

that Andres was out of danger, Olivia might look to see
him soon. She spent that morning with the unhappy damsel,
and her lively prattle alternately cheered and depressed her.
When she was gone, Olivia made her toilet with more than
usual care. Why? The words of Leonora assured her that she
might surely look for Don Philip's coming soon—that very day,
perhaps; and it was with an interest which the poor girl dared
not acknowledge to herself, that she arrayed her charms to the
best possible advantage; and gazed with a sorrowful sort of satisfaction
into the mirror which reflected them to her eyes. Then
she sighed, with the sudden rush of her fancies from the seat of
conscience, rebuked by the stern judgment of that sacred monitor.

“Wherefore,” she murmured to herself; “wherefore this
beauty—this solicitude to appear beautiful in his eyes? Alas!
my soul, I cannot do him this great dishonor. I can never
doom his noble heart to such infamy as embrace of me will
bring!”

She sank away from the mirror—she threw herself upon her
couch, and buried her face within her hands. The next moment
the girl, Juana, was gazing upon her with a look of sympathizing
interest, which touched her soul. The girl looked into the chamber
only to disappear.

“Madre de Dios!” Olivia murmured to herself: “Can it be
that she knows—that she suspects?”

And with the doubt, the apprehension grew to terror.

“I am at the mercy, O! Heavens, of the meanest slave!”

The fear was followed by an agonizing burst of grief! The
day was one of perpetual doubts and apprehensions. But it
passed away without events. Vasconselos did not appear, as
Leonora had conjectured, and as Olivia had hoped—and feared!
Her doubts and fears grew strengthened. If her secret was in
the possession of the slave, Juana, it was a secret no longer!
That it should have reached the ears of Philip, was her new
terror! It prostrated her for awhile! Half the night was passed
in tears and terrors, which were so many agonies. She could

bear his loss—she could be content to give him up forever—but
that he should know her shame; that his noble soul should become
conscious of the deadly stain upon hers—that she could
never bear, and live! She prayed for death. In her secret
thought arose a vague feeling, which brought, and commended
to her, the fatal poison, with which, unwittingly, her hand had
bestowed death upon Anita. Were there not other drops of
silence, and sleep, and safety in that fatal phial? Where was it?
She would look for it! She would find it, and at the worst, she
would sleep; and all these terrible agonies of thougt would
have an end! In the deep stillness of the midnight hour, the
unhappy damsel resolved on suicide. But there were other
drops of bitterness in her cup of misery, which she was yet to
drink to the dregs. Let us not anticipate, but follow the fortunes
of other persons of our drama.

Sylvia had made her way to the alguazils, and had put them
in possession of all the clues which she had procured, leading to
the pathways and hiding-places of the outlaw, Mateo. Once
roused to suspicion, she had found numerous reasons for confirming
her in her conjectures. She noted all the outgoings of
Juana. She watched her with secrecy, and comparative success;
and though she did not see Mateo, she yet arrived at a very
shrewd notion of the thickets in which he might be found. The
hacienda which Don Balthazar and his niece occupied, though
smaller than the estate which he cultivated for her, was yet one
of considerable range in grove and forest. It had numerous dim
avenues of shade and silence. There were solitary walks which
no one frequented. There were hollows among the wooded hills
which might have harbored a hermit. It seems that Mateo
knew the place. He possessed himself of its various haunts;
and, but for the too eager desire of Juana to seek him out, and
be with him when there was no necessity for it, the old woman
would probably never have guessed his propinquity. Had the
girl been content to seek him only at night, and to carry him
food but once in the twenty-four hours, and then under cover of
the darkness, he had been safe. But the girl loved her brother,

and was very proud of his prowess. Besides, after the death of
Anita, she needed the solace of association with the only kinsman
left her. She gratified this desire, and sought to gratify him,
twenty times a day, perhaps; stealing forth with fruits and delicacies,
with nice morsels from the kitchen, and with an occasional
wine-flask, or the remains of one, whenever she could appropriate
it with impunity. But the eye of Sylvia was upon her; and
she noted the direction taken by the footsteps of the girl. It was
surprising with what correctness she conjectured the harboring
places of the fugitive, from these observations, and her own
knowledge of the grounds. She put all her clues into the keeping
of the alguazils. The result was, that before sunset, some
half dozen of them were quietly skirting the hacienda, divided
into two parties, and gradually contracting their circuits about
the suspected place of refuge.

Mateo, meanwhile, never dreamed of danger from this source.
It is true that Juana had her doubts of the good faith of Don
Balthazar, and labored to inspire him with similar doubts. In
some degree she succeeded, so as in fact to make him circumspect
as possible. But the great gain of security, of freedom,
and high trust, which the Hidalgo had promised, were considerations
quite too grateful and tempting not to prevail in the argument
addressed to the confidence of the outlaw; who, besides,
seemed to understand very well why the uncle of Olivia should
desire to get Don Philip de Vasconselos removed from the path.
It was not with any satisfaction that Mateo contemplated the
duty assigned him. He would rather have killed any two other
men in Havana than this one Portuguese. But, as he said,
“What am I to do? I can't be a fugitive always, flying for safety;
and to be my own master is a great deal to one who don't
like to work; and to get into a snug office, where I can compel
others to do the thing which I don't like to do myself, is certainly
very pleasant! Besides, if I don't take the Portuguese in hand,
Don Balthazar will only employ somebody else—some bungler,
who will not do it half so well; who will botch the business;
who will give the good knight unnecessary pain, and perhaps

keep him lingering. Now I will dispatch him at a blow. It is
but a stroke over the shoulders, and he is caught up by the
angels; for he is a good young man, and in a very proper state
to die! It must be done—and shall be! But let Don Balthazar
beware how he plays me false. If I have one death for Don
Philip, whom I rather love, I have a dozen deaths for him whom
I hate; and he shall taste them all if he tries to make a fool of
me!”

In this state of mind was he musing, while the alguazils were
skirting his hiding-place; which happened, at this moment, to be
on the verge of the hacienda, the point nearest the city. Here
the thicket was most dense; without pathways or avenues, except
such as nature had left in a very tangled piece of forest,
portions of which were clothed in a mass of brush and vine almost
too close for the progress of a wild-cat or fox, but through
which Mateo fancied he could burrow with tolerable ease, assisted
by a few strokes of his machete. The common pathway from
the city to the hacienda ran along the margin of this thicket, and
was skirted by some very lofty trees.

It happened that Philip de Vasconselos had taken this very
evening to visit the damsel whom his admiring fancies had chosen
as the Queen of the tournament. The duty would have been
done before, but for her indisposition, the reports of which,
abroad, had been very contradictory. Philip, though anxious,
and now very hopeful, was too generous, whatever his anxiety,
to appear before her while she suffered. He had learned that
day, however, from Nuno de Tobar, that she was at length well
enough to receive visitors; and he had chosen the most delicious
of the hours of the day, in that clime and season, to approach her
with his congratulations, his thanks, and possibly with the assurances
of a sympathy, far beyond any thing implied by these, in
his love and admiration! The purpose, not wholly decided
on—for the truly chivalrous are always timid in an affair of the
affections—of offering her his hand, and imploring hers, yet fluctuated
as a restless impulse in his bosom. It would be idle to
say that he did not hope, and hope strongly, for success. Even

the modesty of his character could not be deceived on a subject
on which the common voice of society allowed no doubts, and he
was resolved to bring his own doubts, if any, to a close, as soon
as possible, and terminate a condition of suspense which had
many vexations. But, whether he should address Olivia that
evening or not, was to depend upon his reception, her health, and
other circumstances which need not be mentioned. Enough,
that he is at last on his way to her hacienda.

He had just entered upon the estate, and, with slow step, and
musing spirit, was penetrating the avenue of great trees which
led to the dwelling, when he was startled from a pleasant revery,
by a sudden outcry from the depths of the thicket on his right.
There were clamors, as of threatened violence; the shouts of man
to man; a rushing and crackling among the shrubs and branches
of the wood, followed by a fierce, wild, savage oath or two,
which came very distinctly to his ears, and which declared for
angry passions ready to do mischief. The sun had set. The interval
of twilight is brief in that region. A sudden glory suffuses
the sky, as the great eye of day is about to close; the glory
disappears, a faint misty light lingers in the sky, which gradually
deepens into dusk. Such was the hour. The dusk was nearly
darkness in the wood; and, for a moment, Don Philip could
see nothing, though he impulsively took a few steps into the
thicket in order to trace the secret of the outcry. He was not
left long in doubt. Suddenly, a gigantic figure, that seemed to rise
from the earth where he had fallen, bounded close beside him.
He was followed by three others, who now rushed out of the
wood and made after the fugitive, armed with swords and knives.
They were close upon his heels, and he turned about to confront
them. Three upon one! The struggle was too unequal. The
chivalry of Don Philip was aroused as he beheld. With the natural
impulse of a brave man, sympathizing with the weak, he
drew his sword, and threw himself in the way of the pursuers;
the outlaw, for it was he, being some twenty steps in advance.

“Stand aside!” cried one of the alguazils, who seemed to be
the leader:—“we are officers of justice.”

“I know not that!” was the answer. “Where is your warrant?
Let me see your authority.”

“No time for that now! We are under the authority of Don
Balthazar de Alvaro, and these are his grounds. We are to arrest
yonder outlaw.”

“Ha! Ha! Ha!” was the fierce chuckle of the outlaw, who,
taking advantage of the diversion in his favor, had sheltered
himself among the trees, but who did not seem disposed to
fly much farther. He had obtained a momentary respite, which,
probably, was all that was now necessary to his safety.

“Ha! Ha! Ha! Send Don Balthazar himself to me, and
we shall see who is the outlaw!”

Don Philip heard the words distinctly.

“Who is the man?” he asked.

“Mateo, the outlaw, the fugitive, the murderer. Beware,
Señor, how you arrest the officers of justice, and help the escape
of the criminal! I know you, Don Philip de Vasconselos; you
will have to answer for it, if you delay us.”

“If you know me, you know that I cannot stand by and see
three men opposed to one. Show me your authority for taking
this man, before you pass me. The penalty be upon my head!”

It is probable that the alguazils would have attempted to
beat the knight out of their path, but knighthood had its prestige,
and they well remembered the potent weapon of the Portuguese.
The officer remonstrated.

“You cannot read the paper,” he said, “by this light. But it
is here. Let us pass, or there will be trouble.”

“Let them pass, Señor,” cried the fugitive. “They will have
fleeter legs than Spanish alguazils usually carry, if they hope to
overtake Mateo; and better skill and courage than usual, if they
conquer when they overtake! Come on, rascals, that I may
carry you with me to the devil.”

The confidence with which the outlaw spoke determined Philip
to oppose the officers no farther. He probably saw that it
would be prudent only to forbear a quarrel with the public
authorities, knowing, as he did, how doubtful were his own relations

with the Adelantado, and how small his popularity with
the Spaniards at large.

“You are right,” said he to the officers; “I have nothing to
do with this business!” and he turned aside, and put up his
weapon. The alguazils started again in pursuit. A shrill whistle
sounded from the opposite quarter. It was the signal of the
other party in search of the fugitive. The outlaw was between
two squads of enemies, and he bounded away to the covert, both
parties after him. For several minutes, Don Philip listened to
their outcries, as they severally crashed their way into the
thickets. He half regretted that he had not still farther delayed
the chase after the bold outlaw. In a little while the sounds
ceased. The alguazils were at fault, bewildered in the wood;
and the fugitive laughed at them securely in its deep recesses.
But, of this escape, Philip knew not at the moment. He resumed
his progress towards the dwelling, his mood having become
somewhat sterner by the momentary excitement. Hardly
had he advanced a dozen steps, however, when he encountered
the girl, Juana, wringing her hands, and showing many signs of
terror.

“Who is this?”

“Oh! Señor Don Philip, how I thank you! You have saved
my poor brother. They will give him to the garote vil, if they
take him; and it is I who have betrayed him.”

“You! Are you not the girl, Juana, belonging to Don Balthazar
de Alvaro?”

“Oh! not to him, but to the poor young lady, the Señorita
Olivia?”

“And he is your brother? And why do they pursue him?
What has he done?”

“Oh! nothing in the world, Señor; nothing in the world; only
he is too good to do work at the hacienda. They charge him with
murder and other things. But it is not true. He is the best person
in the world, Señor, and the best brother, and he killed the
great bull, El Moro; and would be as good a Christian as Father
Paul himself, if they'd only let him have his own way.”

The knight smiled at the moderate conditions which were required
for Mateo's Christianity.

“Certainly, Juana, they are very unreasonable with your brother.”

“Oh! I knew you'd think so, Señor. He is only too good for
the like of them. He is the best brother in all Cuba.”

“Well, you are a good girl for believing thus of your brother.
—But how is your lady—how is the Señorita de Alvaro? I was
just going to visit her.”

“Ah!” said the girl quickly—“But you can't see her this evening.
She is not well, and she bade me leave her, and that's the
reason that you see me here. I stole off, as the Señorita retired
—only to see and talk with Mateo, and the alguazils—may the
Devils burn them in pitch and sulphur!—they followed after me,
and I led them to the very place where he was sleeping. Oh! they
had SQ nearly caught him; and if they had, and they had put him
to the garote vil, I would have drowned myself in the sea, forever
and forever!”

The visit of Philip de Vasconselos was arrested by the intelligence
which Juana gave him of her lady; but the girl deceived
him. Olivia had not retired; and we may add, that she really
expected the cavalier. She had been taught to look for him by
the garrulous assurances of Leonora de Tobar, who had gathered
from her husband's report that Don Philip would surely come
that night. And, but for this interruption, how might the events
of this truthful history have been altered!—whether for good or
evil we do not pretend to say. But altered they must have
been. Don Philip might have made the visit in vain; he might
have been denied; probably would have been; though it is difficult
to say. The task of denial would have been a hard one to
the poor damsel, loving him as she did; and reluctant as she was
to say him nay—to say nay to the pleadings of her own passion,
no less than his. She had dressed herself for Philip—she had
been solicitous of charms which, perhaps, needed little help from
art or ornament for conquest. Yet she had adorned herself richly
with her jewels! Would she have had the firmness—the virtue

—to refuse the prayer of one whom she was yet so anxious to
please? It is probable that Don Balthazar knew her weaknesses
better than she did herself. At all events, the lie of the girl,
Juana, told with no malignant purpose, but simply to prevent the
discovery of her unlicensed absence by her mistress, changed,
very completely, the whole current of our history—changed the
fortunes of Don Philip, no less than those of the lady of his
love. Not that he did not again seek her—but this must be a
matter for future revelation. Philip de Vasconselos turned away
from Juana, and from the hacienda, and with a parting word of
kindness to the girl, slowly took his route back to his lonely
lodgings.

“Praise the Holy Virgin that he is gone! and the Saints be all
praised because he came. If he had not come between these
cursed alguazils, they would have been, all of them, upon poor
Mateo. They can hardly take him now, it is so dark, and he
knows the thickets so well. He will escape. He is safe. I
don't hear them now. Oh! I am so glad that the good knight of
Portugal came! And Mateo wanted to kill him, and all to
please that great cayman, my master. But he shan't touch him
now. If he's to kill anybody, I know who it shall be. It shan't
be the good Don Philip, I know. He is a good knight. I love
him. And my lady loves him too, better than all things in this
world. But if he knew! If he only knew what I know! But
he shall never know for me! And if he marries her, I shall be
so glad.”