University of Virginia Library

27. CHAPTER XXVII.

Don Balthazar was greatly surprised by what he heard in the
assembly, of the declared purpose of Philip de Vasconselos to
accompany the expedition. It was a surprise to everybody—
how much more to him! Such unexpected good fortune was
hardly to be hoped for. The danger, now, of a suitor to his
niece, so likely to be successful, no longer threatened him. At
the first moment when he learned the fact, he felt an exhilarating
sense of triumph. But soon he asked himself, how was so
sudden a change wrought in the purposes and feelings of the
knight of Portugal? But a day before, he was known to be
eager and determined in his purpose to address Olivia. His
hope of success was good, and every voice encouraged the prosecution
of his suit. Why the change in his purpose? That
Philip had not addressed his niece, Don Balthazar was quite certain.
That they had no interview, he was assured. That she
had received no written communication he was equally confident.
It was clear that Philip, without testing his hopes at all, had suddenly
abandoned them. Wherefore? The question began to
stagger the inquirer. Guilt is always a thing of terror, and the
discovery of such guilt as that of Don Balthazar, was doubly
terrible to the conscious fears within his bosom. He now saw
the significance of that look which Philip had cast upon him as
he came into the assembly, and readily divined the mystery
which puzzled all other persons.

“He has discovered all!” was his secret thought. “Yet how?”
Here was the farther difficulty. “What was the discovery which
Philip had made?' “To what degree was he committed by it?”
His anxieties increased with his unuttered inquiries, addressed to
himself. But Don Balthazar had a rare faculty of self-concealment.
His secretiveness was a large development in his moral
organization. He could smile, and look calmly about him, and
engage in the frivolous conversation of society,—in all the
business of the crowd—seemingly unmoved,—while the vultures
of doubt, and dread, and conscience, were all at work tearing at
his vitals. He joined in the talk going on in the assembly. In
this way he might obtain some clues to the secret of Philip.
But he learned nothing satisfactory. One fact, however, he
gathered from all that was said, which seemed to weigh upon his
thoughts; and that only related to the sudden appearance of the
knight of Portugal, at a late hour, in fact not many minutes before
himself. “Where had he been till that hour?” While asking
himself this question, Nuno de Tobar reappeared within the
circle. “I will sound him!” was the unexpressed resolution of
the Don, as he sauntered around, gradually winding his way
towards the place where Nuno had taken his seat. The countenance
of the latter was troubled. His mind was in some confusion,
as well from the wine he had taken, as from the conference
with Philip. But the approach of Don Balthazar served, in some
degree, to steady his intellect, and make him cautious. He knew
that Olivia's uncle had been hostile to his friend. It had not escaped
the notice of Nuno, that the glance with which Philip had
met Don Balthazar, but a few moments before, was that of a determined,
if not a savage hatred. Sympathizing earnestly with
his friend, Nuno shared, in some degree, his hostile sentiments.
He had himself never been the friend of Don Balthazar, and
was now more than ever disposed to regard him as an enemy.
In some way, he felt assured that the present sufferings of Vasconselos,
and his abandonment of Olivia, were due to the evil influence
of her uncle.

Thus feeling, he was sobered by the approach of the Don;

made reserved and cautious; as the good soldier is apt to feel
when in an enemy's country, and marching through a region
proper for snares and ambuscades. Besides, by prudent management,
might he not find out something in respect to this mystery?
Don Balthazar probably knew the cause of Philip's conduct.
There might have been an open rupture between them:—Don
Balthazar, like Philip, had been absent from the festivities until a
late hour. They had reached the assembly at nearly the same
time. Might not their mutual absence, and arrival, have been
due to a common cause? Nuno determined to search this matter.
He would probe the inquirer. His mind co-operating with
his feelings and his instincts, became cool, searching and vigilant,
and Don Balthazar extracted nothing from him. That he was as
little successful in penetrating the bosom of the Don—habitually
cool and circumspect—was, perhaps, to be expected. They separated
after a profitless and brief conference, which satisfied neither.

But if Don Balthazar extracted nothing from Nuno, the young
wife of the latter was something more successful. From her he
had few concealments. Scarcely had he reached home that night,
warmed with the festivities in which he had shared so freely, and
excited by the nature of the mystery which oppressed him, when
he began his revelations.

“Would you believe it, Leonora, it is all over with Philip and
Olivia? There is a breach between them, which Philip says is
impassable! He has joined the expedition. What has caused
it, he does not say; but he tells me that there is an end of the
matter; that she is nothing to him now.”

“Blessed Maria! what does it mean? Has she refused him?
Foolish, foolish creature! But she always said that she would.”

“But she has not! He has not asked her! He told me so in
so many words.”

“And I don't believe a word of it! You men are so proud
and vain that you never like to confess to a rejection. It's the
way with all of you. Be assured that Philip has been refused.
She said she would refuse him, but I did not believe her. I know
she loves him. But she is so strange. It does appear to me,

sometimes, as if she were not in her right mind. And to refuse
so nice a cavalier! I wonder where she expects to find another
like him. But it's not her doing, I'm sure, not her own heart!
It's that cross-grained uncle that she has. He has done it all. I
wonder what is the secret of his power over her. I'm sure she
hates him. But he rules her in spite of it; and he has compelled
her to refuse him.”

“I don't believe it, child; for I believe Philip, and he positively
assured me that he had not asked her. He's not the man to lie,
or to be ashamed of rejection. He has no such weakness. He
was very earnest about it—very miserable,—and entreated me
never again to speak to him on the subject.”

“Then I'm sure she has refused him. Did he say he had not
seen her?”

“No! I knew that he went to the hacienda late in the afternoon,
and he admits that he saw her, but did not speak to her.”

“Now, as if that were reasonable, Nuno.”

“It is certainly very strange. I can't see into it.”

“But I do; and the whole mystery lies in the one fact that he
has simply been rejected, and his pride will not confess it. He
has been mortified by refusal, when he counted confidently on
success. And I confess, I counted on it too; for though Olivia
always said that she would refuse him, yet I know that she loves
him desperately, and as she will love no other man. But it is all
the doing of Don Balthazar. He hates Don Philip—he hates
both the brothers—I have seen that a thousand times. But what
are his hates to her, and how has he succeeded in making her sacrifice
her love to them? What is the secret of his power to
control her against her own happiness and will? That is the secret
which I should like to find out!”

“You are right, I suspect, in ascribing it all to her uncle.
Philip is not the man to be rejected by any woman in a hurry,
and I am convinced, like yourself, that Olivia really loves him as
she will be likely to love no other person. But there is some
mystery in the whole affair. The poor girl is very unhappy.
That I have long seen, and Don Balthazar is at the bottom of all

her troubles. He manages her property, and has, I suspect, but
little of his own. He will be very unwilling to resign the power
which this gives him into the hands of any other person. The
only wonder is that she does not see this, and assert her independence.
She has sense enough to understand her rights; but she
is so weak,—so timid—”

“You mistake her there! Olivia is a woman of very strong
passions, and can be very firm and obstinate upon occasion.
What surprises me is, that she does not assert her will, and show
the strength of her passion, in an affair which so deeply concerns
her own happiness, and where her heart is evidently so much interested.
This is the difficulty. I do not wonder that Don
Balthazar should oppose and deny, but that she should submit;
and the question is, how does he obtain this power, by which to
rule her as he pleases, against her own affections, when he himself
is possessed of none of them.”

“Yet, it is his influence certainly, that has somehow brought
the affair to this unfortunate conclusion, and Philip feels this.
Had you but seen the look which he gave Don Balthazar when
they met to-night. His fingers clutched the handle of his sword
convulsively, and the gleam of hatred in his eyes was mixed up
with such an expression of horror and disgust, as I never saw
in mortal eye before. I shall never forget it.”

“Still, I think that they will come together yet. She loves
him, I tell you, beyond all other persons. She will never suffer
herself to be deprived of him, if she can help it; and I don't
think she could survive it. I tell you, Nuno, she idolizes
Don Philip, and she will marry him yet, in spite of Don Balthazar.”

“Yes, perhaps;—and yet, from what Philip said to-night, it
will hardly depend upon her. He used the strongest language—”

“Oh! a fig for the strong language of a lover. I know what it
means always! He will forget his resolution as soon as he lays
his eyes upon her, and looks into her pale sweet face, and hears
the soft silvery voice that answers to his own. He is now only
under the first feeling of vexation and anger. He talks as if he

would tear her to pieces, no doubt; but let him sleep upon it, and
he will rise in the morning to renew his worship.”

“Philip de Vasconselos is like no other man, I know.”

“Ah! you are mistaken. In some things all men are pretty
much alike; and in an affair of love—where there is real love—
your strong cavalier and stately Don are just as feeble as the
man of silk and velvet. You are all pretty much alike—all
easily overthrown—where women are concerned.”

“It is a very strange affair throughout.”

“I'll find it out to-morrow, if I live. I'll see Olivia in the
morning, and she must have sharper wits, and greater strength,
than I believe, if she can hide the secret much longer from my
eyes. You will admit that if Philip has seen her, then the probability
is that she has refused him.”

“He himself admits that he has seen her—seen her this very
day, but denies that he has spoken with her. There is the difficulty—
that is the surprising fact.”

“Seen her, but not spoken with her! You say he went to
see her, and did see her, but said nothing?”

“Yes; that is precisely what he asserts.”

“Oh! he means no more than this—that he did not propose.”

“It may be—yet he spoke very precisely and positively.”

“Well, Olivia will be able to answer that. She will, at all
events, confess that there was an interview; though she may tell
me nothing of what passed between them. If she says so much
as that, you will readily suppose that Don Philip has simply
kept back something which his pride will not suffer him to confess.”

“Yes;—though how to believe it of Philip—how to suppose
him so weak, or to think that he should keep back the truth from
me—that is what troubles me.”

“Well, leave it till the morrow!” said the wife.

With the morrow, eager to penetrate the mystery, Leonora
de Tobar prepared, at an early hour, to visit her friend. She
found, unexpectedly, the uncle and niece together. Olivia was
looking paler than usual, and wore an exhausted and suffering

appearance. Her eyes were dull, heavy, unobservant and expressionless.
Her whole mental nature seemed stagnant; she
moved like an automaton; welcomed her guest as one in a
dream; and sunk back upon the settee, after the exertion, like
one worn out with long watching. Leonora was quite as flippant
as ever, and for a while talked about a hundred nonsensical matters
quite foreign to the one which filled her thoughts. She
longed and waited anxiously for the moment when the withdrawal
of Don Balthazar would afford her the opportunity which she
desired for broaching the one subject for which alone she came.
But, as if he divined her object, he seemed no ways disposed to
take his departure. He bore patiently the torrent of small talk,
which, with the hope of driving him away, she poured out from
a most inexhaustible fountain. But in vain. He fortified himself
with a pile of papers, which he displayed upon the parlor
table soon after her arrival. Busying himself in army and navy
estimates,—for Don Balthazar filled several different departments
in the bureau of the Adelantado—he strove to busy himself in
the midst of details; and, though the incessant buzzing in his
ears must certainly have defeated every attempt at thought or
investigation, he persevered in the appearance of both, with unwearied
industry. The patience of Leonora was not of a sort
to contend with that of the veteran, resolved upon an object.
She gave way at last, but by no means with the intention to beat
a retreat. She only prepared to change her operations, and, failing
at blockade and starvation, she determined boldly to effect
her purpose by assault. Olivia, all this while, seemed quite unconscious
of—certainly indifferent to,—all that was going on. She
neither looked up nor listened, nor had a word to say. Never
was there a more perfect exhibition of apathy, or we might say
despair. What to her was all this childish prattle, of her child
friend? What cared she for that small personal talk which made
the burden of all her conversations? She had neither mood, nor
heart, nor head, nor memory, nor sense, for all that was saying
or had been said. She was, in truth, laboring under a sort of
aberration of mind, the result of drugs and evil practice, of the
whole extent of which, though, in her sane moments, she had
suspicions, she had really no conscious knowledge except by her
prolonged sufferings day by day. But, very soon, the conversation
aroused her. The daring Leonora, according to her new
plan of operation, now addressed herself to the uncle. Turning
to him very abruptly, and when he was least prepared for the
assault, she said—

“So, Don Balthazar, we are to lose Don Philip de Vasconselos
after all. The report is, that he joined the expedition last night,
after a very eloquent speech. But you must have heard it all,
and can tell us much better than anybody else.”

Olivia looked up with a wild and vacant stare, but the sense
seemed to be slowly kindling in her eyes. With a frown, Don
Balthazar replied:

“I do not see what there is to tell. No more, it appears, than
you know already. Your husband was present. He, perhaps,
remembers the speech, since he regards the knight of Portugal
as something of an orator. Let him report it.”

“Well, I suppose, after this, the fact may be held undeniable;
and now the wonder is why he should have left his purpose
doubtful so long. Why, but a week ago, it was in everybody's
mouth that he was not to go at all—that he had abandoned the
expedition altogether.”

“Well, you admire him the more, I suppose, because of his
feminine caprices,” was the surly answer.

“No, indeed, though I don't see anything amiss in caprices
now and then. They are rather agreeable, to my notion. But,
in his case, people found good reasons for his refusal to go; better,
indeed, than I can find for his present change of mind.”

“Ah! well! good reasons?”

“To be sure! Very excellent reasons, Señor; they gave him
credit for discovering more precious treasures in Havana than he
was like to find in Florida, and at less peril of life and comfort;
and these were surely good reasons for staying.”

“Humph!” quoth the Don, looking askance at Olivia, in

whose eyes the returning light of thought was momently growing
more intelligent.

“The truth is,” continued Leonora, “nobody could question
the admiration of Don Philip for our dear Olivia here. Everybody
saw it; it was in everybody's mouth; and to confess my
conviction, I was very sure that Olivia had just as much regard
for Don Philip as he felt for her.”

Olivia sighed involuntarily. The knight looked very savage,
and turned over his papers diligently. After a pause, he
said,—

“I know no law which forbids fools to talk about their neighbors.
I suppose it is hardly punishable, since such people are
not to be held strictly to account for what they say; but I trust
my niece has given no sufficient reason for the assumption, on
the part of any body, that she had given away her affections
gratuitously to any man—to one, indeed, who had never sought
them.”

“Well, Señor, that is well said by a guardian; but hearts are not
always regulated by the strict letter of domestic law. They are
like birds, which will break out of cage if you leave the door
open. Affections are strangely wilful things, Señor, and very
apt to fly in the face of authority.”

“You have good reason for saying so, Señora!” was the
scornful sneer of the Don in return, emphasising with a pause
the pronoun, and thus making an allusion sufficiently obvious to
her amour (which the church had not sanctioned) with Nuno de
Tobar. But she received it with a cool indifference that silenced
all further attacks of the same sort.

“Oh! if you allude to me, I confess that I have been wilful
enough and sinful enough, and that my affections very readily
ran away with my prudence; and but that Nuno was a blessed
good boy, and loved me for my heart, and not for my wisdom,
I should have been a sad piece of scandal for all Cuba. I was
born a woman, Señor, and I believe I will always be one, let me
live never so long. Now, a woman has a natural faith in man,

as her born guardian, and protector, and lover, and friend; and
if he wrongs her faith, he discredits himself, not her. That's
my notion in such cases. Don't suppose that you make me feel
at all uncomfortable by your hints; for I am willing to admit,
to all Cuba, that I was very weak, and very loving—too loving
to believe evil of the man I fancied! So now, Don Balthazar,
if it pleases you to talk of my affairs, I can't prevent you. It's
the fool's privilege, as you have just said, against which there is
no law, to say what one pleases of his friends; and you have
certainly the same rights as other people; but, in truth, if you
will suffer me, I will speak rather of Olivia and Don Philip, as
being just now much better subjects, and about which I feel
much more concerned.”

The little woman's good nature actually endowed her with
wit and wisdom. Don Balthazar was quite astounded by her
audacity. She was invulnerable to his shafts. He looked up,
and glared upon her more savagely than ever, but remained silent;
and in a moment after, seemed more than ever busy with
his documents. But Leonora went on, and somehow, his instincts
prompted him to listen. She might have heard from her
husband what the latter had withheld from him; and his doubts
had been by no means quieted by the reflections of the past
night. Leonora now especially addressed herself to Olivia.

“I confess, dear Olivia, that I am surprised and disappointed.
I feel vexed at this strange determination of Don Philip, knowing
that he loves you, and believing that you love him, that he
should resolve to go without addressing you. But perhaps he
has done so, and you have been so foolish as to refuse him! Ah,
my child, can it be possible?”

The sad eyes of Olivia, now full of expression, anticipated the
reply of her lips.

“He has not addressed me, Leonora; he has not even been
here. I have not seen him since the moment when I was taken
sick at the tournament.”

“Is it possible?”

“True!” said Olivia, very mournfully. “True!”

“Nay,” continued Leonora, after a thoughtful pause—“nay,
there must be some mistake in this. You certainly have seen
him within the last two days, though he may not have proposed
to you.”

“No! I have not.”

“That is strange!”

“Why strange?”

“He has certainly seen you since the tournament.”

“Why do you think so?”

“He told Nuno that he had! Told him so only last night.”

Don Balthazar could not keep his eyes upon the papers. He
looked up inquiringly to Leonora. She noted the curious expression
in his eyes, and was determined to withhold nothing
which should either obtain for herself the secret which she desired,
or should goad the haughty Don with revelations which
she somehow fancied would annoy him. When, therefore, Olivia
anxiously besought her, as to the alleged visit of Philip, she prepared
to tell all that she knew.

“Well, I know that he has been to see you twice in the last
two days. He came day before yesterday, and was a party to
an encounter which took place in your grounds here between a
troop of alguazils and a certain outlaw.”

“A slave—a mestizo?” involuntarily asked the Don.

“Even so: one Mateo! Philip told Nuno all about it. He
interposed, finding half a score of persons upon one; until the
officers told him how the matter stood, and then he suffered them
to proceed. The outlaw made his escape, however; and Don
Philip then proceeded to visit you, when your girl, Juana, met
him, and told him that you were sick and had retired for the
night.”

“When was this?” demanded Olivia, with strange calmness.

“Two days ago only.”

Olivia rose and called Juana. The girl was close at hand—
had been listening, in fact, at the door. She made her appearance,
and on being asked, confirmed the story.

“Why did you speak a falsehood, Juana?”

The girl hung her head and made no answer. Olivia turned
to Leonora.

“You say that Don Philip came here again, Leonora? Was
here yesterday?”

“Yes—so he assured Nuno last night.”

“When? at what hour?”

“Last evening—about dusk.”

“And saw me?”

“So he said; but, strangely enough, he mentioned that though
he saw you, he did not speak to you. Yet he came to speak.
He came to offer you his hand.”

Olivia pressed her hands upon her heart, with a look of indescribable
suffering. Don Balthazar arose, somewhat agitated,
and approached Leonora.

“You say, Señora, that Don Philip was here last evening?
Last evening!”

“Yes.”

“And at dusk?”

“About that time. He came hither about sunset. Nuno saw
him when he left his lodgings to make the visit, and he told him
all about it.”

“And he saw me?” said Olivia. “Where was I?”

“In the summer-house, Señorita!” was the voluntary reply
of Juana, who had been eagerly waiting to speak.

“It is a mistake!” said Don Balthazar—“He was not here.
I tell you, Señorita, it is altogether a mistake.”

This was said with a vehemence meant to cover an agitation
which the knight could not otherwise subdue. Olivia beheld this
agitation through the effort to conceal it. His asseveration went
for nothing, particularly as Leonora insisted that Don Philip had
declared the fact to her husband, only last night, and after the
former had made his speech.

“It is impossible!” said Don Balthazar, in a manner meant
to silence all further discussion; but the malignant element in the
bosom of the slave, Juana, was not prepared to suffer him to

escape thus easily. She could not suppress the grin of malice
from her features, as she hastily replied:—

“Oh! yes, Señor; Don Philip was certainly here; and was
at the summer-house. I saw him when he was leaving it. It
was there he must have seen the Señorita. You came out of
the summer-house just after Don Philip had gone.”

“I!” exclaimed the Don with troubled aspect—“I!”

“You, Señor!” cried Olivia, rising and striding across the
interval that separated her from her uncle—while her eyes, dilating
beyond their orbs, were fixed upon him with an expression
of mixed agony and horror.

“You!—you!—were you in the summer-house last evening—
you,—when I was there!”

He was silent.... Juana supplied the answer.

“Yes, my lady—the Señor went to the summer-house after
he had dined. But it was dusk before I saw Don Philip. I did
not see Don Philip when he came, but only when he was coming
down the steps of the summer-house, and was going away; and
I was quite frightened to see his face. He looked like a man
that was going crazy; and O! how he did groan! I heard him!
I was quite afraid to go near him.”

“What did he here at that hour!” cried Don Balthazar, furiously—“How
dare he intrude upon my privacy! — How
dared you —”

He was arrested in his speech by the action of Olivia, who
suddenly pressed closer to him, so as almost to touch him, her
hands clasped together, and with such a look—so like madness,
in her face—that, involuntarily, the uncle recoiled from her, and
the words died away upon his lips.

“Oh! you have done your worst now!” she exclaimed. “I
see it all! I know it all! Fiend and monster as you are,—you
feel it, too, do you not! You see it! You will burn for this!
Your rages shall be endless! There shall be no drop of water
for your tongue! There must be a hell, if it be for your use
only! There must be devils, if it be only for your torture!

Oh! do not start, and recoil! I will not harm you! Daggers
would be no punishment for such crimes as yours. Hell! hell
only! Hell! hell! hell!”

She clasped her head with both her hands, and reeled about
dizzily. Leonora caught her in her arms in time to save her
from falling upon the floor. She was in a swoon! It came seasonably
to save her from madness. We close the scene. Let
us suppose that Leonora clung lovingly, and nursed heedfully
her suffering friend; and that Don Balthazar fled from the presence
which, with all his brutal heartlessness of character, he dared
not face.