As I had expected, Don Pedro and Dona Marguerite received us with the utmost cordiality--but alone. In the midst of our call Father Rocus entered in a casual manner, but, unlike the Vallois, he greeted us with a marked coolness. I was seized with the dreadful suspicion that he had all along been playing double with me. Yet there was the memory of that meeting at the _Parroquia_ to shame my doubt.

Before I could calm my thoughts, Pike and Malgares rose to leave. I followed them slowly to the door, then suddenly turned back and bent upon one knee to take the hand of Dona Marguerite.

"Senora," I begged, "for the love of G.o.d, give me a last word with her!

I am going away all those thousands of miles--I fear I shall never again see her--have pity upon me! One word, senora!"

"_Ave Maria purisima!_" she murmured, bowing her head and sighing.

I had touched her heart. Another plea might have persuaded her. But Don Pedro came hastening back, his face as cold and hard as a stone.

"Your friends will be delayed, Senor Robinson," he said.

"Senor," I replied, rising to face him, "at the least have the justice to hear me out. You know that I love your niece with my whole heart and body and soul. You know that she loves me with a love that will last as long as life itself. Our love was born the first time we looked into each other's eyes; since then our love has never wavered. It drew me to her over deserts and mountains, through wildernesses before known only to the red savages; it forced me to face singly the soldiers and prisons and garrottes of your tyrannical rulers. I know now that I cannot hope for you to turn from your cruel purpose. Yet for the sake of the friendship you once professed to bear me and for the sake of her love, give me at least a moment's farewell--a word of parting!"

Despite the desperate earnestness of my plea, he stood throughout without a trace of relentment in his cold face. But Dona Marguerite was a woman, and I had spoken from the depths of my heart.

"_Santisima Virgen!_" she cried. "It is only for a last moment's adieu!--Padre! padre, advise us!"

My heart gave a leap of wild hope as I saw Don Pedro look about at the padre with respectful attention.

"It is a hard question to decide, my children," deliberated Father Rocus. "It may well cause her more sorrow than relief. And yet--and yet--"

He paused and seemed to sink into prayerful meditation. Don Pedro and Dona Marguerite bowed their heads and murmured "_Ave!_" I stood waiting, in a tremendous stress of doubt and joy, of hope and despair. At last the padre raised his head, and p.r.o.nounced his opinion: "As her guardian, Don Pedro, yours is the decision. Yet as her confessor, I advise, for the good of her soul, that you do not deprive her of this last consolation. Even the meekest will rebel if pressed too hard, and she has a high spirit."

"Since you advise it, padre," acquiesced Don Pedro, though with evident reluctance. "For the good of her soul, they may say adieu. But it must be here, in our presence."

Dona Marguerite hastened to pull the bell-cord. Chita appeared.

"Prepare your mistress to say adieu to Senor Robinson."

Chita darted away. We waited, I burning with impatience, the others murmuring prayers. At last my sweet lady appeared in the curtained doorway. Though she sought to smile, her face was wan and sad, and her beautiful eyes heavy as if she had wept much and slept little. Had not Dona Marguerite taken the precaution to lay a restraining hand on my wrist, I should have rushed forward and clasped the poor oppressed darling in my arms.

We were permitted to approach each other. I bent on one knee and pressed my lips to the little white hand she gave me. The others watched our every movement and listened for every word. Yet I could not restrain myself from speaking out the love with which my heart overflowed.

"Dearest one!" I murmured, "it seems that we must now part--it may be forever! I do not see how I can bear to lose you, my darling. But, as the good padre says, we all have our crosses, and it may be that strength will be given to me to endure. Yet most of all my heart aches for your grief, Alisanda. G.o.d grant you surcease of sorrow!"

My voice failed me. I heard Dona Marguerite sob. But Alisanda neither wept nor sobbed. She gazed upward, with a spiritual glow in her dark eyes.

"G.o.d will do unto us according to His holy will!" she said.

"_Ave Maria de los Dolores!_" sobbed Dona Marguerite.

Alisanda looked down at me with the gaze which opened to me those fathomless wells of mystery.

"Juan," she said, "they tell me we can never wed. If such be the will of G.o.d, we must submit. But--" She held up the gold crucifix of the rosary which hung about her neck--"by _la vera cruz_ I vow to you, beloved, I will wed none other mortal than yourself. If I may not be your bride, I will become the bride of Christ!"

"_Caramba!_" swore Don Pedro. "Recall that vow! I command you!"

"G.o.d has heard it!" she answered.

"The vow is registered in heaven," confirmed Father Rocus.

"Absolve her!" demanded the don, fairly beside himself with chagrin at this sudden turn that threatened to frustrate all his designs.

"Peace, peace," soothed the padre. "I will consider the matter with prayer and meditation."

"_Satanas!_" cried Don Pedro, turning upon me in a rage. "But for you, she would not have vowed! Go!--"

"_Nada!_" I rejoined. "You said I could bid her farewell. I hold you to your word as a gentleman."

He turned on his heel, and strode over to stand beside Father Rocus, doubtless fearful that he could not otherwise restrain himself from attacking me.

"Be quick!" urged Dona Marguerite.

Alisanda took the rosary from about her white throat and held it out to me. Her voice kept to the same clear, brave note: "Adieu, my Juan! We part. You are not a Christian, I know, yet as a sign for the guidance of your faith, I give you this golden symbol--_la vera cruz_!"

As her dear hand placed the cross in my palm, my love and despair burst all bounds. Forgetful of all else, I caught her to me and pressed my lips to hers in pa.s.sionate grief. But in a moment she was torn from me by Don Pedro, who carried her off, half fainting, from the room. I would have followed had not Dona Marguerite and Father Rocus clung to me on either side and implored me to leave before the return of Don Pedro.

Half stupefied with despair, I permitted them to lead me to the stairway, where Dona Marguerite sobbed out an "_Adios!_" and turned back. The padre hurried me down the stairway and out into the street, where, after a hasty benediction, he hastened back to pacify the violence of Don Pedro.

CHAPTER x.x.xII

THE MESSAGE

He left me none too soon. I could hear Don Pedro cursing furiously in the courtyard. Fearful that if matters came to blows, I might do an injury to the kinsman of my lady, I dragged myself away, heavy with despair. Not until I was half across the plaza did I notice that I still held her rosary in my hand. I stared at the little gold cross with bitter hatred. It seemed so harsh a mockery that she should have given me as parting gift that symbol of the gulf that now yawned between us, wider and deeper than ever. Yet the gift was from her, and--I must bear my cross!

For a moment I was tempted to put a pistol to my head and end all. But the life within me was sane and strong, and the memory of my lost lady too sweet for me to hurl myself into the unknown. In reflex from that last black thought of self-destruction there came to me even a feeble consciousness of resignation--a feeling that for her sake I must endeavor to live my life in a manner worthy of her memory. And this feeling did not leave me, but increased in strength throughout the weary weeks of our long homeward journey.

We started that afternoon, immediately after the siesta, and proceeded in a southerly direction on the road toward Durango. But I do not propose to give here the tedious details of our trip. Greatly to our disappointment, a few days brought us a parting from our n.o.ble friend Malgares, who turned over his instructions and despatch-pouch to a Captain Barelo. The latter took us so far south before rounding the lower end of the terrible Bolson de Mapimi Desert that we at one time thought he had secret orders to march us to the City of Mexico.

Whatever the object of this long detour, it served the purpose of enabling Pike and myself to take many more observations of the mines, towns, and other features of the country than if we had followed a shorter route. By the time we had swung around, north by east, up through the Province of Coahuila, and crossed over the Rio del Norte, which here is more often called the Rio Grande, we had all but one of the musket barrels closely packed with notes.

From the Rio Grande we proceeded northeastward, and crossing the border of the Province of Texas, arrived at San Antonio on the seventh of June.

Here we were received with the utmost hospitality by the gallant and beloved General Herrera and by Governor Cordero, who took us into his own quarters, offered us every favor within his power, and had a house especially prepared for the men.

Many other prominent persons of the town were no less cordial and hospitable. Among them was a Captain Ugarte, to whom we brought letters of introduction from Malgares. His charming wife Dona Anita was a sister of Dona Dolores. Hardly had we been introduced to her when the kindly senora led me aside and showed me a letter which she had received from Senora Malgares a week before our arrival.

"My sister has roused my deepest interest, Senor Robinson, by the story of your doleful separation from your Dulcinea," she explained. "This letter begs me to do what little I can to console you."

"You are most kind, senora," I replied. "But I know of nothing--unless I might ask you to send a message by Dona Dolores to Senorita Alisanda."

"Gladly! Have you received no message from her?"

I shook my head sadly. She thought a moment, and then pressed me to tell her of my last meeting with Alisanda. The moment I mentioned the cross her face brightened.