Yet how could he, a man in whose blood--though it may have been ign.o.ble for aught he knew--ran all the pa.s.sions of his race with the fervor and fire of the best, a man who loved, as he did, the ground upon which the Senorita de Lara walked, stand by tamely and see her given to another, no matter who he might be? He would have given the fortune which he had ama.s.sed by honorable toil, the fame he had acquired by brilliant exploits, the power he enjoyed through the position he had achieved, the weight which he bore in the councils of New Spain, every prospect that life held dear to him to solve the dilemma and win the woman he loved for his wife.

He pa.s.sed hours in weary isolation on the plaza of the great castle overlooking the stretched-out town upon the narrow strand with the ceaseless waves beating ever upon the sh.o.r.e from the heavenly turquoise blue of the Caribbean wavering far into the distant horizon before him.

He spent days and nights, thinking, dreaming, agonizing, while he wrestled vainly with the problem. Sometimes he strove to call to his mind those stern resolutions of duty which he had laid before himself at the beginning of his career, and to which he had steadfastly adhered in the pursuit of his fortunes; and he swore that he would be true to his ideals, that the trust reposed in him by the Viceroy should not be betrayed, that the friendship in which he was held by de Tobar should never be broken, that he would tear out of his heart the image of the woman he loved. And then, again, he knew that so long as that heart kept up its beating she would be there, and to rob him of her image meant to take away his life. If there had been a war, if some opportunity had been vouchsafed him to pour out, in battle against the enemy, some of the ardor that consumed him, the situation would have been ameliorated; but the times were those of profound peace. There was nothing to occupy his mind except the routine duties of the garrison.

Spain, under the last poor, crazed, bewitched, degenerate descendant of the once formidable Hapsburgs, had reached the lowest depths of ignominy and decay. Alone, almost, under her flag Venezuela was well governed--from the Spanish standpoint, that is; from the native American point of view the rule of even the gentlest of Spaniards had made a h.e.l.l on earth of the fairest countries of the new continent. Of all the cities and garrisons which were under the sway of the Viceroy de Lara, La Guayra was the best appointed and cared for. But it did not require a great deal of the time or attention from so skilled a commander as Alvarado to keep things in proper shape. Time, therefore, hung heavily on his hands. There were few women of rank in the town, which was simply the port of entry for St. Jago de Leon across the mountains which rose in tree-clad slopes diversified by bold precipices for ten thousand feet back of the palace, and from the commoner sort of women the young captain held himself proudly aloof, while his love safeguarded him from the allurement of the evil and the shameless who flaunted their iniquity in every seaport on the Caribbean.

On the other side of the mountain range after a descent of several thousand feet to a beautiful verdant valley whose alt.i.tude tempered the tropic heat of the low lat.i.tude into a salubrious and delightful climate, lay the palace of the Viceroy and the city which surrounded it, St. Jago, or Santiago de Leon, commonly called the City of Caracas.

Many a day had Alvarado turned backward from the white-walled, red-roofed town spread out at his feet, baking under the palms, seething in the fierce heat, as if striving to pierce with his gaze the great cordilleras, on the farther side of which in the cool white palace beneath the gigantic ceibas the queen of his heart made her home. He pictured her at all hours of the day; he dwelt upon her image, going over again in his mind each detail of her face and figure. The perfume of her hand was still fragrant upon his lips; the sound of her voice, the soft musical voice of Andalusia, still vibrated in his ear; her burning glance pierced him even in his dreams like a sword.

He was mad, mad with love for her, crazed with hopeless pa.s.sion. There seemed to be no way out of his misery but for him to pa.s.s his own sword through his heart, or to throw himself from the precipice, or to plunge into the hot, cruel blue of the enveloping Caribbean--the color of the sea changed in his eye with his temper, like a woman's mood. Yet he was young, he hoped in spite of himself. He prayed--for he was not old enough to have lost faith--and he planned. Besides, he was too brave a soldier to kill himself, and she was not yet married. She was not formally betrothed, even; although it was well known that her father looked favorably upon de Tobar's suit, no formal announcement had been made of it as yet. So in spite of his judgment he dreamed--the thoughts of youth and love are long, long thoughts, indeed.

That morning the young captain, engrossed in his emotions, was not aware of the approach of a messenger, until the clank of the man's sword upon the stone flags of the plaza caused him to lift his head. He was a soldier, an officer of the bodyguard of the Viceroy, and he bore in his hand a letter sealed with the de Lara coat of arms. The messenger saluted and handed the packet to the captain.

"Yesterday evening, His Excellency, the Viceroy, charged me to deliver this letter to you to-day."

"Fadrique," called Alvarado, to a servitor, "a flagon of wine for the cavalier. By your leave, sir," he continued with formal politeness, opening the packet and reading the message:

"TO THE CAPTAIN ALVARADO, COMMANDANTE OF LA GUAYRA.

GREETING:

As one faithful to the fortunes of our family we would crave your honorable presence at our palace in Santiago to-morrow evening. In view of your service and devotion, we have done you the honor to appoint you as one of the witnesses to the formal betrothal of our daughter, Donna Mercedes, to your friend, Don Felipe de Tobar. After that, as we have received appeals for help from the Orinoco country, we propose to lead His Most Catholic Majesty's Imperial troops thither in person to overawe the natives; and, reposing full trust in your fidelity and honor, we deign to commit the Donna Mercedes to your safe keeping in our city of La Guayra, until we return.

Therefore make your preparations accordingly.

Given under our hand and seal,

DE LARA, _Viceroy_."

It had come! The old man, as a last token of his respect, had nominated him as a witness to the contract which robbed him forever of hope and happiness. The young man went white before the keen eye of the messenger, who, in common with other officers of the Viceroy's court, suspected what was, indeed, concealed from no one save the father and lover. The world swam before his vision. The blue sea seemed to rise up and meet the green hills until he could not distinguish the one from the other. His heart almost stopped its beating, yet summoning his resolution he recovered himself by an effort that left him trembling, the sweat beading his forehead.

"Are you in a state for a return journey at once, senor?" he asked of the young officer.

"At your service, captain."

"That's well. Say to His Excellency, the Viceroy, that I thank him for the honor he does me. I shall wait upon him to-morrow and obey his commands."

CHAPTER X

HOW DONNA MERCEDES TEMPTED HER LOVER AND HOW HE STROVE VALIANTLY TO RESIST HER APPEALS

Alvarado was alone in the cabinet of the Viceroy, to which his rank and the favor in which His Excellency held him gave him access at all times.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

He had ridden all day over the rough road that winds over the mountains from La Guayra to Caracas. The storm which had rushed down the mountain-side all afternoon matched the tumult in his soul, and the sheets of rain blown upon him by the fierce wind had not cooled the fever of his agitation. The unusual tempest was one of the most terrific that had swept over the coast in years. He had marked as he rode a huge ship far to seaward, staggering along under shortened canvas and laboring tremendously in the heavy seas. But his thoughts were so centered upon the situation in which he found himself that he had not particularly noticed the vessel, although pa.s.sing ships were infrequent sights off the port of La Guayra. Pale, haggard, and distraught from his mental struggle he had crossed the pa.s.s at the summit of the mountain and descended into the fertile valley now adrip with rain and looking almost cold under the gray sky, and had presented himself at the palace of the Viceroy.

He had changed his apparel after his reception and his old sergeant had polished his breastplate until it fairly blazed with light, for though the occasion was one of peace he had felt that he could better sustain his part in the military uniform in which he had won his only t.i.tle to consideration. He schooled himself to go through that part with the resolution of a Spanish gentleman. Although there was no evidence of gentle blood save such as was presented by his actions, he had always cherished the hope that could the secret of his birth be revealed he would not be found unfit for the honors that he had won and the ambitions that he cherished. Consequently his appearance in the brilliantly lighted hall of the palace among the gay courtiers resplendent in magnificent attire, blazing with jewels, threw a somber note over the proceedings.

It was as a soldier he had won fame and the consideration of the Viceroy; in no other capacity, so far as any man knew, had he the right to enter that a.s.semblage of the rich and well born. It was as a soldier he would perform that hardest of all duties which had ever been laid upon him by his friend and patron, the Governor.

Pale, stern, composed, he stood an iron figure of repression. So severe was the constraint that he put upon himself that he had given no sign of his emotion, even at the near approach of Donna Mercedes, and the hand which signed his name beneath her father's as the princ.i.p.al witness was as steady as if it held merely the sword in some deadly combat. He endured pa.s.sively the affectionate greetings of the happy de Tobar, who was intoxicated at the a.s.surance afforded by the betrothal of the coming realization of all his hopes. He sustained with firmness the confidence of the Viceroy and the admissions de Lara made to him in private, of his pleasure in the suitable and fortunate marriage which was there arranged. He even bore without breaking one long, piteous appeal which had been shot at him from the black eyes of the unhappy Mercedes.

To her he seemed preternaturally cold and indifferent. He was so strong, so brave, so successful. She had counted upon some interposition from him, but the snow-capped Andes were no colder than he appeared, their granite sides no more rigid and unsympathetic. It was with a feeling almost of anger and resentment at last that she had signed the betrothal contract.

But the restraint on the man was more than he could bear. The c.u.mulative force of the reproach of the woman he loved, the confidence of the Viceroy, the rapturous happiness of his best friend, was not to be endured longer. Pleading indisposition, he early begged leave to withdraw from the festivities which succeeded the completion of the betrothal ceremony and the retirement of the ladies. At the suggestion of the Viceroy, who said he desired to consult with him later in the evening, he went into the deserted cabinet of the latter.

The palace was built in the form of a quadrangle around an open patio. A balcony ran along the second story pa.s.sing the Viceroy's cabinet, beyond which was his bedroom and beyond that the apartments of his daughter.

The rain had ceased and the storm had spent itself. It was a calm and beautiful night, the moon shining with tropic splendor through the open window dispensed with the necessity of lights. There was no one in the cabinet when he entered, and he felt at last able to give way to his emotion; Mercedes though she was not married was now lost to him beyond recourse. After the women withdrew from the hall with Donna Mercedes there was no restraint put upon the young n.o.bles, and from the other side of the patio came the sound of uproarious revelry and feasting--his friends and comrades with generous cheer felicitating the happy bridegroom that was to be. Alvarado was alone, undisturbed, forgotten, and likely to remain so. He put his head upon his hands and groaned in anguish.

"Why should it not have been I?" he murmured. "Is he stronger, braver, a better soldier? Does he love her more? O Mother of G.o.d! Riches? Can I not acquire them? Fame? Have I not a large measure? Birth? Ah, that is it! My father! my mother! If I could only know! How she looked at me!

What piteous appeal in her eyes! What reproach when I stood pa.s.sive cased in iron, with a breaking heart. O my G.o.d! My G.o.d! Mercedes!

Mercedes!"

In his anguish he called the name aloud. So absorbed and preoccupied in his grief had he been that he was not aware of a figure softly moving along the balcony in the shadow. He did not hear a footfall coming through the open window that gave into the room. He did not realize that he had an auditor to his words, a witness to his grief, until a touch soft as a snowflake fell upon his fair head and a voice for which he languished whispered in his ear:

"You called me; I am come."

"Senorita Mercedes!" he cried, lifting his head and gazing upon her in startled surprise. "How came you here?" he added brusquely, catching her hands with a fierce grasp in the intensity of his emotion as he spoke.

"Is this my greeting?" she answered, surprised in turn that he had not instantly swept her to his heart.

She strove to draw herself away, and when he perceived her intent he opened his hands and allowed her arms to fall by her side.

"I have been mistaken," she went on piteously, "I am not wanted."

She turned away and stood full in the silver bar of the moonlight streaming through the cas.e.m.e.nt. Her white face shone in the light against the dark background of the huge empty room--that face with its aureole of soft dark hair, the face of a saint, pale yet not pa.s.sionless, of the heaven heavenly, yet with just enough of earthly feeling in her eyes to attest that she was a very woman after all.

"Go not," he cried, catching her again and drawing her back.

Gone were his resolutions, shattered was his determination, broken was his resistance. She was here before him, at all hazards he would detain her. They were alone together, almost for the first time in their lives.

It was night, the balmy wind blew softly, the moonlight enveloped them.

Such an opportunity would never come again. It was madness. It was fatal. No matter. She should not go now.

"I heard you," she murmured, swaying toward him. "I heard--you seemed to be--suffering. I do not know why--something drew me on. You whispered--you were speaking--I--listened. I came nearer. Was your heart breaking, too? Despise me!"

She put her face in her hands. It was a confession she made. A wave of shame swept over her.

"Despise you? Ah, G.o.d help me, I love you!"

And this time he gathered her in his arms, and drew her back into the deeper shadow.

"And you were so cold," she whispered. "I looked at you. I begged you with all my soul before I signed. You did nothing, nothing! O Mother of G.o.d, is there no help?"