Across the Salt Seas

Then I shuddered and could have slain my own self at the man's action.

For he turned and looked at me-it was in the fast gathering twilight, as side by side always, we were slowly riding up a mountain path-looked-then, as I gazed, the tears rolled down his coarse face! And, poor unhappy, afflicted thing! those tears continued to trickle down that face till night hid it from my eyes.

I knew now that he understood at least, that he comprehended the words of pity and remorse I poured forth before the darkness came; at least the touch I made gently on his sleeve was read aright by him. For on his broad, expressionless face, to me for so long a stolid mask, there came a placid smile, and once he returned my touch lightly as still we rode on, and on, and on.

We halted that night to rest our horses and ourselves at a miserable inn, high up in the mountains, a place round which the snow was falling in great flakes, that seemed, indeed, to be embedded in snow. A ghastly, horrid place in which, as I sat shuddering by the fire, while my companion and the landlord slept near it-wondering if by now Juana had accomplished her dreadful purpose, unable longer to bear the company of the man, Morales, to whom she had sold herself; or, almost worse still, the company of her sin stained father; wondering too, if by now that splendid form was stiff in death! – I almost cursed the escape that had come to me. In truth, I think that now, upon this night, amidst the horrors of this lonely mountain inn, I was almost a madman; for the soft beat of the flakes upon the glass of the window seemed to my frenzied mind like the tapping of ghostly fingers; as I fixed my eyes upon those flakes and saw them alight one by one upon the panes and then dissolve and vanish, it looked to me as though they were fingers that scratched at the window and were withdrawn only to return a moment later. Also the wind screamed round the house-I started once, feeling sure I heard a woman-Juana-shriek my name, plucked at the sword by my side and would have made for the door, but that the landlord laughed at me and pushed me back, saying that those shrieks were heard nightly and all through the night during the winter.

At last, however, I slept, wrapped in my cloak before the peat fire, the mute in another chair by my side. And so, somehow, the night wore through. The morning came, and we were on our road once more, ten leagues still to be compassed ere the frontier was reached, with, behind us, as now I gathered from my mutilated companion's manner in answer to my questions, the possibility that we might be pursued. That after us, in hot chase, might be coming some from Lugo who had discovered our escape.

The mountain water courses and rivulets hummed beneath the frozen snow bound over them by the bitter frost, the tree boughs waved above our heads and across our path as, gradually descending once more to the plain, the chestnuts and the oak trees took the place of the gaunt black pines left behind above; once on this bitter morning we saw the sun steal out from amidst the clouds-lying down low on the horizon as though setting instead of rising. Yet on we rode for our lives, with upon me a deeper desire than the salvation of my own existence-the hope that I should be in time to save Juana, to wrench her from Morales ere it was too late, to bear her away at last to happiness and love unspeakable. Rode on, my black horse stumbling once over a mass of stone rolled down from the heights above; the dappled grey coming to its haunches from a similar cause, yet both lifted quickly by a sharp turn of our wrists and rushing on again down the declivity, danger in every stride and only avoided by God's mercy.

The leagues flew by-were left behind-a long billowy plain arrived at, sprinkled with hamlets from which the cheerful smoke rose to the sky; the mute had passes which took us through that other town of Viana; the last spot of importance was reached-and passed! – that lay between us and the border-between us and Portugal and safety.

Then once more our beasts slackened in their stride, again the ground rose upward, once more the hills were before us, above them at the summit was the frontier, Terroso. Another hour and we should be there-Juana's and my fate determined.

To use whips-neither of us had spurs-was cruel, yet there was no other way; therefore we plied them, pressed reeking flanks, rode on and on mercilessly. And now the end was at hand; afar off I saw a cabin over which floated both the banner of Spain and of Portugal. We were there some moments later-the mute's papers again examined-our passage allowed.

We had escaped from Spain!

"You ride quickly," the Portuguese aduanista said; "seek some others, perhaps, who come before you?" and he addressed himself to my companion, probably because he bore the passports. Then continued: "If 'tis a señor and señora you desire, they are in the fonda half a league further on."

"They," he said, "'They' God be praised!" I murmured. Had any tragedy occurred it would not have been "they."

Not waiting to answer, but briefly nodding my thanks, we went on, the last half league dwindling to little more than paces now.

And then I saw the fonda, a place no bigger than a wooden cabin, I saw a woman seated on a bench outside against its wall, her elbows upon her knees, her dark head buried in her hands.

She heard the ring of our horses' hoofs upon the road, all sodden as it was with half-melted snow, and sprang to her feet-then advanced some paces and, shading her eyes, looked up the way that we were coming; dashed next her hand across those eyes as though doubting what she saw, and ran down the road toward us.

As I leapt from my horse she screamed, "Mervan!" and threw herself into my arms, her lips meeting mine in one long kiss, then staggered back some paces from me, exclaiming:

"How! How, oh, my love, how-how have you escaped-found your way here-to me?"

"How?" I repeated after her, startled at the question; startled, too, at the tone of her voice. "How! Do I not owe my salvation to you-to your power over him-the Alcáide?"

"My God! No!" she answered. "Never would he have aided you to escape." Then, suddenly, as some thought struck her, she screamed aloud: "Mervan-Mervan-where is my unhappy father?"

"Your father! Is he not here?"

"No! No! No! Oh, God! what has happened? Has he been left behind to meet his doom?"

And, as she spoke, she reeled and would have fallen had I not caught her in my arms.

CHAPTER XXVII.

"LIAR, I WILL KILL YOU!"

He had been left behind-and I was here! He whose escape had been arranged for was still a prisoner-I, whose doom had been fixed, was free.

What did it mean? What mystery had taken place?

One glance toward the fonda fifty yards away was sufficient to show that mystery there was-as unintelligible to another as to Juana. And more than mystery! – that my presence here was as hateful as unexpected, to one person at least. To Morales, the Alcáide!

For even as my love recovered sufficiently to be able to stand without my assistance, though still leaning heavily upon me, I-looking toward that fonda-saw Morales issuing rapidly from it, his sword carried in his left hand, his right hand plucking the blade from the scabbard. And-more ominous still of what his intentions were, as well as of his fury! – as he ran toward us he flung the now empty sheath away from him and rushed forward, the bare blade gleaming.

Then as he reached the spot where we both stood together, the mute behind us-while, even as I too plucked the sword the poor creature had furnished me with from its scabbard and stood upon my guard, I saw that his stolid face expressed not only fear but something else-astonishment! – Morales shouted, his words tumbling pell mell over each other so much as to be difficult of understanding.

"Wretches! Traitor! Traitress! 'Tis thus I am deceived-hoodwinked! Tricked and ruined so that your lover may be restored to your false arms. So be it-thus, also, I avenge myself," and-horror! – he made a pass at Juana as she stood by my side. He was a Spaniard-and his love had turned to hate and gall!

Yet ere the shriek she uttered had ceased to ring on the wintry morning air, the deadly thrust that was aimed full at her breast was parried by my own blade; putting her behind me with my left hand, I struck full at him, resolved that ere another five minutes were over his own life should pay for that craven attempt; struck full at his own breast, missing it only by an inch, yet driving him back from me.

Back, step by step, yet knowing even as I did so that' it was no odds on me in this encounter, that here was a swordsman who would dispute every thrust of mine; that it would be lucky if his long blade did not thread my ribs ere my own weapon found his heart.

It behooved me to be careful, I knew. Already, in the first moment, he had settled down to fighting carefully and cautiously; already one devilish Italian thrust was given-he must have crossed the Alps, I thought, to learn it! – that almost took me unawares; that, had my parry not been quick, would have brought his quillon hurtling at my breast, with the blade through me. Yet, it had failed! and with the failure the chance was gone.

"I know your thrust," I whispered, maybe hissed, at him; "'twill serve no more."

But even as I said these words it came to me that I should not win this fight, that he was the better man-my master-at the game-that I was lost. And as I thought this I saw-while we shifted ground a little on the sodden snow-the mute standing gazing earnestly, almost fascinated, upon us; I saw some people at the door of the fonda-a man and a woman-regarding us with horror-stricken glances-I saw Juana on her knees, perhaps praying! It might be so, since her head was buried in her hands!

And if he won, if he slew me, even wounded and disabled me, she was lost, too; with me out of the way, with her father dead or still a prisoner, nothing could save her. Her last hope would be gone.

That spurred me, egged me on, put a fierce and fresh determination in my heart, since I had not lost my courage, but only my confidence. That, and one other thing; for I saw upon the melting snow beneath our feet, even as we trod it into water, a tinge of crimson; I saw a few drops lie spotting it-and I knew that that blood was not mine. Therefore, I had touched him, had only missed his life by a hair's breadth; next time it might not be drops-might be the heart's blood of him who had sought that of my loved one!

Still, I could not do it, could not thrust through and through him. Every drive, every assault, was parried easily. Once, when I lunged so near him that I heard his silk waistcoat rip, he laughed a low, mocking laugh as he thrust my blade aside with a turn of his iron wrist; I could not even, as I tried, take him in the sword arm and so disable him.

Also, I knew what was in his mind, specially since, for some few moments, he had ceased to thrust back at me. He was bent on tiring me out. Then-then-his opportunity would have come, would be at hand.

"Disable him! Disable him!" Why did those words haunt my brain, ring through it again and again; seem to deaden even the scraping hiss of steel against steel. "Disable him!" What memory was arising in that brain of some one, something, long forgotten? A second later, even as I felt my point bring pressed lower and lower by his own blade, knew a lunge was coming-parried it as it came-safely once more, thank God! – I remembered, knew what that memory meant.

Recalled a little, hunchbacked Italian escrimeur who used to haunt a fence school at the back of the Exchange in the Strand; a man whose knowledge of attack was poor in the extreme, yet who could earn a beggar's wage by teaching some marvellous methods of disarming an adversary. And I had flung him a crown more than once to be taught his tricks!

Now those crowns should bear interest!

I changed my tactics, lunged no more; our blades became silent; they ceased to hiss like drops of water falling on live coals or hot iron; almost they lay motionless together, mine over his, yet I feeling through blade and hilt the strength of that black, hairy wrist which held the other weapon. Also, I think he felt the strength of mine; once his eye shifted, though had the moment been any other the shift would have been unnoticeable.

That was my time! Swift as lightning, I, remembering the dwarf's lessons of long ago-why did I remember also the little sniggering chuckle he used to utter as he taught them? – drew back my sword an inch, then thrust, then back again with a sharp wrench, and, lo! Morales' sword was flying through the air three feet above his head-he was weaponless! My own was drawn back a second later, another moment I should have avenged his assassin's thrust at Juana-yet I could not do it. For he, recognising he was doomed, stood there before me, his arms folded over his breast, his eyes confronting mine.

"Curse you!" he said, "you have won. Well-kill me. At once."

No need for me to say that could not be. In the moment that I twisted his weapon out of his wrist I had meant to slay him, had drawn back my own weapon to thrust it through chest and lungs and back, and stretch him dead at my feet-yet now I spared him.

Villain as he was-scoundrel who would traffic with a broken-hearted woman for her honour and her soul as a set-off against her father's safety, and, in doing so, also betray the country he served-I could not slay a defenceless man.

His sword had fallen at my feet; one of them was upon it. I motioned to him now to return to the fonda-to begone.

"You have missed your quarry," I said; "'twill never fall to your lure again. Away!"

Yet, still standing there before us-for now Juana had once more flown to my side, and was sobbing bitterly, her wild, passionate words expressing partly her thanks to God for my double safety, and partly her bewailings that her father had gone to his fate-he had something to say, could not depart without a malediction.

"Curse you both!" he exclaimed once more. "Curse you! Had I known of your trick you should all have burnt and grilled on the braséro ere this-ay, even you, wanton! – ere I had let you fool me so."

Then he turned away as though to go back to the fonda, yet returned again, and, striding back to where the mute stood motionless, his expression one of absolute vacancy-as though, in truth, he was only now become dumb from utter surprise-he struck at him full in the face with his clenched fist.

"Dolt, idiot, hound!" he said. "Was it to aid in such treachery against me as this that I saved you from the Inquisition? God! that I had left them to take your useless life! Dumb fool!"

I, standing there, with Juana still clinging to my neck, as she had done since the duel was over, saw the man stagger back and wipe the blood from his lips; saw, too, his hands clench firmly; saw him take one step forward, as though he meant to throw himself upon Morales; then stop suddenly, and do nothing. Perhaps even now, after this foul blow, he remembered that he had been saved from death once by him who struck that blow.

But a moment later he approached the Alcáide, though now humbly, and like a beaten slave who sues for pardon, and entreats that no further punishment shall be dealt out to him, and, an instant after, began, with fingers and hands and many strange motions, to tell his master something-something in a dumb language that was, still, not the deaf and dumb language in common use, and which I myself chanced to know, yet one that none could doubt both of these men were in the habit of conversing in.

He was telling some strange tale, I saw and understood by one glance at my late opponent's face; neither could any doubt that who gazed upon it!

At first that face expressed amazement, incredulity-all the emotions that are to be observed on the countenance of one who listens to some story which he either cannot believe, or thinks issues, at best, from a maniac. Yet gradually, too, there came over the face of Morales another look-the look of one who does believe at last, in spite of himself; also there dawned on it a hideous, gloating expression, such as might befit a fiend who listens to the tortured cries of a victim.

What did it mean? What tale was that stricken creature telling him by those symbols, which none but he understood? What? What?

A moment later we knew-if Morales did not lie to us.

The mute had ceased his narrative, his hands made no further signs, and, slowly, he stepped back again to where the horses we had travelled on stood together, the reins of one tied to the other-and Morales turned to us, his features still convulsed with that horrible expression of gloating.

"I have wronged you," he said, raising his forefinger and pointing it at Juana, who shuddered and clasped me closer even as he did so; "and you," glancing at me. "The treachery was not yours, but another's; unless-unless" – and he paused as though seeking for words-"unless it should be termed otherwise. Say, not treachery, but-sublime sacrifice."

"What!" from both her lips and mine. "What!"

"Your father," he said, "had his chance" – and again that forefinger was pointed at her-"this poor fool, my servant, went to set him free; the horse was waiting for him-only, instead, it has borne you to safety" – and now he glanced at me-"also there was his sword for him-that by your side."

"My God! My God!" I heard Juana whisper on my breast.

"Only he-this buccaneer-would not accept it, not take it. He, stained deep with crime as he was, his name an accursed one through all the Indies-men spit upon the ground there, they say, with loathing when they hear it mentioned, even now-could bear all things but one. Shall I tell you what that one thing is?" and he glanced again at Juana, a very hell of hate in his look.

But she could only moan upon my bosom and murmur: "My father! Oh, my father!"

"He could not bear," Morales went on, "that his child should be what he knew she had become by now-my friend-"

"Liar!" I cried. "I will kill you for this."

"Could not bear that she should bring deeper disgrace than even he had done upon your tainted names. Therefore he refused to come; therefore he preferred the flames to which he has gone" – a wild, piercing scream broke from Juana as he said those words-"and-so-so-that there should be nothing rise up to prevent him from going to his death, so that he should put away from himself all chance of salvation from that death and earn his oblivion from disgrace, he persuaded this fool that a mistake had been made-that 'twas you, not he, who was to be saved, allowed to escape."

"You lie," I said again. "You lie. Some part of this story is true, some false, Gramont never believed that she would give herself to you; knew that she meant to slay herself the instant she was assured of his safety. Spanish dog, you lie, and I will have your life for it."

"It is true," he said hoarsely, "as true as that an hour after you left Lugo he was led out and burnt at the braséro-the braséro that was prepared for you. Now," and once more he addressed Juana, "you have your lover back again-be happy in the possession; in the knowledge that his life is saved by the loss of your father's. Be happy in that."

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE DEAD MAN'S EYES-THE DEAD MAN'S HANDS

Was Juana dying, I asked myself that night-dying of misery and of all that she had gone through? God, He only knew-soon I should know, too.

Ere I had carried her to the fonda, Morales had disappeared, his afflicted follower with him-ere we reached the miserable room, in which she had passed the two nights that had elapsed since she had come here with him who had bartered for the sacrifice of her honour against her father's safety, I heard the trample of horses' hoofs, I saw from the inn window both those men ride swiftly away, their road being that which led on into Portugal.

It was not possible that I should follow him and exact vengeance for all that he had done or attempted to do against her, force him once more to an encounter, disarm him again-and, when he was thus disarmed, spare him no further. Not possible, because, henceforth, my place was by her side. I must never leave her again in life-leave her who had come to this through her love of me, her determination to follow me through danger after danger, reckless of what might befall.

She lay now upon her bed, feverish and sometimes incoherent, yet, at others, sane and in her right mind, and it was at one of such moments as these that I, sitting by her side, heard her whisper:

"Mervan, where is that man-Morales?"

"He is gone, dear heart; he will trouble you no more. And-and-remember we are free. As soon as you are restored we can leave here-there is nothing to stop us now. My journey through Spain and France can never be recommenced-we must make for England by sea somehow. Then, when I have placed you in safety, I must find my way across to Flanders."

For a while she lay silent after I had said this; lay there, her lustrous eyes open, and with the fever heightening and intensifying, if such were possible, her marvellous beauty. For now the carmine of her cheeks and lips was-although fever's ensign! – even more strikingly lovely than before; this woman on whom I gazed so fondly was beyond all compare the most beautiful creature on which my eyes had ever rested. As I had thought at first, so, doubly, I thought now.

Presently she moaned a little, not from bodily pain, but agony of mind, as I learnt shortly-then she said:

"Mervan, why do you stay by my side-why not go at once back to your own land? Leave me?"

"Juana!" I exclaimed, deeming that I had mistaken her state, and that, in truth, she was beside herself. Then added, stupidly and in a dazed manner: "Leave you!"

"Ay. Why stay by me? You have heard, know all, whose child-to my eternal shame! – I am. The child of that bloodstained man, Gramont. Ay," she said, again, "he, that other, Morales, spoke true. There is no name in all the Indies remembered with such hate and loathing as his. And I-I-am his child. Go-leave me to die here."

"Juana," I said, "can you hear me, understand what I am saying-going to say to you? Is your brain clear enough to comprehend my words? Speak-answer me."

For reply she turned those eyes on me; beneath the dark dishevelled curls I saw their clear glance-I knew that all I should say would be plain to her.

"Listen to my words," I continued therefore. "Listen-and believe; never doubt more. Juana, I love you with my whole heart and soul-before all and everything else this world holds for me. I love you. I love you. I love you," and as I spoke I bent forward and pressed my lips to her hot burning ones. "And you tell me to leave you, because, forsooth! you are his child. Oh! my sweet, my sweet, if you were the child of one five thousand times worse than he has been, ay! even though Satan claimed you for his own, I would love you till my last breath, would never quit your side. Juana, we are each other's forever now."

"No! No! No!"

"Yes, I say," I cried almost fiercely. "Yes. We are each other's alone. You are mine, mine, mine. I have no other thought, no other hope in all this world but you. If-if-our faith were the same I would send for a priest now who should make us one; there should be no further moment elapse in all the moments of eternity before you were my wife."

I felt the long slim hand tighten on mine for an instant, then release it a moment later; but she said no more for a time. Yet the look on her face was one of happiness extreme. After a while, however, she spoke again.

"The admiral knew," she whispered. "He had found out my secret."

For a moment I could not recall what she referred to-the incidents which had happened in such quick succession since we had quitted the fleet had almost obliterated from my memory the recollection of all that had taken place prior to that time. Yet now I remembered, and-remembering-there came back to me Sir George Rooke's strange diffidence after she had seized his hand and pressed it to her heart. Also, I recalled the deference with which he had treated her whom I thought then to be no more than a handsome, elegant youth, as well as my feeling of surprise at that deference.