Waverley Library (Quarto Edition) (no. 117) (1882 02 07)
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Price, but 5 cents each. The Only Young Ladies’ Libary. of First- Class Rt he ee Novels Published! ff) Sj. - @eeceoveee ‘poupeses y By a Bo oe a HN teh el, Sy ae ‘i $2.50 a year. Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., at Second Class Mail Rates. Copyrighted in 1882 by BEADLE AND ADAMS, hateerteeate 4 1882, No. 147. VoL v PUBLISHED D WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, 98 WILLIAM ST,, N. Y. PRICE, 5 Cars ~~ SS poe fill fag TN Te Hitt! main N | | eh ih } Ai il HU Hh ov y/ 1 ia ite i lis I ih: NAL : os hg! ATA PM bi Ei te ba Al ‘IT IS MY UNCLE! OH, IUAN, GO!—YOU MUST NOT BE SEEN HERE. GO, IF YOU LOVE mE!” Th W id fi i . f | glare and the almost impalpable dust which rises in clouds from the 8 ayo] B TOSS | Or, the Raid 0 (omer, | loose soil, filling the hair, ears and eyes, and parching the mouth and | throat to such a degree that every dirty pool and every borse-trouglf, swarming with queer looking animals, are welcome as the flowers in BY CAPTAIN E. A, MILMAN. | May. ~-- | My guide—a little, merry, swarthy, chattering Andalusian, perched | on the top of the baggage, on a large raw-boned steed, looked like a monkey on a camel, and was forever drawling out, as we trudged slowly I wAS traveling in the south of Spain. It was in the month of June, | on, some national song, except when he paused to light his cigarillo, and the sun shone with a fierce intensity on the steep and rugged sierra , or to abuse bis charger for stumbling. Pepito was quite a character in over which the dangerous and nearly itopracticable track held its ser- . bis way. pentine course. Nothing can be more tiresome and monotonous than | Many a dreary mile we went on at a foot’s pace without anything to the scenery of most of the mountain roads in Spain, which it has been | break the monotony and stillness of the scene, except that ever and my lot to traverse; nothing can be more oppressive than the continual | anon a vulture would rise languidly, as if disquieted at being disturbed, st = CHAPTER IL.
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» and apparently oppressed with the heat of the glaring sun; then floating majestically over some dark ravine, would settle on a projecting rock, and appear to watch us with lazy curi- osity. The track at length became rather nervous even to those accustomed to mountain travel- ing; for it wound round the side of a deep valley, with a steep and broken hill above and a nearly precipitous descent below, whilein the hollow a mountain torrent had forced its way amid the uncouth rocks. At this season of the year, the bed was near- ly dry, though a few shallow pools here and there glistened like silver in the sunshine, and marked its course. The scenery was dreary—not a bush, not a shrub was to be seen; only here and there.a shriveled and stunted palmetto relieved the fierce reflection from the sterile soil. earth, cracked by the parching heat in many place, emitted a hollow sound as our horses passed slowly over it. Rock upon rock, pinnacled, wild and strange, rose on every side. As we entered a gloomy-looking pass, we came upon a small pile of stones, surmounted by a wooden cross. ‘Ho! here is something,” I said, or, rather, attempted to say; for, until I had swallowed a drop of wine from the bota swung at my sad- die, I could not utter a word. A solitary aloe in blossom threw a doubtful and scanty shadow overthe spot, the feathered tresses of the graceful flower contrasting beau- tifully with the sterility which surrounded it. ‘‘Look, senor!” suddenly cried Pepito, with an energy I did not think him capable of, crossing himself fervently all the time; ‘‘do you see that dark stain on the ground ?” Ilooked; and certainly, at the foot of the cross, on the white soil of the path, appeared a broad, dark, and nearly circular stain, as of blood lately spilled. ‘Look, senor!” he exclaimed again, ‘‘that is the blood of a human being. any a time I have passed by this cross, and there, there that accursed spot still is. The rain from heaven will not wash it out—the earth will not hide the horrid deed. Often have I seen my mules snort and start aside, as if they saw something I could not see, when they came to this spot. ° ‘Hola! Pepe, what is all this?” I said, in- terrupting him; ‘‘there must be some strange history connected with this cross. Surely there are plenty of murder-crosses on the wayside, of which you never take any notice ?” “Hg verdad,” he replied, with a shudder, wain crossing himself as quick a ‘but, senor, this was no common murder,” ‘‘Well, Pepe, tell me the story, if you know ben Then giving him a good cigar (the greatest treat Soins a Spaniard), to put him into good-humor, he related to me the outline of the following tale, which served to while away the time until we arrived at the gates of Ronda. “The bull-ring in the old and picturesque town of Ronda was densely crowded. Three bulls had already fallen beneath the mpendine, sword of the celebrated Montes: the fourt now entered. “Every eye was bent on him as suddenly he rushed into the arena, a dark red dun, with legs and muzzle black as Erebus. “‘One moment he pauses, as if bewildered— the nearest horseman attracts his eye. In vain the gallant Pinto, the first picador in Spain, exerts his sinewy strength and matchless skill against the charge of this champion of the alsing So furious is his onset that horse and man roll over together amid a cloud of dust. Another and another share the same fate, The chulos dare not approach, so wild and rapid are his attacks. “Three times did this gallant bull clear the ring before the trumpet sounded for the mata- dor toappear. Montes has strained his wrist. The primera espada is to try his prowess with the redoubtable leader of the he THE WAYSIDE CROSS; ae —— ey ‘One onset, and one only, did he sustain. | sass She does, she must; or why those tears— So wicked was the charge, that though he es-|that scream? Our Andalusian girls are not caped with a slightscratch, he dared no longer face so furious an enemy, but vaulted out of the ring, and no persuasion, or remonstrance, or sense of shame, could again induce him to enter it. ; ‘The second matador vowed that he would soon dispose of this troublesome customer. Vain boast! See, he turns and runs away—O, shame on a matador!—amid the hootsand yells of the tumultuous assembly, for so it had now become. The excitement is fearful to behold. In vain the people call upon the matadors to |come forward; none are found hardy enough to encounter so unequal an enemy. | ‘Suddenly a man, young, handsome, and splendidly dressed in the Majo costume, jump- ed into the outer circle of the arena, and, tak- The | ing off his hat, asked permission of the alcalde to try his courage and skill against this savage and implacable foe. ‘His tall and graceful figure, unassuming manner, and manly daring, made an immediate impression on the crowd. “Tn vain did the magnates try to dissuade him from making the attempt; he would take no denial. “At length they yielded. Snatchinga cloak and sword belonging to the unsuccessful mata- dor, with one bound he cleared the inner bar- rier, felt the point of his weapon, and quietly waited until the bull should see him. ‘‘At this moment not a sound could be heard in all that dense throng, save the deep-drawn breath of intense anxiety. “Suddenly the bull perceived his new antag- onist. On, on he came, with a rapidity and savage force that threatened at once to annihi- late the stranger. A thrilling shudder passed over the crowd. ‘Still, all was silent as the grave, save where one low, heartrending scream might have been heard; but the pam. § of the people were so wrapped up in the approaching contest that no one seemed to heed it. They are now front to front, human skill and courage opposed to brute force; how unequal seemed the fight! ‘‘Gracefully waving his bright red cloak to attract the monster’s eye, the stranger firm. ly awaited the attack, and well and nobly did he sustain his boast. Suffering the bull to make his first essay, he did not attempt to use his sword, but suddenly drawing his cloak aside and throwing it over his shoulder, he allowed the bull to pass by in his headlong career, ‘‘Again the monster faces him, and he— this time holding the cloak out before him with his left arm, while he grasped his keen and well-tempered sword in his right hand—per- mitted the bull to charge straight at him. They meet—a cloud of dust obscures them for a moment—it clears—there-stands the stranger, erect and unscathed; the bull is rolling over in his death-agony, the trenchant point » sev- ered the spine. So rapidly, so beautifully was it executed, that the eye could scarcely follow Cs oc ‘‘Tumultuous vivas greet the conqueror as, bowing to the reo he returned the cloak and sword. ‘‘A fair cheek, that a moment past had been deadly pale, now crimsoned like a damask rose; a pair of jet black eyes, just now ob- scured with tears, now sparkled like lustrous diamonds. Their glances have met the stran- ger’s, as quietly he withdrew among the crowd; it was enough—the stranger was re- aid. ““* Who is he?’ was whispered around; no one seemed to know; and curiosity was soon lost or deadened for a time, for another bull bounded into the circle. ‘«« Ha! how is this” muttered a swarthy, but at the same time handsome Andalusian, whose frowning brow showed that he was ill pleased at some occurrence. ‘Ha! howisthis? Does, can Frascita know this strangerf’—and he stole a look at one of the loveliest black-eyed beau- ties of the sierras who was sitting beside him | Suits, yet honorable to a degree in everyt | wont to weep at a bull-fight. Ha, let him be- ware how he crosses my path!’ and he knit his brows, and clenched his teeth, till he looked like a fiend. “At this moment sume one touched him on the shoulder. Mateo started, and for a moment thought that he had spoken aloud; turning ‘round, he saw the stranger close behind him, in company with a well-known character, Lope de la Vega el Contrabandista, the only human being, perhaps, that the bold miller stood in the least awe of. “Daring, successful, clever, and wealthy, and although engaged in the same illicit ne in unconnected with smuggling, Lope had ene trived to gain the ascendancy over the fierce and turbulent being before him, whose fere- cious disposition led him to commit acts that placed him in the power of his most talented and, perhaps, more cunning coadjutor. ‘‘*This is he of whom I spoke to you be- fore,’ whispered Lope to the miller: ‘meet us at nine to-morrow evening, at the Venta de la dos Bocas; Padre Tomas will be there.’ ***T will,’ briefly responded Mateo, and the two passed on. “The miller then turning to the lovely maiden by his side, made some observations to her in a low tone. ‘* « Senorita,’ at last said he, ina husky though not unkind voice, and as if he wished to be contradicted, ‘ you knew this stranger ? ‘«* Yes,’ replied Frascita, hurriedly, ‘I have seen him before.’ “«« Where, and when? where, and when? the miller whispered, in a tone so calm, aad yet so deadly fierce, that it entered into her very soul; ‘ Where have you met this gallant? Beware |’ “The bright blood flushed her clear olive cheeks as she replied, her voice kindling with all the fierte of an Andalusian beauty, ‘I will not tell! What right have you to question me? Dare you, dare any man address me in such a manner, I would spurn him from me. Begone |’ hen, drawing her mantilla close over her face, she turned away. «‘Qnashing his teeth with very , Mateo uitted her side, and stalked savagely out of the bull-ring.” But where, and when, and under what cir. cumstances had Frascita met the stranger ?— that must be reserved for another chapter. , CHAPTER IL. y VALLE SEGREDA—THE ATTACK AND BURNING OF THE DILIGENCE—THE FONDA. DE LA DILIGENCIA AT CORDOVA—THE OLD CARLIST AND THE LITTLE PEPITA—THE ARB- RIERO, The road from Jaen to Cordova passes through a narrow defile, on the sides of which, rugged and rocky as they are, grow stunted cork and olive trees, springing from the crev- ices of the rocks wherever any soil washed from the higher ground has been deposited; on the crests ot the ravine, on each side, a cover of fern and underwood, composed of wild myr- tle, cistus, and dwarf ilex-trees, extends for miles, high enough to screen an army, From its proximity to the sierras, and the peculiar facilities afforded for concealment, this spot was a one time notorious for the many and daring robberies committed there; and many a frightened traveler has crossed himself in passing through the Valle Segreda. At this time, however, early in the autumn of 1886, although there might be some dangers anticipated from straggling parties of Faccio- sos, or even the Queen’s partisans, the spot was considered tolerably safe from b , as parties of the Queen’s lancers had, for the last week, scoured the country, and had suc- . | |
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Seapre: | ee OR, THE RAID OF GOMEZ. ceeded in capturing several notorious la- lhad come, amid a shower of bullets—the cover | ter mockery, all mingled with an indescribable drones, The Carlists, it was supposed, had not ventured in force into that vicinity; the dili- gence, therefore, set out from Jaen with a tricked out in tawdry finery, with huge collars | jolting on their scraggy necks, See, here it comes lumbering along—six fancers preceding it at a trot, with their red | is alive with men. From behind every bush, every cork-tree, jevery olive, every rock, they rush with wild cries; some run to seize the mules, others cut * gmaller escort than usual, drawn by ten mules | the traces. | feeling that she has parted with something | which she would give worlds to recall, but what it is she knows not. Dolores, too, bewildered and half-stupefied | with fright, can scarcely remember asything Tia Dolores starts from her sleep, screaming | that has taken place; her teeth still chatter: with fear. “Ha! we are attacked,” cries the stranger, | clasping Frascita to him, and placing his body | garruious by nature, she is now silent, or calls upon some favorite saint in a broken, inarticu- | late voice: she only knows that the diligence breeches, blue coats, square caps, and lance- | between her andthe firing; she turns pale and | has been attacked and burned, but how and by heads gleaming in the sun, holsters on their Partai or like a leaf, but does not strive to saddle-bows, swords clattering by their sides— in fact, looking altogether as warlike as needs be. In the forepart, or coupe, of this extraordin- | ary vehicle there were three individuals. One, a middle-aged Andalusian dame, black- haired, black-eyed, and still handsome in face and features, although her form had lost in fat all the grace peculiar to the sweet south—she was asleep; not so her companion, who, with her mantilla thrown back so as to disclose the whole of her expressive and lovely counten- ance, was listening intently to a third person; he, from his flashing eye and animated ges. | tures, was probably recounting some daring adventure. In the maiden’s jet black, lustrous eyes, the Moorish blood showed forth; her clear com- plexion, fairer and more blooming than that of the daughter of the plain, proclaimed her the child of the sierras; the dark though auburn hair, the small dimpled mouth, the pearly teeth, the chiseled features—more than all, the slender figure full of grace, the tiny hands, and the fairylike feet which peeped from be. neath her black silk petticoat, could not be mistaken; for none have these qualities in such perfection as the Andalusinn maid of the moun- tains, Women such as these, young, beautiful, and of an ardent disposition, are readily attracted, and even fascinated, by the relation of feats of daring; and if the narrator be in the pride of his days, attractive in his manners; and hand- some in his person, let the maid of the south beware. . Love kindles more quickly under that genial clime than in our more frigid and formal coun- try. "eee interested, Frascita (for it was she) listened with lips apart and deep-drawn breath ~o the animated tale of the stranger. Occasionally her brilliant eyes were lighted up with even an unwonted fire; they would en- connter his, Why does she withdraw them so hurriedly, and with such pretty confusion ? She knows not why, but she feels that her cheeks are blushing before the admiring gaze of her handsome companion. Charming preludes of love—who can analyze those feelings, when first the maiden begins to discover that there is one man, and one only, in the wide, wide world, far, far above the rest? The good Tia Dolores slept on, perfectly un- conscious of the havoc that the glances of those four bright eyes were already making; little did she dream, if she dreamed at all, of the mischief of going to sleep, -natured soul! leaving a young and euinently good-look- ing man, although a stranger, to entertain her susceptible and lovely niece, and that, too, completely without restraint, for she gave full evidence that she was really asleep. As I said before, love in this warm and ge. nial climate springs up like the growth of its own flowers; no wonder, then, that a feelin nearly akin to love had already begun to bud in their bosoms; already the conversation had become more tender and more interesting; al- ready they knew each other’s name. But hark! What is that? A hissing, ringing sound whistles by, fol- lowed by a loud report that echoes through the wild ravine. , Another and another follows in rapid suc- | cession ; the postillions drop from their sad- dles; the lancers spu. their startled horses, and gallop off in confusion by the way they elude his embrace. Glancing out of the window, the stranger | | whom she has no settled recollection. For many miles neither speaks. The calesa rolls on over the rough and stony sees the flat, red caps of the Chapelgorris; in a | road at a rapid pace, the terrified driver urging moment he reassures his trembling fair one, whispering in her ear: “Hush, my beloved, fear not; they are my own men,” Frascita murmured in return: ‘Alas, Juan! are youa Carlist ?” Dolores, calling on all the saints in the cal- endar, hears them not, but faints away—all this passes in a moment. Suddenly an officer comes to the door of the coupe, and bids the travelers get down, ina rough, uncourteous tone; but the moment he sees the stranger, he touches his cap respect- fully, but with a look of surprise. The stranger springs out, and in a hurried voice inquires: ‘“‘Where is the general ?”’ ‘‘He is near at hand,” answers the officer. The stranger continues with rapid utter- ance: ‘‘Manuel, you must take me as a prisoner; you must not recognize me; but be careful of these ladies, and treat them well; I hold you responsible for this. But no one in the dili- gence must know me for a Carlist. It is neces- sary—” a understand you, colonel,” replies Manuel, quickly: “Here, Pedro, Tomas, take this “yt eorang immediately to the general; see that e does not escape!” (Then, in a whisper, he adds), ‘‘Use him well, he is one of us.” Juan turned hurriedly to Frascita, and, in a soft and tender tone, bade her farewell; but paused again, and said, quickly, ‘‘ Don’t be afraid, sweet one; you will be treated with every respect, and sent on to Cordova as soon as possible; but tell me, my soul, where do you live?” ‘‘At Ronda,” faintly murmured the maiden. ‘‘I would fain de- tain you, but we must part here. I will aan you soon again or perish: now, fare- well.” He could say no more, for Tia Dolores recov- ers from her fainting-fit, and Juan hurries away. ; Manuel politely requests the ladies to alight, and effers his hand to assist them; the rest of the passengers are roughly treated, and bound with ccrds. The diligence is ransacked from top to bot- tom, the luggage is plundered, all papers found are carefully preserved, the mules are driven off, dry brushwood is collected, a fire is kin- dled, and in a few minutes nothing remains of the huge, lumbering vehicle but a smouldering | } ‘heap of ashes, ‘*Pardon me, ladies, for a few minutes,” said Manuel; ‘‘if you will seat yourselves un- der the shade of yonder olive-tree, I will go and look for a vehicle for you; there is a ¢a- lesa somewhere.” Then calling to a servant he ordered him to take charge of the two ladies, and see them treated with every respect. In a few minutes he returned with a calesa, dragged along by the soldiers; to this are har- nessed two of the mules taken from the dili- gence—one of the postillions is released and ordered to drive them to Cordova—an escort conducts them through the dreaded valley. So rapidly does all this , that it is like a dream to the bewildered Frascita: she strives to collect her thoughts, but in vain; there is a confused idea of shots fired—of gleaming arms —of menhurrying to and fro—of fierce faces —of words spoken which appear to her a bit on his mules with all the energy of a man es- caping from an imminent danger. The sun, however, had set before they reached the Gua- dalquivir, and here a brilliant, although some- what ominous, scene presented itself to the ex- cited senses of the still bewildered maiden. Just as the glorious sun had sunk beneath the horizon, a tremendous black range of heavy clouds arose rapidly above the wild and rugged summits of the Sierra Morena. Mass after mass of murkiest inky hue seemed to roll over the mountain tops and descend down their declivities into the valleys. Athwart this moving wall the pale-blue pe tem flashed incessantly, and hoarsely echoing from cliff to cliff, from rock to rock, the thunder growled along the hills; while overhead the early moon shone bright and clear in the deep-purple sky, illuminating with her chaste radiance the foaming Guadalquivir, and fringing the edges of the clouds with her cold, silvery light. And far away the city of the Saracen lay ray below, enveloped in the deepest sha- ow. Frascita, no longer a child, but full of thought, and still somewhat confused, gazed timidly at this scene of loveliness and fear— where the elements seemed contending for peace or war—where the soft and chastened moonlight appeared to strive for mastery with the fitful flashes of the blue lightning—where overhead was tranquillity, peace, and silent beauty, and in the distance war and the majes- ty of angry nature. Until that day, Frascita’s mind had been tranquil and serene as the calm moonlight which shone on her own fair countenance, Alas! alas! those angry clouds—that crash. ing thunder—those fitful flashes—what are they but the symbols of her future life, when the — of love shall agitate her unsuspecting eart! And is not that fearful strife already com- menced | or why did she murmur, ‘‘ Juan, are you a Carlist ?” A new existence, though full of tears and trouble, had opened on her tender mind, and yet she knew it not. The party crossed the pereng o a and at length found themselves safely landed at the Fenda de la Diligencia. The master of this inn was at heart a keen Carlino, although he dared not declare it open- y- The postillion, who belonged to the fonda, of course told his master his own tale of the burn- ing of the diligence; but he was easily induced, by a few dollars judiciously applied, to spread the report that the vehicle had n plundered and burned by robbers. Tia Dolores could disclose nothing more than the actual fact of its having been destroyed by fire, and Frascita kept her own counsel; so that the loyal people of Cordova obtained no cer- tain information of the strength and proximity of the Facciosos. Rumors were, of course, in circulation, but uncertainty and unwillingness to believe any- thing of the progress of the Carlists prevented the truth from being known. For a few days no opportunity occurred of rocuring a conveyance to take Frascita and er aunt to their mountain home; and here ° we must leave them for a brief period, to re- turn to our hero. 7 "
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Conducted by the soldiers for some miles through a labyrinth of brushwood and rocks, | THE WAYSIDE CROSS: Two days after the events just related, as Frascita and her aunt were in the court-yard Juan found himself before the unfastoned door | of the inn, preparing to go to the cathedral, a of a small charcoal burner’s hut, in front of |man dressed as an arriero, or muleteer, enter- which a solitary sentinel was pacing backward | ed it. and forward. ‘*Is the general within ?” inquired Juan. Before the sentinel could answer, a quick and somewhat harsh voice shouted from the inside ‘‘ Come in.” Juan entered, and there, stretched at full length on a gaudily-striped, though somewhat soiled manta, smoking a cigar, lay the most formidable, the most energetic, thc most un- fortunate, the most enterprising, anc the most mysterious of all the leaders of the bands of Carlos Quinto—he who was here to-day—gone to-morrow!—he by whom the nearly impracti- cable sierras were crossed with a rapidity which none could equal!—he who was branded as a traitor by both parties!—the pursuer and the pursued !—the impenetrable and flying Gomez ! “Ts that you, Colonel Juan?” said he, with- out rising from his recombent position : ‘* Wel- come, my friend, weleome! What news from Andujar, Jaen, Baylen? What news from the capital? Has the gold taken effect? To whom do the populace lean? Will they rise, think you? Speak, coJonel !” ‘“No, general, they will not, and they dare not; for it is war to the knife, and they know it and fear it. No, the liberals are against us; they shout ‘ Viva la Constitucion !'—the people are against us, for they dread the re-establish- ment of the Inquisition, I speak freely,” con- tinued Juan, noticing a frown that passed over the general’s face. Gomez motioned him to proceed, “The courtiers and the nobles are against us; they fear that the church lands and con- vents would be restored, and that they would have to disgorge their prey. The priesthood alone is faithful to the just cause.” “Well, well, colonel, this is sorry news enough; I did hope that the people might de- clare for us, But whatof that? In a few days I will make a dash at Cordova, perhaps at Granada, and then, like wildfire, overrun the Serrania de Ronda, Ihave good informa- tion that the mountaineers of those rugged sierras are well disposed to our cause.” : Juan started—the Serrania de Ronda—he might chance to see the lovely Frascita again. He meditated a moment—a thought flashes acoss his mind: “General, I haye for the sake of our just and righteous cause risked my life, as a spy, in the very stronghold of our enemies: wi!l you permit me again to try the experiment? {lam known but to two persons in Ronda: one is the famous smuggler, Lope de la Vega, and through his agency I shall be able to get pass- ports, and to come and go as free as the wind; the other—but no matter—is to be trusted, Yes, general, if you think fit, I will go into those rugged sierras, and soon, I trust, from north to south, from the plains of Tarifa to the lofty Pyrenees, no name shall be heard but that of our beloved Carlos,” With a slight laugh, and knocking the ashes off the end of ais cigar, Gomez replied: ‘*T am afraid, colonel, that you are too san- guine; but in the name of the Virgin, make the attempt, if it pleases you. Do you go alone ?” “Yes, alone, and in disguise.” The general’s eye kindled with a sudden fire as he added; **T will not be long after you ; I love to move as rapidly as the lightning that flashes across the heavens; by the Cross of Rome, I will tra- verse that impenetrable and ag country like a winter torrent dashing from its mountains. But your information must be quick; there must be no delay, for we are in danger here already,” ‘‘ General, I promise that in less than a fort- ht you shall have news from me, or believe m6 dead; but,” muttered Juan to himself, ‘‘I must first go to Cordova.” | sees sss Ss ‘| } He was covered with dust, and had evident- ly come from off a long journey. His coarse, dark, maroon-colored jacket, with the cuffs and back adorned with slashes of raudily-dyed ¢loth, was slung, hussar-fathion, at his left shoulder, leaving his ri~ht arm and body with only the white, spotless shirt to pro- tect them from tho sun. A broad, red woolen sash, in which was stuck a formidable knife, concealed the symmetry of his figure. Blue cloth trowsers, loose, and reaching only to a little below the knee, and ending in linen, just came down to the worked leather gaiters, which, looped at the top with a single fasten- ing, and again at the foot, displayed the white stocking underneath; strong, untanned leather shoes covered his feet, and a broad-brimmed, conical, velvet hat sheltered his face from the fierce glare. The features of his countenance, which was remarkably dark and swarthy, were handsome, and his black eye glanced brightly as it fell upon the two ladies. They passed him close as he stood near the gate of the court; but no token, or even the slightest look of recognition, passed on either side. ‘‘Ha! this will do,” muttered the seeming muleteer; ‘‘if woman’s eyes, especially hers, cannot penetrate the disguise, who shall? How beautiful she looked! a little pale, perhaps. I must get them away from this—but how! I may not be able to protect them a second time. Yes, they must be induced to go; but how am I to communicate with her? If I follow, the old one may know me again; and then this dis- guise; I must see the host, for I have heard that, although he does not declare it openly, he is one of us.” | not in danger here? low, fierce voice, ‘‘ and in a few days he will be here—here, in this very town of Cordova.” **Ha! that warms my old heart again; would 1 were young, were it only to strike one blow for the righteous cause. But, my son, are you If you are discovered—” ‘* Father,” interrupted Juan, ‘‘ say no more; danger is familiar to me, and I havecomeon an errand which I must perform, although duty will admit of nodelay, and this very eve- ning I must leave Cordova. Perchance, fa- ther, you can assist me. There are two ladies in this fonda, inhabitants of the Sierra de Ron- da, who must be warned to leave this place im- mediately, God help them! our rough sol- diery are but sorry companions for young, love- ly, and helpless women; and I—and I have a interest in them.” ‘* Say, in one of them,’ mildly interrupted the old man, with alow laugh. ‘‘ I see how it is; you wish to see her, to warn her, without being discovered by the other; is it not so, my son?” Without waiting for an answer, the old Car- list went to the door, and rung a small silver bell that lay on the table. In a few minutes, a lovely, black-eyed little girl, of about ten years of age, entered the room, with a large bouquet of flowers, skip- ping and dancing like a sylph. Seeing a stranger, she became suddenly de- mure, and, laying down the flowers, turned round to leave the room. The old man, however, prevented her, say- ing: es Come hither, my little Pepita; do not be afraid: this is a friend of mine; give him your ' hand,” Pepita pouted with her ruby lips, and cast down her eyes, but nevertheless peeped from under her long, silky eyelashes at the stran- ger’s countenance, as she gave him her tiny rand, | There was nothing repulsive there; on the As he thus soliloquized in broken phrases, | contrary, a smile that went to the heart rested Juan, for it was he, found himself in one of the long galleries which surrounded the court- yard of the inn. At the corner of the corridor stood a venera- ble-looking, silver-haired old man, He looked intently and fixedly at our hero for a moment, then opened a door, and, without speaking a word, beckoned to him to come in, Juan obeyed, without hesitation, the myste- rious summons, The old man carefully closed the door after him; then, taking Juan’s hands in his, with an agitated air and broken voice, his limbs trem- bling under him, he said, ‘‘ My old eyes, then, were true. Oh! my son, what news from the beloved ?” Juan, surprised, answered him quickly, **Whom mean yor? [know you not.” ‘But I know you,” replied the old man; ‘you are Colonel Juan B——; your father was one of my oldest friends. You are now aide-de-camp to General Gomez. You see I do kuow you. It was of Carlos Quinto I spoke, the true sovereign of Spaia. ‘I'rll me, then, Hijo de mi alma, where is he? does his cause prosper ?” “Father, I fear not; yet, why should I say so? for amorg the mountains of Guipuscoa he still holds his own, and even now threatens Madrid,” The old man’s dim eye lightéd with a sud- den gleam as he continued: iy What you tell me, my-.son, is as the breath of new life to my old, worn out, sinking frame. But you seem to fear that his suc- cess will not be permanent: tell me more, my son.” ‘** Alas!” replied Juan, ‘‘ those terrible heret- ical islanders, the English, are assisting the us r with men and money; aur people are divided among themselves, and I fear there are many traitors in our camps.” “ Alas, alas! is it so? feared it, what news of my old acquaintance, the fiery Gomez ?” ‘He is near at hand,”’ whispered Juan, in a But | b on his finely-formed features; it was irresisti- ble; the cloud on her brow cleared away like an April shower, and, in a moment, the sylph- like Pepita regained her accustomed vivacity, and with a clear, ringing voice, she tender] addressed the old Carlist, caressing him wit those fairylike hands: : ‘I have brought you the flowers you so dearly love, dear father. I gathered them with my own hands, in the gardens of the palace of the Inquisition, before the dew was off: are they not sweet and blooming ?” “ Yes, sweet and blooming as yourself, dear child, But say, Pepita, will you do me a service ?” ‘‘Oh, yes, dear father, anything for you; do I not love you ?’ and she threw her slender arms round his neck, and kissed him fondly. ‘*Be quiet, you saucy one, and listen to “Yes, father.” «« There are two ladies in the fonda—Ronde- nians.” ** Oh, yes, I know them—one so pretty and so kind, and the other so fat and so cross; I sat with them yesterday; the youngest calls me her dear little sister.” “ Well, child, this gentleman——” Pepita started back in surprise, clapped her littie hands together, and burst into a fit of laughter. ‘What is the matter with the mad thing?’ asked the old man. She stooped and whispered in his ear, ‘*Father, how can a rinletest be a gentle- man ?” *‘Hush, madcap! he is in disguise.” “Oh, L understand it all now,” replied the damsel, with intelligence beaming on her fine- ly-chiseled featyres. ‘Yes, my dear child, this gentleman wishes to see the senorita for a minute, on important usiness—and indeed it is necessary; so I want you to help bim. * “Yes,” said Juan, “if the senorita will in- form me where the ladies are gone, | might oe
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a OR, THE RALD OF GOMEZ. 5 — ————————O———————————————————————— ee A ! contrive to speak to her for a moment, or give along the narrow, tortuous streets, now glow- | not tell you to trust me? I took the lady a her a note.” |ing in the sun-glare, closely followed by the} bouquet of flowers; and as I gave them to her, «Oh, { know where they are,” quickly an- muleteer, they encountered nothing but a few | whispered in her ear: swered Pepita; ‘‘they are gone to the cathe- old women and half-starved dogs. Cordova’ «« Hesends you these; is there any answer dral to offer up thanks to the Virgin of Merey WS as a deserted city; in truth, the inhabit- | for fm ?” for their escape from some terrible danger, ®0ts were enjoying the siesta during the heat «he lady started, but said, quickly, giving You will find them tn the Capilla de los Moros; of the day. ;me this rosebud back, ‘Yes, after to-mor- there is a shrine there—oh! so splendid, of They entered that vast cathedral—s> vast} row.’” ‘ solid silver—you cannot mistake it.” that the whole Moorish army is said to have | ‘“Pray God it may be in time,” muttered “But,” said Juan, addressing the old man, | #ssembled within its walls, to pray to the‘r| Juan to himself. “will it be safe for me to walk the streets? prophet before their final effort to preserve | “Do you understand it ?’ continued the dam- for, a; 1 donot know my way, I should have INTACT the united kingdom of Granada and’ se]; «Tdo not; but I suppose this pretty flower to inquire it, and [might be asked some awk- Cordova. } ,. |is for you.” ward questions, Can I get arly safe person to | Passing amid hundreds of green and ee | “Yes, dear Pepita; give it to me,” and conduct me there ?” marble columns, which to the eye appear con-| he took it and kissed it rapturously; but not “T will, myself,” said Pepita, blushing; fused, Pepita pointed to a beautiful and rich- | content with that, he imprinted a kiss on the ‘‘ that is, if the gentleman will allow me; but |ly-decorated, though somewhat svuall chapel. | glowing cheek of the blushing Pepita. { must first speak to my mother; may I say, [In this, before the altar(the front of which was |” “For shame, senor,” said she, petulantly, dear father, that this caballero is a friend of Of solid silver, and on which there stood a | ‘but see, there are your mules ready loaded in yours,” and, added she, casting a quick glance custodia, also of solid silver, full seven feet) the court-yard as if for the road—it is evident at him, ‘‘of the righteous cause?” high), kneeled two females in the act of| you must not stay any longer; this is my fa- “Yes, yes, my dear child, away with prayer. f ; Ne ge ther’s doing—there is danger. Hark, some one you.” __ Juan had no difficulty in recognizing Frascita, | calls me. Adios, cavallero; may God go with ‘Hasta la vista Caballeros,” said the dam- for his heart began to throb violently. . |you, and may you and the cause prosper.” sel, as she vanished out of the room with a| Pepita put her finger to her lips, and, whis-!" Then, without waiting any further reply or step so light and agile that it could be scarcely peting gently: - ; question, she left the room; but this time her “I will wait for you at the gate, el was slow and timid, and from beneath be heard. : ; amid the grove of pillars. her dark eyelashes there crept a pearly tear. Juan was lost in astonishment. What grace, | Juan pushed gently open the richly-work-| Juan de heap te gic court yard. Thike hat beauty, what intelligence for so yo a child! “He tes anlar set from nanabehtog <8 ate of the chapel, and knelt down be-| he found a large string of mules, besides his ; ; own, some laden with oil and wine, others with at teatan th e is all that; and, |*¥rned suddenly round, but did not seem to/ grain. what is more, she is good as she is beautiful, |"®°8™° Juan, and apparently resumed her’ As Juan stood there, a man dressed also as Pepita is no relative of mine—all, all are gone devotions. After a short time had elapsed, an arriero, or muleteer, came up to him and —but the daughter of our host. I have given ‘our hero arose and stood close to the half-| whispered: her what education my poor brains and small opened gate, and waited until they had finished | “Senor, there is danger; you must not stay means are capable of; and she repays me by | their prayers. , ‘in Cordova. You are a friend of the great her charming little attentions and endearments. |, AS they went out, Frascita stopped a little | smuggler, Lope de la Vega; soam I. You are and by her artless though sprightly conversa. | behind, as if to cross herself with the holy wa-| going to Ronda; so am I. Here is a fresh pass- tion. But come, my young friend,” added he, |ter which stood in a small alabaster basin near port for you. But you must come with me; kindly, to Don Juan, who was suddenly lost in | the entrance. . and we must pass through the Puerta de a profound revery, for his thoughts were na- | As she passed the seeming muleteer she held | Aceite.” turally wandering back to his own Biscayan out one hand to him, while with the other she| “And who told you all this, my friend ? Who home and beloved family, “you must not for- enjoined silence by putting her taper fingers to | has done this for me ?” get to have a note ready: here are writing ma- herrosy lips. Juan slipped the paper into her| ‘A friend to Carlos,” answered the arriero, terials.” hand. . tinning. ‘‘Butcome along; the mules areall ‘Pardon nie, I pray you, if my thoughts Oh, how his frame thrilled at the touch! | loaded; see how well I have balanced their were straying—dear little sisters where are | Not a word escaped their lips; but one tender) packs, But, senor, don’t forget to speak An- you now?’ and speaking glance was exchanged as their | daluz—that is, if you can;” and he shouted to The note was soon written, and contained |€Yes met. his beasts, “‘Hup, hup, arre mulos—arre can- these few words: She knew him then—yes—and she had | taneo—arre bavieco—arre;” and getting them ‘‘Frascita, you must leave this immediatel known him in the court-yard of the inn; but, | ~ e "line," away they clattered thiough the ; J! ; Y | with a young woman’s keen perception, she had | ill-paved streets. — believe me, it is necessary. seen at a glance that he wished to escape ob- uch was the wild, adventurous sort of life servation in so public a place; and she feared |Our hero had been living for some time past. her aunt's discretion, should she, too, recognize | Clever, daring, and of a trank disposition, he our hero, was easily accustomed to any change of dress Juan did not attempt to follow, but waited | Of manners, and equal to any contingency that at the porch until he was joined by his little <a arise in a path so fraught with dangers fairy guide. and difficulties as the one in which he was now She, from behind a pillar, had watched the | treading. Frascita. earing the noise, she “e JUAN.” Just as he had finished, Pepita glided into the room. What a charming little figure she was! Over her finely-formed head was thrown a black lace mantilla, which fell in folds over her shoulders; and from under the shade of the lace her small, oval face. Her black eyes, fringed with long, silky lashes, sparkled under her arched eyebrows, which were smooth and black as if cut from the glossy Skin of a mole; her nose was thin and slightly aquiline; her delicate mouth, pares men 9 with smiles, disclosed between the ruby of her lips her small pearly teeth; her complexion was Clear and slightly olive, but the warm blood, mantling in her cheeks, dif- fused around a roseate color; her fairylike form was shown to advantage by a black silk dress, quite plain, and fitting tight to the body—full and short in the skirts, so as to display a round and tapering ankle and miniature feet. ' whgle proceeding, and concealed herself from, We shall not follow him or his thoughts, the indies, nor Frascita and her aunt, on their long and Giving Frascita and her aunt time to arrive | tiresome journey to Ronda through the mugged at the inn before them, this apparently singu- | Sierras, for no adventures, that I know of, larly assorted pair followed slowly and at a distance, and reached the fonda in safety, vy they entered, Pepita, with an arch smile, said : ‘* Adios, senor, for the present; if you will go to your friend’s room, I will bring you an an- swer from the sweet young lady;” and away she tripped. ‘‘Stay, Pepita, for a moment,” said Juan, hurriedly; ‘‘cannot I see the senorita my- self ?” pened to either; both arrived safely, and had been a whole day in the Eagle’s Nest before the events related in the first chapter oc- curred. Yet these were the stirring scenes in which Frascita had twice met the handsome and dash- ing Carlist, and in’ this short time there had been sown in the bosoms of both the mighty seeds of love; but, oh! what a stormy time waa this for such a flower to bud! She could not be said to walk; her move-| ‘‘ No, senor, that is impossible,” she briskly | iia ment was now that of the bounding ga-/|answered: ‘“ trust to me.” zelle, new that of the fish gliding through the! Juan entered the room; the old Carlist was , CHAPTER IIT. waters, or the bird winging Its way through | not there. | RONDA BY MOONLIGHT—THE MILLER SOLILO- the clear air; now stately, yet graceful as— what shall I say ?—as that of her own sister- hood, the Andalusian maiden; and I can say no more. In her hand she held a carved ivory fan, em- In a few minutes, although it seemed an age to our hero, Pepita came back with a serious and demure countenance; yet one might have observed a little malicious smile about her mouth. QUIZES—THE OPEN WINDOW—THE YOUNG CARLIST AND THE CHRISTINO MAIDEN— THE CHARCOAL BURNER AND HIS FIERCE EMPLOYER—THE WATCHER WATCHED, sees bossed with graven silyer, which she opened| ‘‘ Have you succeeded, my fairy messenger?| He who has not passed a summer evening and shut with a peculiar grace, as she said, | Have you an answer for me ? among gardens in the south of Spain has never slightly blushing: : “No; the lady ¢ould not write one, as there | felt the climate of a terrestrial paradise. “If the cabaliary is ready, I will be his | were visitors in the room.” When, after the fierce heat of the glaring guide.” | ‘* How provoking, how vexatious!” day, the gentle night-breeze comes softly fan- _ was nearly midday; and as Pepita glided ' ‘“‘Oh, senor, how impatient you are! did I ning the air, rustling the leaves of the olive, x ‘
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6 ny THE WAYSIDE OROSS; + + OO er CC OCvO'Y'"'_-',—_ = —_— @rees, and bearing on its wings the perfume of|one, now he mutters indistinctly to himself: | alizing in its consequences, and in its end ap. vhe rose, the orange-flower, and the magnolia | let us read them for him. archy and confusion. which lift up their drooping, yet beautiful) ‘‘I care not; whosoever brings most grist to| Such were the characteristics of those times, heads, refreshed by the cooling dew—when the | my mill, he is the man for me. Viva Carlos | then who can wonder at such crimes—at such full moon, hanging in the deep purple sky, | Quinto, say I; for if he had not put his foot | # monster. surrounds herself with a,glowing light, and into the stirrup to mount the throne of Spain, | * * fringes with her soft rays the dark and frown- the red gold I so dearly love would not have! During these soft moonlit hours, at the open ing rocks which cast deep shadows into the val- poured forth so freely; and viva Roma, for, | window of a house which stood by itself in a ley below, where a silver stream meanders like after all, she is the spring from whence the | small though pretty garden, not far removed a white, shining serpent—when from every stream flows, and Carlos is the only channel | from the brink of the frowning cliff on which orange, every myrtle grove, the answering that brings it down in such plentiful rivers to | is perched the Kagle’s Nest, sat Frascita, with nightingales pour their lovelorn songs, filling| feed us pobrecitos; and, above all, viva el | her forehead buried in her hand, while the the night with plaintive music, which, min-| Padre, who distributes it with so bountiful aj| night air gently fanned her feverish cheeks, gling with the murmuring plash of falling) hand. | and the pale moon beams shone on her dark, lus- waters, creates a melody so soft, sopleasing,so| “That Lope thinks me a savage fool, ay, a/|trous tresses, which fell in loese and graceful harmonious, that the enraptured hearer might fool with a ready hand but small wit—that the | masses over her bosom and round the taper arm well awake and exclaim, “Such was Para-! gun and the knife are my only assistants: now | which rested on the window-sill; the other dise!” and such was the night that followed the | let him beware lest I foil him with his own|l:ung still and motionless by her side, and in day of the bull-fight. | weapons. Yes, he is cunning and crafty as an | that hand were some faded flowers. It was near midni She is not asleep; for a tear rolls gently down * * * still thronged with lovely women and admir- ing men, promenading amid the trees, or seated | in picturesque groups on the benches, en oying | the fresh breeze of the night, or listening to the nightingales, while occasionally the joke! and laugh went merrily round. Outside, too, in the open space in front of the inclosure, the mirth was boisterous, where still the dull glare from the fires of the gipsy women cooking ght, yet the Alameda was old gray fox, and I am rash, savage, impetu- ous, and headstrong as a bull in the arena. ‘But behold, I have taken up my cards,and they are good; and he shall find that, when the stake is large, the miller can play as deep a game as the smuggler: not to break with Don Carlos, but to make away with his em- issary; to give Frascita a husband, and deprive her of a lover; to dupe the cunning Lope, yet keep him my friend; but is that possible? We fritters, threw a red light on the dark, swarthy | shall see, Yes, beauty, and gold, and revenge, figures of the muleteers and charcoal-burners | these are the stakes I play for. That madman that stood in noisy, chattering groups around | of a Carlist to show himself so openly in the them. 'bull-ring! but that may serve my purposes. On a bench at the farthest end of the Ala-| Frascita knows him, loves him—that, too, will mea reclined a figure wrapped up ina large, | assist me, But he must die—he must die—be- dark cloak : apparently lost in contemplation, twixt him and me there is no compromise ; it -he paid no heed to the glorious scene before | must be aunihilation, for we cannot breathe him. | the same air, Immediately beneath his feet yawned a pre-| «This stranger hath dared to cross my path, cipice of several hundred feet in depth, the | and is my rival; ay, and | fear a successful verge fenced by an iron paling; the face of this one; his blood, therefore, must flow; will not for a cousiderable distance was smooth, and as | that be a sweet revenge? Frascita slights and if scarped by the hand of man. In the broken valley below, groves of myr- tle and orange-trees, aud flowery gardens, were mingled in strange yet beautiful confusion with dark and massive rocks far away into the dis: tance; amid them wound, like a thread of silver, the clear, bright streamof the Rio Verde, now eoncealed from the view by a huge mass of rock, now leaping and foaming over some slippery ledge, now turning a mill, now irrigating in slender streams some scented rose-bud, while upon all this the moon shed her soft, chaste rays, and from every grove the nightingales poured a flood of song. But he who lay there heard not the voices of the birds, the murmuring of the waters; he smelled not the perfume of the flowers; he saw not that lovely valley, that glistening stream, for his thoughts were a chaos of evil, where hatred, jealousy, and revenge were struggling in wild confusion. Oh, baneful contrast! around this man na- ture was a shining heaven, within him was a hell. An hour has elapsed, the Alameda is nearly deserted, yet he stirs not; butin that hour what has d in his wolfish soul ? If thoughts are crimes, what had not in tha short hour been committed ? Dark ingratitude, base treachery, horrid murder flashed in quick succession before him; yet his mind revolts not from them. He is still wrapped in contemplation, not be- cause his feelings waver, and his heart trem- bles, but that he has as yet devised no certain plan of gaining his end. One might have thought that he but for a sinister and demoniacal smile that played around his compressed lips. And who is this fiend in human form, this ghoul, this mediiator of evil? It isMatco, tue miller of the Moraima. See, he rises from his recumbent position as if suddenly awakened, and, with a keen, quick, searching glance, looks around; there is no one there; he is apparently satisfied, and sinks t was asleep, / despises me; I will marry her in spite of man or hell. Is not that a glorious reven ze to con- template ? ‘Lope, too, by his superior cunning, thinks that he has obtained a strong ascendency over my weak mind, but I will outwit him. Will not that, too, be revenge? Ay, revenge! re- venge! revenge !” (and he hissed the words through his close-knit teeth). ‘‘A thousand curses on this stranger! I can- ‘not denounce him openly, for then I should lose my gold; I dare not do it secretly, for that wily Lope would suspect me. Perhaps I may yet be mistaken, and Frascita does not love him; but no, but no, she does; furies light on him! At all risks he must be removed from my path, blotted out forever from my sight; Spain cannot hold us two; and yet I can fix on no settled plan; and, as we meet to-morrow, | must appear his friend; ten thousand devils! | his friend!” Thus partly solioquized, par.ly thought, this fierce and bloody man, He who was some- times called, when it could not come to his ‘ears, ‘‘the Demon of the Moraima.” He it was who in the streets of San Roque, ‘in the noon-day, and on the Sabbath, caused the unfortunate muleteer, Pepito el Rubio, to | kneel down, and in that humble posture to re- ‘ceive his death from the muzzle of his es- | copeta. | ‘This was he at whose name the inmates of the convent, in the recesses of the dark cork- wood, shuddered and crossed themselyes—the |smuggler, the traitor, the murderer. But in that country, and in that time especially, the life of man, as that of a beast, was of small value—the law an empty sound, or an echo | from the mountains. Then, start not, reader, at such deeds, for ey were common, where civil strife desolated esand laid waste the fertile vegas, or sahicenlal itself among the rocky sierras— ere the war was that of savages, implacable and murderous—where even helpless women | | th the vill back again upon the bench; but as he still sits| were destroyed in cold blood—a war unnatural there his thoughts find vent in broken senten- | in its origin, ferocious in its progress, misera- ves: now he speaks aloud, as if addressing some | ble and pusillanimous in its execution, demor- her smooth, soft cheek, and a convulsive sigh heaves her swelling bosom. Betrothed by her uncle, whom she fondly loves, to the formidable miller, no wonder then that she is agitated; for she now hates, yet fears him. If she before disliked his presence, she now Joathes it; for a bright being has passed before her senses. Yet the appearance of this being has been as a meteor flashing on her path—an ignus fatuus which she dreads, yet needs must follow and see again. Her heart, her whole existence, is full of un- controllable and passionate love, which, with the power of an earthquake, has disturbed her mind, and left there a wild and harassing con- fusivn, Ste feels that between this being and her | there is a great gulf stretched; but over this she would fain pass on the thin and narrow plank of hope, the end of which she cannot see. As Frascita sat there in this dejected, sor- rowful mood, the notes of a guitar, struck by a masterly hand, issued from the garden be- neath the window. She started from her painful revery, arose, and looked out; but she could see no one, Presently a voice began to accompany the music, ‘*It is he,” whispered her beating heart. The voice came nearer and nearer, and she could distinguish the words of a simple melo- dy, sung in a clear, manly tone, She threw back her disordered tresses, and listened— “The nightingales are singing now In every orange grove, The splashing fountains murmuring flow—= And sleepest thou, my love! The stars are set in despest blue, The perfumed zephyrs rove Amid the rosebuds fresh with dew— And sleepest thou, my love ? And hark, amid the flood of song Soft cous the plaintive dove, The frowning cliffs the notes prolong— And sleepest thou, my love? The waters of the moonlit stream Come dashing from above, Like sparkling visions of a dream— Aud sleepest thou, my love? Awake, my soul, my love, draw near, And listen to my vow, While all is still, and none can hear My tale of love save thou.” Frascita mechanically leaned out of the win- dow to hear the sounds, and catch the meaning of the words that were sung by a voice she ai- ready knew but too well. As she looked out, the faded nosegay fell from her hands to the grass beneath. ‘ A man came out from the shadow of the trees, and stood for a moment in the moon- light. He stooped and picked up the flowers, kissed them, and placed them near his heart. As he did so, she shrunk back into the shadow of the room. J For some moments neither dared to speak,
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—————— —_—- At last a voice whispered, in a soft and ten- der tone: “*Frascita.” “Oh, Juan, why do you run such a risk ?” “Oh, fly, fly from this! Should Mateo see you!” ‘‘Frascita! dear Frascita!” ‘Alas, I dare not. Oh, blessed Virgin, have pity on me and help me!” ‘*Will you not speak, Frascita ?” “Juan, spare me.” “Oh, Frascita, life of my soul, will you not answer me ?” “Oh, spare me, spare me!” Frascita’s words were inaudible to Juan, She yy her hands together in agony. Fear and love : was not of long duration, for, led by an irresis- tible impulse, she drew near the window again. Again the pale moonlight fell on her waving tresses. He had retired. “Juan, hist.” A moment after a rosebud, also withered, fell at her feet. She, too, took it up, and kissed it, and placed it in her bosom. As she did so, the full flood of love, gushing from her heart, rushed circling throughher veins. Her bosom heaved—her eyes beamed with soften- ed brilliancy—her heart throbbed wildly—and she knew that she loved with all the ardor and intensity of an Andalusian maiden’s first love. “Juun, Juan,” she softly murmured. “I am here, dearest. Oh, thanks, thanks for those words! Now these withered flowers are ten thousand times more precious to me than all the roses of the velley. Frascita, do you love me? Say but this, and I am happy.” “@h fly, oh fly, Juan!—you are beset with | as 8 here.” “I care not, if you love me, Frascita.” “Oh, Juan, this is madness.” ‘Is it madness to love you, my Frascita?” “Oh, Juan, are you not a Carlist? Is it not death if you are discovered? Oh fly, fly, I be- reech you.” ‘‘What matters it?. Are we not of the same wountry, the same people, the same faith? When these unhappy feuds are over—” “Still, if you love me, fly, Juan—my un- cle—” she dared not say Mateo. “‘And who is your uncle, Frascita ?”’ “‘He who left the bull-ring with you.” “Lope aid “Yes. ” “Gracias a Dios, he, too, is a Carlist!” “Oh, Juan, believe it not, I beseech you; he is a crafty man.” At that moment a rustling sound fell on Juan's ear, as if the leaves and twigs of the orange-trees had been pushed aside by an ani- mal feeding—then again all was silent. At the same time might have been seen the dark, swarthy figure of a charcoal-burner creeping along the edge of the precipice, cling- ing, with the tenacity and agility of a cat, with his hands and feet to the projecting and rugged rocks, and moving as stealthily and. noiselessly. He was soon lost inthe broad shadow cast by| the moonlight deep into the valley. “Juan, I heard a noise.” “It was nothing, dearest, but the rustling of the leaves by the wind.” ‘But there is no wind, Juan,” “It was fancy then, dearest.” “Oh, no, no, Juan!—If we are watched »” ‘Who is there to watch us?” ‘‘He!’—and the maiden shuddered, *‘And who is he, Frascita ?” ‘I cannot, I dare not tell you, Juan,” mar Lope shall,” muttered Juan to him. self, Steps were now heard approaching, and the hght of a distant torch threw a red glare down the street. “It ismy uncle, Oh, Juan, go!—you must not be seen here; go, if you love me!” “‘Good-pight, dearest; I will see you to-mor- row.” were struggling in her heart. But it| OR, THE RAID OF GOMEZ. | ‘Pare thee well, Juan;” and the maiden re- | tired from the window. | With a joyous step the light-hearted Carlist | vanished amid the orange-trees- Frascita threw herself on a couch and burst into tears. The charcoal-burner passed, though not un- | heeded, through the nearly deserted streets, | ‘and entered the Alameda. He _ proceeded | straight to the farthest end, which was now | dark by the shadow of the trees. He whistled; the whistle wss returned. “Hist, is that you, Manolo?” said the voice | of the savage miller. | ‘Si, senor, at your service.” | Have you succeeded ?” L ** Yous I dogged him all the evening, and never lost sight of him for a moment, except when in the house, and then I watched the door like a cat does a mouse-hole. At last, /about an hour or more ago, I saw him come | out of his lodgings with a guitar in his hand, | | followed him to the house in the garden by | the French gate. You know it, senor?” __ “Yes, yes,” said Mateo, impatiently; “ Lope lives there,” *‘Right, senor. Well, 1 got over the wall, /and, creeping behind a bush near the edge of _ the precipice, lay there like a hare in its form. | Lheld my breath; presently he began to play , and sing underneath an open window; a senor- ita sat there—” ; ‘* Hell and furies!” iuterrupted Mateo, in a savage voice; ‘‘it was she.” _ ‘©The senorita dropped something, [ could not see what; but he picked it up, and | saw him, by the moonlight, kiss it.” “Curses on him! No doubt a letter. My brain is on fire. Why did you not stab him, | Manolo ?” | ** Because you did not tell me to do it, Senor Mateo. Oh, I could have done it so handily ! | he was so close to me at one time that my fin- | gers itched.” And the ruffian mechanically grasped with | his hand the long knife that’ was stuck in his | dirty sash. | ** Would that you had put your knife into his heart—but no, not yet. Go on, Manolo; did they speak ?’ ‘‘O yes, a long time, 1 heard the se_orita | tell him to go away.” “Did he go?” “No; I left him the.» * “What did they talk about?” ‘‘T don’t know, Senor Mateo, exactly; but I think they were love-making.” “4 hundred thousand devils! She does love him, then. Did i not read that scream aright? Are you sure it was the man?” | “How could I mistake? Is he not the tall- est and handsomest man at the fair?” | Yes, yes, curses on him! that is what has bewitched the girl. You must continue to watch him, Manolo; here is money for you; | now, good-night! leave me.” Y, | “This may be useful to you before long,” said Manolo, as he departed, touching his knife /and grinning: ‘‘ Good-night, senor.” I said that the charcoal-burner was not /unheeded as he passed through the deserted | streets. Scarcely had he quitted the garden, like a } | of an arriero, followed close on his steps, but kecping in the dark sides of the streets. He, too, entered the Alameda, and concealed him- self behind a tree. He did not remain there, however, for more than a few minutes, but disappeared as silently as he had come. To explain this we must revert to the time when Lope quitted the bull-ring with the handsome stranger. | Conducted by Lope down a winding and nearly precipitous path, Juan found himself among the beautiful gardens mentioned in the first part of the chapter. As they seated themselves under a shady : Olive-tree, with the clear, bright stream run- ning at their feet, Lope said: | stealthy wolf, when another man, in the dress | ** Here, Colonel Juan, we can tak freely; I ‘have much, much to thank you for.” ‘‘How so, Lope? If there are any thinks due, they are due to you.” ‘Did not you protect two ladies, Ronde- |nians, when the diligence was burned some- | where near Andujar?” ‘Who told you of this’ “One of the ladies. Had you not been known to me before, believe me, this woula have been a sufficient passport to my heart. But it was rash of you todothe matador’s part, though you did it so successfully, She must have recognized you.” “Who?’ “* La Senora Dolores.” “*T think not.” ** But it was she who told me of your rescu- ing them from the ladrones, in the most gal- lant manner; and I suspect it was you who ersuaded them to leave Cordova. ave you eard the news? Itis rumored here that Go- | mez has attacked Cordova, burned and plun- dered it.” ** No, indeed; lft has begun soon,” ‘This will make the authorities here more suspicious; you must be cautious. There is | one man, too-—he to whom I spoke as we came out of the ring—that you must be careful not / to offend; he is dangerous.” ‘** What! he who was sitting by Frascita ?” “ How—you know her name ?”’ “Yes,” said Juan, carelessly; I heard her | aunt call her so.” ; | “© Well—you must be careful, Colonel Juan; for if you are not, your situation here will be precarious in the extreme. But, above all things, do not offend Mateo; you will meet him to-morrow.” | Juan promised caution; how he kept it has | been already seeti, | The rest of their conversation referred en- tirely to the prospects of the Carlist party. | After they had parted, Lope called one of | his most trusty followers to him (of whom many were at the fair), and directed this man to keep watch over the movements of the young Carlist—to see if he was followed—and by whom. He dreaded, and with good reason, the jealous and ferocious disposition of the miller; for to his clear-seeing mind it was evi- dent, from the almost complete silence of Fras- cita concerning her uaintance with the stranger, both in the adventure of the diligence and at Cordova, that more had passed between them than she had been willing to confess, He knew that she disliked Mateo; that she was of a susceptible and loving disposition; and that the Carlist was young, prepossessing, and eminently handsome. His intelligent fol- lower had watched the watcber, and this will account for the third party in the garden. Who of these three ?—this fair girl, agitated. by love, by hopes, and fears; this fierce and jealous lover; this light-hearted and unsus- ee rival—who of these three slept best that night? CHAPTER IV. THE PATIO OF THE SMUGGLER’S HOUSE—THR CONVERSATION — THE BLACK HORSE IS BOUGHT—THE RUINED FORT, Love has been likened to many things; but there grows a flower in Spain, the very type of that burning and ardent love that had sprung up so suddenly in the breast of Don Juan. The aloe, with its towering yet graceful stem, its feathered tresses, grand yet elegant, surrounded and carefully guarded by its strong and prickly leaves, grows in secret; these are the affections, the passions, and the energies of the heart, developing day by day, until forth bursts the flower in all its beanty and majesty. Then, hour by hour, the leaves de- cay—pride, affection, ambition, wither, droop, and die; and behold it stands alone, and can never bloom agrin. Did Juan dream of Frascita? did Frascita
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8 THE WAYSIDE CROSS ; dream of Juan? We know not; but if they | him—and he has serenaded you—and you have did, what a wild aud tangled maze must those| given him flowers.” dreams have been! Frascita turned her head away, and hid her Love is not prone to reason, but to hope; the face in her hands, and perhaps ‘thought that future is all in all; what though the present be | | her uncle was a wizard to know all these little as dark and stormy as the hurricane-cloud of | particulars. the tropics, there is always a little opening | ‘*How is this, Frascita?’ continued Lope; through which hope gleams like a sun ray. '**you do not deny it; itis true, then. There Thus it was with our hero. Nothing could} has been great imprudence, but it may yet be be more desperate than his love: had he calm-| set right, if—” ly reasoned upon it, he wouid have seen the| ‘‘If what, dear uncle?” said Frascita, look- fearful rocks and shoals amid which‘he was| \ing up, a little reassured. sailing: he did not, but let his vessel drive | ‘* You will consent to marry Mateo imme- with all her canvas spread, with nothing but} diately.” love and daring at the helm to steer him| ‘‘ Never,” said Frascita, shuddering. through these yawning dangers. ‘* Remember—you are betrothed to Mateo; When he awoke, his first thoughts were to| and although you may never have loved him, see the lovely Frascita again; and with the| you have not avoided his presence.” daring energy of his character, to think was!“ But, uncle—” to determine, to determine to act. 7 What, Frascita ?” As he passed through the dark portecochere| ‘‘I had never seen Juan, then.” This was of his lodgings, the dusky figure of a char-|said in the most charming, naive manner possi- coal-burner glided out before him like the red| ble. Lope took no notice of it, however; but Indian of the Far West. continued—‘‘ So you are determined to re ect But we must precede ouy, hero to his desti-| your affianced husband, the choice of your nation. uncle.” The patio, or court of Lope’s house, was of | ‘Oh, speak not so—how can I love that dark, the host luxurious. deseription. .. The pave- that fearful man? you cannot wish it, dear, ment, of diamond-shaped slabs of dark green! dear uncle,” marble from the Sierra Morena, was carefully And she threw her arms round him, and swept and sprinkled with rose water; in the or up into his face with those beaming middle a small, white marble fountain of gro- tesque workmanship, threw small jets of wa- ‘ter from a hundred mouths into a porphyry basin, and filled the court with a murmurin sound. On three sides of the square, raised a step higher than the level of the court, were! rows of small marble pillars, green and white | alternately, supporting small arabesque or Moorish arches quaintly carved and embossed with gold and azure, in imitation of the Court of Lions; between these pillars were pots of orange-trees and camellias in full blossom, perfuming all around, yes Who could resist that beseeching look? Not He kissed her forehead gently as he replied, in a softened tone ; ‘“‘Well, well, niece, I will not press it on you; for, indeed I feel that I cannot; but it must not be concealed from you that there are very great difficulties to overcome—that Mateo—” ““ Mateo—always Mateo!” cried Frascita, pet- tishly. ‘‘Is he an ogre to frighten children with? Am I not too Andaluz?” A dark awning, stretched over the quadran-| ‘‘ Yes, yes, dear niece, in every thing,” gle, prevented t ° glare of the day from enter- said Lope, looking at her proudly and fond- jog, and threw a soft and dreamy repose on l everything below. In this cool and fragrant retreat sat the | ° @muggler end his lovely niece. The conversation had evidently been inter- esting, for her dark hair was sparkling with uncommon lustre, and a bright blush shone through her transparent skin. What was it that had called the mantling blood into those smooth and peach-like cheeks? Lope loved his niece: he had no children, and all his affections were centered in her, ed in daring and lawless, although en ul pursuits, his mind found a delicious repose in her society; she was the haven of his rest, to which he flew from the wild turmoil of his career. Besides, Frascita was an or phan, and had been left to his care by those he once had dearly loved. She herself was a be- ing formed to be cherished; bright, and glow- ing, and warm as the skies of 5 own land. | No wonder, then, that the bold smuggler dear- » Fe the gay, "the charming Frascita, And there they sat—the dark, tall, athletic, power- ful man, with his hair j ust tinged with grey— and the graceful, elegant, blooming girl. “Come, hija mia, let there be confidence be- tween us—I am going to be your father con- fessor to-day. Frascita, you have a secret— and it is necessary for your good that nothing should be concealed from me, You know this stranger?” whichever way I turn, I see nothing but dan- Frascita started, and blushed crimson, The! gers and difficulties for her—for me—for all of very words the detested Mateo had used—but |us; but I, too, once loved.” oh! how different was the.tone in which they, Thus far had the confessions of the Beauty | were uttered—how different the look that ac-|of Ronda proceeded, when a servant enter comp panied them! and informed Lope that a handsome young ca. ou need not tell me, if it pains you,” con- | bailero wished to see him. doned Lope; ‘‘ that pretty blush is sufficient:} “You had better retire, dear niece,” but you are aware, p ake niece, who and what | smuggler; ,, a8 I wish to speak to this cabal- the stranger is?” lero alone.’ ‘Yes, yes, dear uncle; I saw it all when the| Frascita obeyed reluctantly, and with her . diligence was attacked. He is a Carlist.” eyes cast upon the ground, for her heart but And you met him at Cordova—is it not so?/ too readily divined who the handsome stranger And you have seen him here—and spoken to! was. Yet, although her uncle wished her to Me But, uncle,” continued Frascita impetu- ously, “he threatened me—must I bear that, too? I’m an Andalusian maiden.” ‘ Ha! did he so?” muttered Lope to himself: ‘the is already jealous, then.” ‘*Yes, yes, he bade me—me, your niece— beware!” And she drew her slender form u to its full height, Sg 8 vc eee seemed to flas from her eyes, as she added: ‘‘Sooner than wed him now, I would cast myself over that awful bridge where the Rio Verde dashes five hun- dred feet below.” ‘‘Hush, hush, hija mia; we must go with the old adage, ‘Fair and softly wins the day.’ You must smooth those frowns, which do not become you; and at least receive Mateo kind- ly and | courteously for my sake—for all our sakes.” “Uncle, I will; but, I beseech you, urge me no further on ‘this topic—see—it will kill me.’ “T am, then, to understand that you love this Colonel Juan?” “ Love him—do I love him ?”’ said the maid- en distractedly. ‘‘ It is folly—it is rashness— it is madness; but it is now too late—I cannot turn back; and I would not.” “Curses on these political differences!” thought Lope; ‘‘but for these all might go on well, and Frascita might be happy; but now, retire, the wish was uttered in so kind a tone that her heart was a little reassured. Whether she peeped or not, I must leave my fair readers to guess. Could I change my sex, and be in love, | do not know what I should do under such circumstances; but as it is— The young Carlist entered, and after the usual salutations, his eye evidently wandered round the court in search of something, as he said: “T have come thus early, Senor Lope, as I was most anxious to see you,’ ‘Say, rather, my niece,” said Lope, with that kind of a laugh which says “You see you cannot deceive me. ‘Nay, nay, I did not know that the senorita was your relative before last night.” “Let us be frank with one another, Colonel Juan; this is but at best an unfortunate busi- ness, ’and I will confess to you that I do not see the end of it.” “How is it an unfortunate business ? Do you call it a misfortune to love the fairest girl in Andalusia, and to dream of hopes that amu- tual flame has been kindled in her breast ?—is that a misfortune, Senor Lope?” **Yes,” repeated Lope, calmly, ‘‘it is a mis- fortune, and one that we shall all feel deeply, if indeed it does not altogether overwhelm us.’ “I cannot see it in that light.” ‘Lovers never can,” rejoined Lope, with a slight sneer, ‘But, fo be explicit, I must point out to you the almost insurmountable difficul- ties there are to encounter.” “Thank you for these words. I will over- come them all,” ‘In the first place, my niece is betrothed.” “‘Betrothed! and to “whom ?” fiercely ox- claimed Juan, “To Mateo.” “And who and what is this Mateo, this for- midable Mateo, whom you all seem to fear so much ?” “Fear!” said Lope, haughtily; ‘“‘ you are mistaken, colonel; I, at least, fear no man; but revengeful and unscrupulous, rich, owerful, and commanding, the miller of the oraima is well known, and proportionably dreaded.” ‘** And to such a man,” cried Juan, bitterly, ‘is the tender Flower of the Sierras betro ed. ” *‘T could not help it,” said Lope, remorse- fully: “it was her father’s dying wish: Fras- cita is an orphan,” ** And does this Mateo love your niece?” “*T fear so—nay. Iam sure of it—otherwise gold would have some influence over him, for that he prizes dearly.” ‘*Ha!” said Juan, musingly; ‘‘this man may be bought, then: this may assist our plans.” “Yes, yes; no doubt the dollars have great weight with him; but in this instance, I fear they will not succeed.” “They must be tried, however. I have funds at my disposal, which—” ‘‘T know, I know, my friend,” interrupted the smuggler; “but this is not all. You are suspected already, for I know that you are watched. What your life is worth, if you are discovered, you well know. This war to the knife has made men savages; if it were hinted that you were a Faccioso—pardon me, colonel, for making use, of the word—a file of the guard, a few loaded muskets, fuego, and what are you? Forgive me, my friend, but I wish to impress more caution on you. You have trusted yourself in my hands, and you arenow bound to me by a dearer tie than I dreamed of; for he who has Frascita’s love has mine , | also; and she has confessed to me that shedoes love you [am therefore bound more than ever to watch over your safety. I have given out said the|that you are a friend of mine from Almeria, engaged in a vast smuggling business (the saf- est character, by the way, to assume), and that you have come up to the fair to purchase horses, and for such you must condescend to pass for ‘he present. But in I warn you, colonel, to beware of Mateo. I do not think
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OR, THE RAID OF GOMEZ. ‘ko will betray you; but if his jealousy is 'twenty arrobas, or I am no judge of horsefiesh. aroused by a that you are his rival, he will stop at_nothing for revenge. But come, colonel, let us go and look at the fair be- fore all the horses are bought.” Juan seemed reluctant to stir. “« No; no, not now,” said the smuggler, laugh- ing; ‘‘I understand you; but business first, pleasure afterward, Do not forget we have to meet the padre.” “ But one moment.” “* Not now, not now; after the bull-fight.” ‘* But one word.” “No, no; it will unfit you for the confer- ence; you will be quarreling with Mateo,” Juan yielded with a bad grace, grievously disappointed at not seeing his charming mis- tress, but still Lope was her uncle, her guar- dian, so they went out together. The fair was held on a plain, or table-land, just outside the gates of the town, where a fort, now in ruins, once threatened destruction to the Eagle’s Nest. Wild-looking, gaunt cattle with huge-spread- ing horns, stood there, lazily flapping the flies off with their tufted tails; black pigs jostled, and grunted, and squealed horribly; horses, with their long, thick tails carefully rolled up, and tied in huge knots, filled the air with their shrill neighing, and pawed the ground impa- tiently. As they passed through the throng, Juan noticed that many men, dressed as muleteers, peasants, and charcoal-burners,saluted Lope in a peculiar manner, and passed. on without pee and among the groups standing chaffering and gesticulating vehemently round some long-tailed haca, individuals would sud- | denly cease talking and give the same salute. So frequently did this occur, that Juan could not forbear from remarking itto the smuggler. _ ‘“'They are my sons,” replied Lope, laugh- ing. **T have*a large family, Colonel Juan; you will see more of them by and by—and here comes one,”’ The smuggler made a sign to a little, swar- thy, active, merry-looking fellow,gayly dr in a zamarra ornamented with silver filagree bnttons, a yellow sash, and gayly-worked bo- tines, a cigarilloin his mouth, a cachiporra in his hand, and his peaked velvet hat, withagay silk handkerchief underneath, cocked on one side with a jaunty air. As he came up tothem, he made a low bow to our hero, and his little black eyes twinkled with a cunning expression. It was his friend the muleteer of Cordova. Had Juan looked round before, he might have seen this man following them at a little dis- tance; and it was he who had watched the charcoal burner. u ~ wd es parr od ?” said Lope. “ro e wa >” bri r nded he. ‘* By whom ?” uaa, Ponce ‘* By him you know of.” ‘Ha! I must see after this, I must leave you for @ short time, colonel, Keep up the character. Pepita will be your guide; you may trust him.” So saying, the smuggler turned was soon lost in the crowd, “Well, my merry little friend of the Sierra Morena, what part are you playing in the com- edy?’ said Juan, addressing his old companion. “Sancho Panza, senor,” replied Pepe, grin- ning! . “et How so “*T wait on your excellency.” “‘Hal hal “I am Don Quixote, then! where is my Rosinante ?” “That is just what I was going to ob. serve to your excellency. Will it please you to look at the horses? You will want a one, take Pepe’s word for it. There is such a haca here; he belongs to a friend of mine; he is of the royal breed. The English officers want to get him, but you must buy him. He is an entero—black as the night—fast as the wind—active as a goat—gentle as a lamb— tame as @ dog. Such loins!—such a back!— such Jegs!—such a shoulder! He can carry away, and But Come and look at him--this way, senor—you must buy him.” So saying, the chattering, but faithful mule- teer bustled through the crowd to where a no- ble-looking horse was led up and down in a cir- cle of admiring lookers-on. The horse was iu a white foam, and his nos- trils seemed to breathe fire; he had been run- ning @ race with aun officer's horse from Gibral- tar, and the excitement was intense, for he had won it. His present owner, @ tall; dark, swarthy, gaunt man, seemed to regard the ani- mal as a second Bavieca. Juan inquired his price. Every eye was immediately turned on hero. ‘Tres ciento duros,” proudly replied the owner, patting the horse on his arched neck; not a peseta less,” t Juan hesitated for a moment. “Buy him,” whispered Pepito, eagerly; ‘‘on eo honor of a mountaineer you will want im.” Whispers now began to circulate among the spectators: “It is certainly he.” “Who is he?” “The stranger who killed the bull.” “Buy him,” again whispered Pepe; still more erly, as two or three of thecrowd plucked him by the sleeve, and pulled him aside, curious to know who Don Juan really was, “Oh, he is a friend of the Senor Lope, from jnear Almeria—a rich’ man—something in his line, too,” promptly replied Pepe. Juan hesitated no longer: he saw thatthe people’s curiosity was aroused, and that the sooner he escaped observation the better for his personal safety; he was not sorry, moreover, in his situation, to possess so excellent a horse. The bargain was promptly struck, and the no- ble animal was dispatched under the escort, of its late owner to the smuggler’s house, the ad- miring crowd still following him. Left to themselves, Juan and Pepito strolled onward toward the ruined fort, and sat down amid the crumbling brickwork. Both were silent for a long time, our hero occupied with the picture of th moonlit window, and the little muleteer not presuming to speak until spoken to. ““By ehe by,” said Juan, suddenly, “do you know anything of Mateo, who is called the Miller of the Moraima?”’ “ Do I known whom ?” almost shrieked Pepe. “The Miller of the Moraima.” “You are jesting, senor; everyone knows him.” ' “Tel me what you Know of him.” Pepe got up and looked cautiously round, peeping behind the broken walls'to see that no one was lurking near; and coming close up to Juan, and speaking almost in a whey) he said: ‘Some say that he is a demon; others, that he has a spirit in the dark Moraima that pro- vides him with money, and turns aside all weapons, bullets andall. I don’t know, for m part, what to think of all that; but this oben’ ¢ is certain, he is as cunning as a fox, fierce and savage as a bull inthe ring, rich as an old Jew, spiteful and revengeful as a gipsy; he hears everything; he knows everything; sometimes I think that the air whispers tales in his ear. Ie it possible, senor, that you don’t know Mateo? There was the little, red-haired arriero of San Roque, whom he shot on the Alameda for speaking lightly of hifu; how, in the Virgin’s name, he ‘aud it out, without this spirit of his told him, nobody knows: that’s one;” and he went on counting on his fingers. _ “There was the barber he stabbed for cut- ting a little piece out of his chin when shavy- ing him: that’s two. Is it possible that your pcre ange Tie not know him? Then there was the lish officer he knocked on the head for jostling him on his horse in a narrow path: that’s three; but he got the worst of that. Then there was—” How many more atrocities he would have is mistress standing ‘at the | enumerated does not appear, for Don Juan in- terrupted him suddenly by springing up and darting out of the fort. ‘Esta loco por cierta,” cried Pepe, jumping up, and following him, As Lope was entering the town he met Ma- teo. Their greeting was apparently as friend- ly as usual, but a close observer might have perceived that each was playing a part. “Well met, Lope,” said Mateo; ‘‘I was looking for you—I have some news for your earalone. I have just heard from the coast— the Felicidad has run her cargo safe, and she is waiting for orders at the mouth of the Guadiara.” “Ts that all you came to tell me, Mateo?” ‘* No; I was. in the Fonda de la Reyna just now, and I heard some of the officers saying that Gomez, with a considerable force, was somewhere in the neighborhood, and that the people were leaving the villages, and flying to Algesiras and Gibraltar; and that the authori- ties here were getting very jealous, and were going to examine all strangers; and that ru- mors were flying about of emissaries from Don Carlos being in the town, So I came to warn you of it; but there will be no danger of a search, nor indeed of any inquiry being made, until the bull-fight is over.” “Tagree with you, Mateo, I do not think there will be any risk to day; so we can have our meeting; nobody will betray us; we are too well known... But thank you for your friendly warning; I will see it to-morrow. Still, if you could find Padre Tomaso, and bring him io the venta in about.an hour, it would be as well,” “Ll saw him only a few minutes age in the town; he is in a terrible fidget; and I really doubt whether he will come at all; he is but a cowardly priest.” “I think you are mistaken in that, Mateo.’ The priests are brave enough when wirk- ing for the aggrandizement of their order, or even for their own advantage; and this is more especially their cause, and 1. think we must make it ours, too. What say you, Mateo?” “Tt is nothing to me, Lope,” said the miller, carelessly, ‘“who wins, as long as they keep at it; while they are fighting, and cutting one another’s throats, we run our cargoes safely and easily; that is my view of it; so, for the present, I am for the weaker party. If the woman beats the man, our trade will soon be knocked on the head. _ So, viva Carlos Quinto, the good friend of the cortrabandistas, say |. But this Colonel Juan, what are you going to do with him? “He bas made himself too conspicuous, and the people are beginning to inquire who he is; Diego Costa and Cvlonel Sandoval asked me, just how, if I knew anything about him.” ‘‘Indeed | and what did you say?” ‘‘T told them that he was a friend of yours, come from the coast to see the fair; and hint- edat another possible attraction—the Flower of the Sierras.” “What. mean. you, Mateo ?’ sharply. Mateo replied, in a careless manner: “Oh, I thought it would put them on a wrong scent; they could not tell, you know, that he had not seen this rose before; he might have met her at Jaen, at Cordova, at a hun- dred places.” ‘He knows all,” thought Lope. must depart at once.” Mateo watched keenly to see the effect of his words on the countenance of his friend; his friend! But not a cloud flitted over the placid calm- ness of his look as he said: “Tt was not a bad idea of yours, Mateo. Will you come in and see Frascita ?” They were now at the porch of the smug- gier’s house, which, it may be Tonhdieered, stood near the French gate. Av that moment the black said Lope, ccy vlan was led up; and his late owner, recognizing Lope, told
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10 him that he had brought the horse according to direction. Lope motioned him to say no more, for he well knew who had bought the horse, having himself instructed Pepe to make the colonel to do so; but he thought that Mateo did not. He therefore gave the haca in charge toa servant, as he said: ‘‘What do you think of him, Mateo? Have I made a good purchase? He was dear, too— three hundred dollars is a long price. Will you come in ?” “No, no, not now; I ‘have business in the town; I will try and find the padre, and bring him with me to the venta—/asta la vista, Lope;” and the miller hastened away. Lope entered his house in deep thought; he paced up and down the patio hurriedly, mut- tering to himself: “There is not a moment to be lost—Juan must fly—but where? It would be madness for him to enter the town again; he must try and rejoin Gomez, or get on board some of the smuggling craft on the coast, and so get to Gibraltar. ‘Tand my niece can join him there, that’s true; but how to deceive Mateo; he is gone now, no doubt, to lay his plans—I can see that he is meditating something—but I will fore- stall him. ‘‘The black horse must remain; he guesses, no doubt, who has bought him, and for what purpose, and he will have his spies at the Gau- cin gate, and they will suspect something if I send the horse on. What is to be done? I cannot—I must not—let this gallant youth perish; and Frascita, too—what will become of her should anything happen to her lover? I know her well, and fear forher, till I fear that he can hardly get out of the net—some- thing must be ¢ z¢--I will not delay a min- ute.” Lope called a servant, “Perez, are any of the men here ?” “Yes, senor, there’s El Tuerto and Bartolo, of Medina, smoking in the stable, looking at the new horse,” ‘Tell them to saddle two good hacas; to get ready for the road immediately, and to take their escopetas with them. But stay—send El Tuerto here.” El Tuerto, or the one-eyed, was a tall, gaunt, fierce-looking Andaluz; but he belied his ap- pearance, for he was a good-humored fellow enough, with a strong propensity to aguardi- ente, and a man of few words. “Well, Tuerto, do you want to earn an onza ?” ‘‘Without doubt, senor.” ‘Then listen tome. ‘Take Bartolo, and two ood horses, and set out at once for Gaucin. ou know the small olive-grove before you come to the pass where the soldiers are ?” «Si, senor,” “‘S.op there until Pepe, the arriero, and a stranger join you; give up the horses to them, see them past the soldiers, and then you can either come back or go on to Gau- cin; perhaps it will be better togoon. Take your alforjas with barley for the horses, and some food for yourselves; you may have to wait. Do you understand me ?” ‘* Si, senor.” ‘Start at once; here is something to make the road seem short.” “ Ah, senor, you know the way to do it ; no- thin eases the wheels like s poer “ Off with you; and if you do this well, an- other onza.” Fortunately for our hero there was no delay, andin half an hour the two horsemen were clear of the town and clattering over the stony road, Having despatched these auxiliaries on their errand, the smuggler bethought himself of his niece; accordingly he went to seek her. What passed between tlem I shall leave my readers to surmise; but in a few minutes a tall ian, rather past the middle age, and a - tni female figure, with her face concealed by a large dark mantilla, might have been seen THE WAYSIDE CROSS; issuing through the French gate, and directing their steps toward the ruined fort. This was the apparition that had so sudden- rupted the loquacious Pepe. shall not attempt to portray the rapturous eagerness of Juan, nor the pretty blushes of Frascita, at this sudden and unexpected meet- | ing although my litt!e guide expatiated warm- ly on the beauty of it; nor shall I relate what CHAPTER V. ly startled and aroused our hero, and inter-|7!® FLIGHT FROM RONDA—THE VENTA A® THE MOUTH OF THE GUADIARA—THE SMUG- GLING CRAFT—THE CHASE—THE ESCAPE. Reader mine—for one, I flatter myself, I shall have—were you ever in the Zoological Gardens ? Did you ver notice a queer-looking animal passed between the two lovers amid those | covered with armor, in a large wire den | crumbling walls, It must have been sadly and sweetly inter- esting, no doubt, loving as those two did, to meet and part again so soon. But hope is true love’s true friend, and wréathed round their young, fond hearts might have been found this motto: ‘* Hope on, hope ever.” While these two were exchanging vows of eternal constancy, the kind-hearted smuggier had withdrawn outside with Pepe. As he stood there, giving the arriero his final instrue- tions, a charcoal-burner approached, and gave Lope a scrap of paper, on which was written: ‘‘TIs is as I told you; the padre isa coward; he will not meet Colonel Juan until it is dusk.” ‘‘Return to your master, and say we will wait,” said Lope to the messenger, whose keen eyes seemed to wander restlessly about in search of something he did not see, but ex- pected to find, and he walked away evidently disappoirted. ‘« This is a scheme of Mateo’s,” said Lope to the muleteer, ‘‘to make sure of the colonel waiting until night at least, It is now high time tha* he should start; he ought to twelve hours, at the least, in advance of any ursuit. I doubt whether the authorities here ve any suspicion of his being a Carlino; still Mateo is capable ot any and the worst treach- ery, now that his jealousy is aroused. ‘* My niece has had time to explain every- thing; they must part; it is a pity too, so young, so handsome, and so ae: g a pair; but perish he must if he remains. I can neither save him nor conceal him; his only safety is flight to the coast, and that immediate. Are ou ready to go with him, Pepe? You have sara faithful to me, my friend; will you be so now ?” **T am yours to the death, and what would I not do for such a three?” replied the little ar- riero, earnestly, ‘‘Trust me, Senor Lope.” The smuggler turned into the ruins. ** Forgive me, colonel,” said Lope, kindly, taking the young Carlist’s hand in his, “ for- give me for interrupting you, It is time ze should go; you have a fierce, implacable, bit- ter enemy, for he has discovered all; delay is dangerous, and an hour has been already lost.” ‘‘Oh, yes, dear Juan, fly, I beseech you,” said the maiden, imploringly, and at the same time firmly: ‘‘ oh, do not linger here; we shall soon meet again,” The young Carlist hesitated; overwhelmed, for a moment, by the idea of losing her he loved so tenderly, his senses reeled, and he leaned against the wall for support. Before he could recover himself they were gone; and yet the fragrance of a kiss rested on his lips—all that was now left to him of the Pride of the Sierras. He started up to overtake them, but paused, and sank down, half stupefied and unconscious, on the crumbling ruins; his limbs did not move; but his eye followed the graceful form of his darling mistress, until it was lost amid thecrowd, and, even then it seemed to trace her, so fixed, so eager was his gaze, Thus, a second time the y se parted. Will they ever meet again ? Watch him, and you, will, see him scuttling about, here and there, out and in, round about and round about, so fast that the eye can scarcely follow his motions. Iam afraid my tale is very like the Arma- dillo. But we will leave these labyrinthine wanderings, and for the present follow our hero in his flight, Ronda! hat a beautiful name it is, when it comes full, round, and soft from the mouth of a Spaniard! What a strange, ro- mantic, wild, indescribable spot in reality! This ee Nest stands, as it. were, on the comb of a mountain crest, flanked on both sides by hideous rocks and awful precipices. The town is divided into two parts by a deep and yawning chasm, the sides of which are smooth, end as if polished by the hand of some x giant, t the bottom of this abyss, over which is thrown a mighty bridge, rush the foaming wa- ters of the Rio Verde, which, dashing from the sierras, finds its away amid’ grim chasms and over headlong precipices until it reaches the valley below, cutting the town in two, and turning, in its descent, numberless mills. To reach the Gaucin road from where we left our hero, without passing through the town, would seem impossible to a st r. Difficult and dangerous it is, but not altogether a. he young Carlist remained a few minutes, as if bowed down with the weight of his loss. But his was an elastic and hopeful tempera- ment; dashing, as if ashamed of his weakness, the unbidden drops from his eyes, he sprung on his feet and bade Pepe lead the way. Leaving the plain, Pepe struck into a nar- row winding path, which seemed to end in a precipice; but by scrambling, and sliding, and jumping from, rock to rock, lowering them selves over fearful places, where the least slip would have been fatal, and at which Juan, as brave as he was, could scarcely forbear from shuddering, while the active little mountain- eer only laughed, they arrived safely amid the broken gardens in the valley beneath the town Around huge black rocks, over sparkling wa- ter courses and bubbling brooks, through or- ange and olive groves, amid rose beds, patches of Indian corn, pomegranates, geraniums, and stately aloes—a very chuos of gardens—the little arriero threaded his way until the valley of the river was crossed. Then, climbing up a path as precipitous, rugged and rocky as that by which they had descended, Juan found hin self unexpectedly on the wished for road. It was now within an hour of noon, and al- though it was autumn the sun shone out with a fierce intensity. Scarcely a soul was stirring, for the Rondenians were enjoying their siesta during the midday heat. A solitary sentinel stood gaping and gazing with a lazy; lack-lustre eye oyer the parapet ; but he took no notice of the fugitives, Fear was no ingredient in the disposition of our hero—he had never even known what that feeling was; yet his heart, beat more freely, and the air seemed lighter, when nothing was visi- ble save the mountain and sky, Busied with his own train of ideas, he for- lowed in silence his trusty guide, ‘‘ They would meet again. Gomez had kept his word, and ere long would be master of Anda- lusia. She would see him as a victor, not as a lurking spy.” Such were the leading thoughts of his buoyant mind, , Castle after castle arose in the air and van ished away, as his thoughts dwelt upon the future, Sey prerogative of lovers! what a a nt ah | 6%
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OR, THE RALD OF GOMEZ. would ye do without these aery creations of |—no difficult matter, by the by—Juan, al- | venta, beckoning to Juan to keep behind him. your wanton brains? Is there one among you though his situation was anything but agree-| Before the charcoal fire two tall, athletic all that hath not built some such gorgeous able, again breathed freely. young men were seated smoking. fabric in his waking dreams? If such there) Thereis get: a strong reactionof themind| Beside them stood a table, with an earthen- be, go crown him, Dullness, with «a leaden’ when a man, however brave, has escaped | ware jarof wine and glasses upon it. crown. for his name is Apathy, from a danger that appears imminent. What | As they turned round, the arriero, on whose Briskly the two walked on for nearly two warrior is not glad when the battle is over’? | swarthy face and dark figure fell thedull glare leagues under the glowing sun, yet neither What sailor does not rejoice when the storm is | from the fire, made a sign, crossing his arms spoke; Juan building his castlesin the air, and past? Does not even the huntsman feel it |in a peculiar manner. thinking of that parting kiss; Pepe humming when he has safely surmounted some danger- | What? is that you, Pepecillo?”’ cried one, snatches of songs and smoking his cigarillo, ous leap? But, above all, when the earth has|jumping up and embracing him; “I thought alternately. They reached the olive grove. rocked under the feet, when the mountains|you were up in the sierras with the Senor Pepe whistled shrilly, startling our hero haye been bowed down to the valleys, when | Lope,” from his blissful revery. The whistle was the crashof falling cliffs; and the rattle of the) ‘‘So I was, so I was; but is all right here? promptly returned, and El Tuerto and hiscom- | earthquake have sounded in the ear, thenthe Ihave a friend with me.” panion issued from the shadows of the trees, moment that convulsed and heaving Nature| ‘‘Carajo/ A friend! Who is he? Is he eading the two hacas. has resumed her tranquility, does not the blood | one of us?” said both together. They gave our fugitives this confused though rush cirgling again t rough the veins? does| ‘‘He is a friend of the Senor Lope,” prompt- welcome intelligence: a goatherd had informed not, as it were, a new life resuscitate the faint- | ly replied the arriero. them that the soldiers had been withdrawn Carlos was coming, with a large army, to take Gibraltar. Juan and his guide mounted. Made happy with a handsome present. the two smugglers turned back toward Ronda, as | their errand was done, and no soldiers were on | the road, ih The sun had set in a cloud of glory, and the | darkness was creeping over mountain and over valley when the travelers arrived at the little open town of Gaucin. To their great purprise this usually quiet little place was alive with men. Soldiers, in all the ragged variety of Spanish uniform, _ might be seen, by the dull light, a guns up the steep cliff toward the old Moorish cas- tle; Peseteros and. Miguelets were cleaning and preparing their escopetas in the open streets; officers were shouting, women talking and screaming, dogs barking in coneert—all was confusien and uproar; cries of “Mueran los _ Facciosos!”—*« No quarter to the dogs !” “Viva | Paar agg ON Viva la Constitucion !” menaces, oaths, boas : sed from group to group, | from individual to individual ptanens Go" “We cannot stop here, that’s certain,” said Pepe; ‘ we must push on, though these cursed | hacas are getting tired.” Juan assented, saying: ‘“‘T am entirely in your hands; do what you think best.” aie * 4 Such was the bustle, such the confusion, + that very little notice was taken of our trav- 1 elers. ‘7 Some of the men recognized Pepe, and ° ores to him ; but as it was nv unusual , | thing for him to pass by at any hour either c _ by day or night, the gave him only a pa ing - | salutation, or an invitation to come in and dri % a glass of aguardiente, d | In reality there was little or no danger; for © the hubbub was so great, and the consterna y | tion, notwithstanding their boastings and pre- P parations, so widely spread, that everybody ut was thinking and taking care of himself; it + only wanted a real alarm to scatter them like ‘ one before the tN I e fugitives, however, dism h led ye jaded iri Siete the lohp and ihe yy paved streets, and down the trem i te aoe Gaucin stands, means Ai ortunate it was for our hero, as t 18 will show, that the alarmed state of “ a t; had scared the travelers away from their halt- ing place, of At the foot of the hill, a little removed at jfrom the road, there was a venta, beautifully nd situated in a grove of orange trees; lights were si- |gleaming through the windows and from the pen door; this, too, the fugitives could see, On- was filled with wild-looking soldiery ey Digging their sharp stirrup-irons into the nis flanks of their tired horses, they cantered la- sharply past. as The noise brought several of the soldiers to ats the door; shots were fired at random—the bul- ets whistled harmlessly by, and the figures of Y, r fugitives were soon lost in the increasing oom. " as When they pulled their horses into a walk ing heart? of future deliverances. The night was dark, although the moon had risen; for s dense mist hung all around the horizon. The air was quite still, and a few stars twinkled faintly overhead in the murky sky; there was no sound save the splash of the orses’ feet and the hoarse, booming croak of the bull-frog, as Juan and his guide followed the winding track along the shallow brook, amid the dark oleanders. ; Myriads of fireflies flitted around the bush- ess— ith ** Like aokes thoughts flashing o’er the gloomy soul,” Midnight had passed‘ and a heavy, dank fog hung damply and drearily over the Guadiara, as, leading their jaded horses after them, the fugitives approached the sea-shore. ‘‘Hist, senor; this way, come to me,” cried Pepito; “I have found the ford; this way. this way.” Juan joined him. Pepito now went on in his rattli for his tongue was at length loosened. *‘I don’t think we shall have any carabine- ros here to-night; if there should be any, we need not fear them; they know me, and the Senor Lope pays them well, so they won’t in- terfere with us; they will think that we are on some smuggling business—so we are, so we are, I forgot that—to smuggle your excellency out of the country. What say you, then, Se- nor Juan, will you try the venta? We rust hers. something to eat; this traveling is hungry work, “‘Wherever you please to go I will follow you, my trus*y guide,” said Juan, dejectedly. ‘‘Well, get on your horse again, senor, and we will cross the river.” The venta stood amid a grove of chestnut- trees, near the bank of the Guadiara. It was a long, low, one-storied building, with a large mule-shed attached to it, and a spacious stable. All the windows were strongly defended with iron bars, and the doors were of thick oak-plank, heavy, and clamped with iron. The building was divided into three compart- ments: the kitchen, if I may so call it, asmall intermediate room for travelers to sleep in— that isif the jumpers and the creepers would let thei! ahd an inner chamber, which the family occupied. Now, although it was past midnight, the door stood wide open: Thres or four huge dogs of a large lurcher breed rushed out, barking furiously, and seem- ed determined to oppose the entrance of the strangers. Pepito jumped cff his horse and called to them: “Down ye devils, down; don’t you know me ?” At the sound of his voice they began to smell round him; then, hushing thetr clamorous tongues, whined, and fawned, and jumped on manner, New dangers may arise, but this | from the pass some hours before, and that Don is past and gone. One escape seems tle pledge | / / im. Patting their heads, the arriero entered the | ‘“‘He is welcome, then; bid him come in.” Juan entered, and saluted them. One of the young men then went out, and put che tired horses in the stable, and fed them. On his return, he inquired how far they had come, that the hacas were so jaded. ‘Don’t ask me any questions,” said Pepe, laughing; ‘‘it’s no use, for I won’t answer them.” ‘* But look you here, Pepecillo mio,” replied the one who spoke last, ‘‘ there is business on hand to-night; thestranger must takethe oath. Hark ye,” and he whispered in Pepe’s ear, ‘the Felicidad is lying off the mouth of the river, and her cargo, at least of it, is in there,” and he pointed with his thumb over his shoulder at the inner room. ‘The women are packing in at this moment; the riders will be here presently; they won’t like a stranger.” “Mira usted, mi amigo, that is the very craft we ex to find here. We want to get on board her: is there a boat in the river?” *‘Yes, down in ths creek which runs up the marsh below. You know it; she is hid among the reeds.” ‘“‘When does this little craft sail?’ “Not until to-morrow, if not meddled with; but they say here that that cursed guarda costa brig is off the coast.” “Yes, I saw her a few days bella.” “The devil!” *‘But the carbineros ?”’ “They are all out of the way—all called off; have you not heard the news? Gomez, with his army of brigands, is near the Guadaranque; some say he is on it.” Juan drew near to listen; this was great news for him. “Come, come, cavalleros,” said the other man, ‘‘enough of this. Let us drink a safe voyage back to the Wessed little Felicidad; and hark ye, Pepita, if your friend is not to take the oath, let him at least pledge us in a glass of vino tinto.” So saying he filled four glasses from the jar that stood on the table, and handed one to each. Then they all four stood up, and jingled their glasses together. “Long live the trade,” shouted he who had proposed drinking the toast. “Vivan los contrabandistas,” replied the other. é Again the four glasses were jingled tog r, and the other ome burst out nt rough, wild song— ago at Mar- Yo qui soi contrabandista, He tobacco y aguadiente, Y mi muger, y my cayallo, Felix que soi yo. Which may be freely translated— 1, who am a smuggler bold, Smoke and drink and count my gold; I’ve a horse and pretty wife, Don’t I lead a jolly life? Just as the chorus died away, the clatte of horses’ hoofs on the loose stones through the still night air. sound
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‘ 4 7 —_ hak etc ‘eceasion for you to speak; I 14 THE WAYSIDE CROSS ; The horse-dealer started, and madea gesture ‘then turning down a narrow, steep, and ill-| many broad folds round their waists; soiled |paved street, he stopped opposite to a large ef denial. “Do not deny it; that is useless.” **No, by the blessed Virgin!” “Pshaw! Gipsy or Christian, you stole that horse.” ‘But, senor—” ‘Silence! and listen to what I say, and an- swer my questions simply—do you hear ?— and truly: gold if you do, a prison if you do not. Dost thou not detest our race ?” “Tt is our creed.” ‘‘What wouldst thou do to a rival who robs you of your mistress!” * T wear a knife.’ ‘ Dost thou love gold ?” “Tam a gipsy “And hatest a prison?” “am a gipsy.” ‘ Dost thou love a good horse ?” ‘‘Next to my mistress.” ‘*Wouldst thou regain what thou hast stolen and sold without paying the price back ?’ “Tt is the fashion of the Calori.” ‘Are you to be trusted?” “Pay me well.’ **You shall wreak your hatred on our race, you shall have gold, and the noble black horse again, if you will do my bidding, But be ware! my arm is iong, and the spirit whispers . in my ear the name of all who piay me false, Now, answer me again: Wouldst thou know him again who bought your horse?” “What! the handsome stranger?” “Curses on him! yes, that is the man.” “Tis half a pity, too; so young, so hand- some, and so open-handed!” ~ “Pshaw! are you a driveler? It is a safe yenture; he is a Carlino; he would restore the Inquisition; more reason for hatred, to a gin: CW hy not denounce him ?” “Silence! What, is that to thee? But know this: if a syllable—a single s}llable is breathed of me or any of my people having any concern in this, you die!. There must be four of you, for he may not be alone; at least he will have one man with him as a guide.” ‘‘And they who accompany him ?”’— ‘‘Must be spared, if possible, Have you any companions who can be vrusted ?” ‘Yes; there are the three brothers from La- mala, who robbed the Englishman near Loxa; they are only rateros; but they will turn their hand to anything, if well paid.” ‘Can you find them now?” “Yes; but they will not stir for me, until af- ‘ter the bull-fights; but for you—” . ‘Fooll they will know. me,” interrupted the tniller; savagely. — ‘‘*Pardon me, senor; yu can speak to them without being seen; they are st ers, snd will not know your voice if there should be 1 vouch, for a. , “You!” said Mateo, with a contemptuous wneer—‘‘you youch forme? Ha, ha! the gip- youches for the Christian! But, lead on, tho spawn of hell! if there be aught of trick- ery or tion in thy dealings with me, thy iife-bl shall answer for it.” ' . So saying, Mateo rose from his seat, Could. the miller have seen the expression of the Bipsy s countenance at that moment, where hatred, revenge, and evil passions were a y ‘ling for mastery with cupidity and cowar ear— “Letting I dare not wait upon I would,” he might have changed his purpose. Little did that man of blood imagine that his designs had been foreseen, aud his plans al- ready anticipated; that from the spot he had that moment quitted, within a short hour his hated and successful rival might have been seen threading his way through the broken gardens, almost beneath his very feet. He went to seek his destruction, and he left a free The horse dealer led the way along the Ala- | | shed, full of mules and borricos, At one end of this was a door which opened into a dark and filthy stable; this, too, was full of horses, ‘all huddled together. “This is the place, senor,” said the gipsy; |’ ‘* will it please you to enter?” ‘I see nothing,” said Mateo, impatiently, ‘but a filthy stable.” They entered, however; and the gipsy, clos- ing the door after him, and speaking to the hacas to keep them quiet, crept along behind them to the farther end of the stable, the mil- | ler following him in silence, with his hand on his knife. The gipsy pushed open a small door which opened inward into « narrow room, the floor of which was strewn with sacks of barley, saddles, alforgas, and other horse trappings. No light entered this dismal hole, except what stole in through the chinks of the door that opened into the mule shed, and that was bare- rt sufficient to make the darkness visible. tepping over the barley sacks, the horse dealer showed Mateo a small iron grating let into the wall and concealed by bridles and other horse gear hanging down before it. The bars were close together, and crossed each other from corner to corner. It was like the grafing at a convent, only smaller, and no light shone through the interstices; in fact, it appeared an old window now built up. Suddenly the door shut to, apparently of its own accord, and all was utter darkness. Mateo’s suspicious disposition was immedi- ately aroused, and he turned suddenly round to seize the gipsy; but he had disappeared. He groped about, stumbling as he did so over the saddles, but in vain. He tried the door; it was fastened, and there was nothing to pull it open with, Had the horse-dealer dared to play him false? His faithful charcoal-burner was outside—that he felt assured of, for he had seen him follow- ing them through the market place. Should he call out? No; he would wait. As these thoughts passed rapidly through his mind, Mateo heara a slight noise, as if of something drawn gently over a smooth surface. A gleam of yellow light darted through the grating, and a villainous smell of garlic and tobacco, mingled with a sound of muttering voices and oeees e oaths. The miller could see between the bars of the grating the con- tents of the horrible den. A solitary flaring candle stood on a table covered with a cloth which had once been green; but it was now so med with dirt and grease, that only here and there the origin- al color i}. out, like grass ona muck-heap. A pack of cards, even filthier and greasier than the cloth, lay scattered about the table. The floor, walls, and eeiling were as black as age, smoke and dirt could make them. ere was one stool near the table, and a rickety bench stood along the wall; but the only occupants of these were some small glasses, flanking a large, green earthenware jar, which probably contained that horrid com- pound, aguardiente flavored with anise-seed. The room was lofty, though small, and there was apparently no mode of ingress or egress; and the only means of ventilation seemed to be the grating through which he surveyed this pandemonium, The miller rubbed his eyes with astonish- ment, and muttered a suppressed oath. He could not be mistaken, There, sure enough, was the gipsy sents amid a group of four ferocious-looking ruf- fians, po speaking to them earnestly and with much gesticulation in an unknown language. Three of these suspicious-looking gentle- men were dressed exactly alike, in coarse, brown serge jackets, with the cuffs, points of the elbows, and small of the back, slashed with pieces of gaudily-colored cloth; short trowsers of the same. stuff, and edged with blue, reacned only to a little below the knee; a meda, across the bridge, into the market.vlace: | broad. red. coarse woolen sash was wound in botines and untanned leather shoes completed their costume, But, strange to say, although the rest of their dress was filthy dirty, their linen was white and clean, Their forms were short, thickset and very muscular. Their dark and ferocious faces were shaded with huge black whiskers, and their coarse hair fell in long elf-locks from beneath their conical hats. It was no difficult matter to see that they were brothers, and easier still to imagine that | they would not scruple to commit any atroci- | ties if paid for. The fourth personage was even more remark- able for the savage and cunning expression of his features. But as he has nothing to do with my story further than being the proprietor of this hell- ish abode, and barker at the monte table, I shall not enter into any detail, merely remark- ‘ing that he was smoking his paper cigar appa- rently in a contented mood; and no wonder, for he had just plundered the three rateros of their last peseta. For some minutes they all talked together, and their oaths and filthy language, although in strict keeping with the place, grated harshly even on the miller's ear; so we will not offend our more delicate reader with them. “ Carajo, no! I tell you,” said one, in Span- \ish, turning away to light his cigarillo at the candle; ‘‘I, for one, will not move until the last bull is killed and drawn out.” ‘Nor I,” said another; ‘‘I. haye bet a hard | dollar that the green ribands kill more horses than the pick. I must stay and see it out,” . ‘* Nonsense!” said the horse-dealer, impa- tiently; ‘‘ would you lose a chance like this? throw away fifty pesos duros a-piece fora bull- fight that you can see at any time? Nonsens+! Get them first, and then you can go, sit in the shade, and bet away.” ‘He is right,” said the third; “curses on the cards! I have not a peseta left to pay even for a seat in the sun.” “« Besides,” continued the gipsy, ‘“‘it isa safe and easy business—no trouble in life to men like you.” “T tell you [ will not go. said the first. speaker, sullienly, ‘The bulls came in last night l'ke a whirlwind. They will fight like devils to-day ” ‘*And who will pay my bets, or receive them if I win ?” said the second. ‘You have not a peseta between you,” said the horse-dealer, exchanging a rapid glance with the banker. ‘Jose will lend us some,” cried all three. ‘‘Not a real; not a single ochavo,” said the keeper of the hell, ‘‘You are aparcel of fools, Go and earn some.” ‘He is right,” said the third; ““we must have money.” ‘“‘T will tell you something that will make you go,” continued the gipsy, ‘‘The English- men you robbed are here, and they will be at the bullring; what will happen then?’ (This was a lie, but it suited his purpose.) ‘“‘Carajo!” exclaimed all. three in different keys. There was & pause, and then & whispering together. “Who is he that wants the job done?” in- uired one, : “That is what we want to know,” said ano- ther. “They are right,” said the third. “And what are we to get for it ?” : ‘He is rich enough to = ah hg well; that is enough for you to know. ill you do it?” * The terms, let us hear the terms,” cried the three in chorus. “ Listen, now, all of you, and Jose shall be witness; fift y dollars a-piece; all that is on him, and they say he has hundreds in his sash (this was true enough, although the gipsy knew nothing about it, yet the lie, he thought, would tell; not did they say anything about the 2
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OR, THE RAID OF GOMEZ. i black horse, for that he reserved for himself as' though all in perfect keeping with the state of | one is caught easily enough; but let us to busi his peculiar booty): now will you doit? Speak) out like men, and don’t shilly-shally any longer | | under discussion amid this motley group were about it. Come; say Yes at once.” The three robbers consulted for a moment; then, all speaking together, they cried ous. | Spain. When the miller entered, the principal topics the relative merits of the different breeds of bulls (the Salamancan, the Tarifan, the Wid- ** Yes! yes! yes! we will! we will! The oath!| ow’s, having each its strenuous supporter), the the oath! the oath!” The miller heard no more, for something! slid rapidly over the grating, and he was again left in total darkness. | stranger, and the Carlists. The host of this remarkable inn was a noto- rious smuggler; and it was surmised, although people were too prudent to declare it openly, Five minutes passed away, and doubts began| that he was engaged even in a more lawless to arise again in Mateo’s mind concerning the) pursuit. gipsy’s faith. He could hear nothing but the| p Ro ds - | med sound of the horses clamping and moving about. ‘Tam here, senor,” said a voice close beside him; and at the same moment the door opened, apparently of itself, “‘Are you content with me now ?” continued the gipsy, in a cringing manner, ‘‘Have 1 done well ?” , ‘‘Don’t stand jabbering there, but get out of this infernal hole,” said the miller, savagely. “Pah, Iam half stifled with the smells of this cursed den—it will take a whole bottle of Tin. to wash my throat out! Out with you, gita- no, conjuror, horse-dealer, robber—whatever you call yourself.” in that strange expression passed like the shadow of acloud over the gipsy’s counten- an win his cunning eyes gleamed with a sudden i but when the light of the glow ing day, which penetrated even to that narrow street, fell on his swarthy features, no trace was left of angry passions—on the contrary his manner was servile and fawning, like that of a well-flogged hound. Before they quitted the shelter of the stable, the miller’s keen eye glanced up and down the street, A charcoal-burver of short stature was sauntering along toward them with a lazy step, smoking a cigarito, and not another soul was visible. The miller beckoned to him, and, when he was close to his side, whispered in his ear: ‘Trusty one, in ten minutes at the Fonda de la Reyna: I suspect him—do not lose sight of him for one moment, You are the mastiff; watch: if he runs rusty, bite.” And, without deigning to say another word to the horse-dealer, Mateo walked away to- ward the market place, leaving the gipsy and the charcoal-burner face to face; and a pretty pair of babes they were. It would be impossible to give in readable English the conversation which passed be- tween those two worthies; for of all slang the Spanish d+ the most untranslatable, and unfit for decent ears, As'the horse-dealer had no intention of le- vanting, at least forthe present, he thought he might as well ingratiate himself with his new companion: by-treating him to an olla and a bottle of Malaga; to which the charcoal-burn- er, as it was not Contrary to hig instructions, readily consented. So they adjourned to a wine shop in the marke a The Fonda de la Reyna was the most fre- quented, if not the most respectable in the town, It had a neveria, where you might obtain that most delicious beverage, agraz (the unfer- mented juice of the unripe grape); this, iced, and qualified with a little spirit, formsa nec. tareous, but I believe unwholesome, drink. The saloon was a Jarge marble-paved room, the c-iling supported by numberless small plasters of dark-green marble, In this cool retreat you might smoke and drink, play at dominoes, or rattle the balls about on a noisy billiard-table, with pallillos in the centre bells in the pockets. There of a morning might be seen some of the most famous toreros: the accomplished the stalwart Pinto, and the undaunted Man- He was playing at billiards when the miller entered. A glance passed between them, un- noticed by the :ookers-on. The game was soon lost. ‘*What can I do for you, Senor Mateo ?” said the host. ‘Have you any news from the coast ?” Si, si, it is all right; the Felicidad has run her cargo safe.” ‘So I heard,” replied the miller, impa- tiently. “What will you take ?” said el amo, signifi- cantly, seeing Mateo’s impatience. “Have you a private room? I expect some- body here directly, and I want to speak to you before they come.” “Come this way, then, Senor Mateo: a bottle of my old Val de Penas will do you no harm. It is as bright as a ruby, and as fragrant as your mistress’s breath.” : ‘‘Ha!” exclaimed Mateo, savagely, the words of the innkeeper kindling anew the fire in his breast, like dry cedar-chips thrown on a smol- dering wood-fire. The host saw that he had unwittingly touch- ed a tender spot, and wisely said no more, but led the way into a small private room, and, placing a bottle of that glorious wine on the table, with a couple of glasses, he waited for the miller to speak. “You know Lope de la Vega?” said Mateo, abruptly, “Yes; who does not?” “You have dealings with him?’ “Yes, a bale of to , orso,.” ‘‘He is playing me false.” ‘Is it possible? I thought he was as true as steel.” “‘Ay, true to himself, not to me, Curses light on the traitor! He must be got out of the way for a short time.” “That will be a difficult job.” “Tf must be done, however. devise some plan?” “T, senor?” “Yes, yon; cannot you forge some lie, coin some talk, or—” “The Senor Lope !” cried the host in amaze- ment, understanding the diabolical gleam of the miller’s eye; ‘no, no, that will be too danger- ous; he has too many friends here, The peo- ple all love him; smugglers, bull-fighters, rob. bers, carebineros—even gipsies dote on him.” “Nay, nay, I meant not that—it would not suit my purpose now; it is only for a day or two.” “Lope is kind-hearted; can you not work some way or another on his feelings? May there not be some vessel seized, some dear friend of his taken—yourself, for instance?” “By the spirit of the Moraima, that is the very thing! What a fool I was not to think of that myself! Lope was right; I am not so cunning as he is. Fill me another glass of our ruby wine, my jolly host. I drink a ealth to your idea, Lure the fox away with carrion—send him to save a dead man—ha, ‘ha! excellent, excellent !” The innkeeper started, for naturally enough, Can you not the train of ideas*that was Working in Mateo’s brain was utterly incomprehensible to him, ; even with the help of the words spoken. He Montes and his brother-in-law, El Barbiere, saw that there was some plot, but dared not ask for an explanation; for, like the gipsy, he was afraid of the ferocious miller when in his seca. There also resorted the flower of the contra- presen bandistas, the heads of the police, and the offi- | cers of the garrison—a strange mixture, | ce, “Yes,” continued Mateo, speaking as if to himself, “lure the old bird away, t ness; have you writing materials?” The inkeeper went to fetch them. While he was gone Mateo drank glass after glass of the rich and generous wine as he thus communed with himself, speaking aloud: ‘It cannot fail; Frascita in mine—mine. Yet perhaps I am but a jealous fool, and she does not really love this stranger. No, no; those tears, that scream, that moonlight meeting, those flowers. No; may the fireof hell score his marrow !—she loves him. Beware, be- ware, Frascita; love and hate go hand in hand, and revenge follows. Thus will I sweep my enemies away, thus will I drink their blood like wine, and dash them to pieces, and crush them beneath my feet—thus—thus;” and he suited the action to the words. ‘‘He quaffed off the liquor, and he threw down. the cup” and ground it under his heel. Presently the host returned, but not alone, fer the gipsy and the charcoa]-burner were with him, The liberal potations of aguardiente that the horse dealer had imbibed during the last ten minutes had given him what is gener- ally called ‘‘Dutch courage,” and he actually stood in the presence of the miller without trembling, Mateo was in a glorious humor; he bade the host bring another bettle, made the gipsy and the charcoal-burner sit down, and filled their glasses. He then wrote the note mentioned in the fourth chapter, and despatch- ed his trusty envoy to deliver it to Lope, and to watch what the young Curlist was doing: if satisfied that no movement was contemplated, Manolo was to return, and see the four robbers depart on their errand, This done overthe mantling bowl, in a and laughing tone, the fierce miller proc to give the gipsy his final instructions. About five leagues from Ronda, on the Gaucin road, there is a long and gloomy defile where the night-hawk flits about even in the day- time. As the traveler emerges from this, the moun- tain path, sweeping round a deep hollow, pre; sents a singular spectacle, Huge masses o dark rocks, pinnacled like castle turrets, tower above him, while below there yawns a deep and abrupt precipice. A solitary aloe, with its stiff and prickly leaves, stands asa sentinel at the end of this dreary pass, There the horse dealer and lis colleagues were to await their intended victim. If he came alone, no fire-arms were to be used; the deadly knife was to do the work; otherwise the gipsy was to use his own discre- tion. Filling a bumper of the generous wine, the millerdrank success to the enterprise,‘and the gipsy departed on his errand. Satisfied with what he had done, and elated with the wine he had drunk, Mateo sought his own house to enjoy a comfortable siesta and refresh himself, during the heat of the day, for the bull fight in the evening, little imagi that his intended victim was already bey his reach. The miller had already committed alc errors in playing his game: he had fin too much with a vastly superior player, and shown his cards to too many people. Scarcely had he left the fonda when another man left in the same direction that the charcoal burner had taken. Manolo departed on his errand, and, as we have related, gave Lope the note at the ruined fort, and there he was foiled. As he returned toward the fonda, he saun- tered into the court-yard of Lope’s stables, as if to look at and admire Bavieca (for so we will name the black horse), but, in reality, to ob. tain any information he could from the smug- glers who might be loitering about. There was no bustle or sign of anything stirring. Several men were lying on the straw, wrap- y ed @ young | ped in their cloaks, with their heads pillowed
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1G Spe on saddles, some asleep and some smoking vigarillos. } He peeped, with his prying, cunning eyes into the stable; Bavieca was there, quietly munching his barley, and flapping the flies away with his long, bushy tail. Manolo was soon satisfied that.no immediate flight was contemplated, although his mind was full of that species of low cunning that suspects everything, and which was so invalu- able to his fierce employer. He was to Mateo what the pilot-fish is to the shark, the jackal to the lion—at least, if we may believe those pretty tales that are written about these animals. Quitting the yard, Manolo threw himself at full fougtl on one of the stone benches under the dark archway which opened into the street from the patio of the smuggler’s house, and lay there quietly, as if asleep. For nearly half an hour no one came; at length his patience was rewarded; for a tall figure whom he easily recognized, and a female, sobbing audibly, entered. Coming out of the bright glare into the deep shadow of the arch, they passed into the court without noticing him; he waited some time longer, but no others came. is puzzled Manolo, It was evident enough that the smuggler’s niece had accompanied him to the ther fort, and that they bad gone there for some purpose; the Carlist must have been there, too, concealed among the broken walls. But what had now become of this stranger ? Like a baffled hound the ruffiari had lost the scent, and to regain it he started up, and was about to leave the shelter of the archway, when he heard footsteps coming in the oppo- site direction, and the host of the Fonda de la — appeared in the broad daylight. e, too, passed the charcoal-burner, ap- perearly without seeing him, and entered the ouse. Another half hour went by, and no one quitted it, “There is treachery somewhere,” muttered Blanolo, as ne darted rapidly up the street, and ent straight to the fonda. Mateo was gone, the gipsy was gone, and @here was the host playing at billiards, just as vf nothing had happened; he had just made a carambole, and knocked down three or four pallillos; but his own ball :olled slowly on in- toa et, and the little bell tinkled, ‘Ha! ha!” said he, laughing, and as if he had not seen Manolo; “that was a capital stroke and w:ll intended, but I am caught in my own trap.” “‘ Carajo!” exclaimed the astonished trusty; “T thought I saw you in the street just now, senor amo,” “Ha! ha!” replied mine host, still laughing, “is that you, my worthy? ‘That Val de Penas has a Windetti effect upon the eyes; it gives people a double sight: here is a proof of it.” “Psha!” exclaimed Manolo, impatiently; ‘‘do you take me fora child?” _* By no means, my friend; you have, no doubt, cut your wise-teeth; but old wine plays strange pranks,” ‘*Mateo shall know of this,” hissed the char- coal-burner between his teeth. “Of what? Of my losing a grand stroke?” ‘‘ A thousand devils, no; but of your being a traitor,” ““Go and take a siesta, Manolo; never go out in the sun when you drink; it deranges the brain,” With a horrid improcation the charcoal- burner rushed out of the fonda, _ The host quietly resumed his game. THE WAYSIDE OROSS ; CHAPTER VII. THE CHARCOAL-BURNER I8 FOILED—THE UN- CLE AND THE NIECE—THE BULL-RING— LOPE AND FRASCITA LEAVE THEIR MOUN- TAIN HOME—THE ALOE IS REACHED—THE DEATH OF THE SMUGGLER — FRASCITA! WHAT WILL BECOME OF HER? Manolo, in a furious rage, went straight to his employer's house. Mateo was asleep, and no one dared arouse the dormant lion before he was thoroughly refreshed, not even his favor- ite charcoal-burner, Excited and baffled, he rolled himself in a manta, threw himself on the floor, and tried to sleep, but in vain, for he began to find him. self in a dilemma, The mysterious movements of the host of the fonda showed but too plainly that they were betrayed. The absence of the young Carlist was sus- picious; even the quiet that reigned about the smuggler’s house might be a blind. He had lost sight of the stranger, and he — escape while he was lying there. very moment lost was dangerous to their peas and, minute by minute, the dollars were ropping from his pouch, anolo felt all this keeply; but so terrible was the temper of his employer if suddenly aroused, that he knew not how to act. He arose twenty times, and as many threw himself down again in vexation. Should he awake the miller and tell him what had occurred—there might be nothing in it after all; and then—what then?—he shud- dered at the idea: it amounted to this—should he brave the danger of Mateo’s rage, or lose his reward ? He knew the place on the road appointed for the gipsy and his gang, but he was uncertain whether they had yet set out. A thought struck him—he would act for himself: if he was successful, the dollars would flow freely into his pouch; and if he should fail, he would at least be out of the way of any sudder ebullition of anger. His first object was Lope’s house; there, still, all was quiet. He wandered out to the cattle-fair, and ped'into the ruined fort; there, too, he failed, for it was empty. He re-entered the city, and went straight through it to the Gaucin gate, and at a venture entered into conversation with some of the soldiers who were loitering about; and from them he learned that a one-eyed and a two- eyed man had through about two hours before, but neither of these answered the young Carlist’s description. He learned also that the gipsy and the three brothers had gone out of the town, but they were on foot. The black horse was in the stable—the young Carlist could not have escaped as yet. Manolo, again baffled, was about to return; but chance, or something else, prompted him to stay. He Tit his cigarillo, and sat down on a bench outside the guard-room. _ Presently he heard one of the soldiers call out; ‘Fillo, my friend with the one e nets you done with your horses ?—so eh?’ e, what d them, ee They had been duped — stupidly, duped. For the first time he remembered. the path by the gardens. The absence «f the stranger was now ac- counted for—he had escaped—the gipsy and his gang were too late—fresh fuel for Mateo’s fury—it must find vent—what direction would jit take? The innkeeper’s visit to Lope—that was the channel into which it must be turned. While Manolo, like an afrite, was prowling about, meditating and planning evil against the human race, alone in the marble court sat Frascita, Soft and mild as the gentle trade-wind, which scarcely ruffles the bosom of the heav- ing ocean, is love when all runs smoothly on. But should a cloud arise, and darken hea- ven’s blue expanse, then, like the fearful hur- ricane, it sweeps over the agitated mind, and leaves a shattered wreck behind. The maiden’s overwrought mind, which had so nobly borne up, and insisted on her lover's flight, was now filled with a thousand agitating thoughts, doubts, and fears. Hers was not the tempered sorrow which slowly wastes away the drooping form, but the wild, impetuous rush of the mountain stream, which, swollen by the melted snows, despises all control. e That meeting, that parting, had filled her heart full of burning and unquenchable pas- sion. He was her first, her only love, and she an Andalusian maiden. What was the world now toher without her Juan ?7—a blank, a dreary waste. Yet the atmosphere which surrounded her seemed full of his presence, and the babbling splash of the fountain murmured his name in- cessantly, and her bosom heaved tumultuous- ly as she recalled to her mind his tale of ove. The tears ran down her pallid cheeks, and she clasped her little hands together as fancy sr to her imagination the dangers and ifficulties of his escape. Oh! how she longed to be with him, to par- take of his sufferings, or rejoice in his tri- umphs! Poor Frascita! Thy cup of woe is filling rapidly, but it has not yet overflowed. Weep on. ~ So occupied was the maiden with her own sad thoughts, that the minutes flew unheeded by, and she was not aware of the presence of her uncle, | Lope, who had not long before parted from {the host of the fonda, stood there silently watching the deep affliction of his lovely niece: those burning tears confirmed the resolution he had already made, ’ easily He called her softly by her name: ‘‘Frascita,” She looked up, and smiled through - her tears. “Do not grieve so, dear girl; all will yet go we 0 ‘I cannot bear this,” sobbed the maiden. ‘*‘Would that I had never seen him.” “Are you too agitated to listen tome, dear niece!” inquired Lope, tenderly, kissing away her tears and embracing her fondly. ‘Sweet one, can you undertake a long and tedious journey ?” Frascita lifted up her drooping head, and, “The Facciosos have got them,” cried an-! pushing back the long, lustrous tresses which other. ‘‘The dogs scared you so that you tum-}shaded her lovely countenance, looked hope- bled off and ran away on foot. so 7” Vaya, is it not | full Be wistfully into her uncle’s face. The sudden change of expression, the ray of “No, no,’ said El Tuerto, laughing; “T leave | hope that gleamed in her tearful eyes, spoke that for you brave soldiers.” ‘Fairly answered, by Santiago,” said a ser- geant; ‘‘if you were not so ugly, I would ask you to drink some aguardiente,” “And get the blind side of me,” said the one-eyed, moving on; ‘‘a Dios, amigos—take care of yourselves, the Carlists are coming.” Suddenly the whole truth flashed on’ the charcoal-burner’s mind. more than words could convey; but she replied, eagerly: “Yes, yes, dearest uncle, even to the end of the world.” “That’s my brave girl; we will leave this before daylight to-morrow: they want to Oe us — shall we not prevent them? [ 1ave friends at Gibraltar, and ‘no plots or treachery can touch us there: besides, a
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little bird has whispered in my ear that Fras- cita’s thoughts are already traveling in that di- rection, What say you, then, niece of mine— will you go with me?’ The maiden blushed deeply, but did not speak. “But Frascita, what will Mateo say to our flight? for such he will call it,” ““O, uncle!” exclaimed Frascita, shuddering, “that fearful man! does he go with us?’ ‘The Virgin forbid!) He has deceived me, and I trust him no longer.” “‘How hns he deceived you?’ inquired the maiden, quickly and eagerly. “Be not alarmed, dear niece; in trying to trick me, he has overreached himself. Your handsome Carlist is safe enough. Nowgo and rest yourself; dry those tears, and, put on a smiling countenance... We will go the bull- fight this evening. Show no symptoms of grief or agitation; but flirt, coquet as usual, and shine forth, as you are, the Pride of the Sierras,” _ The sun has passed the meridian; the morn- ing is gone—the evening is approaching with her softening influence. Behold Frascita, more brilliant than ever, in the crowded bull-ring, the admired of all. The gallant matadors saluted her; the water- carrier heaved a sigh as he presented a spark- ling goblet of agua fresca; the hardy moun- taineer gazed on her with a look of affectionate pride; a murmur of admiration passed among the rugged soldiers; strangers, as they weut by, stopped a moment involuntarily to look on such dazzling loveliness—they could not help it—lomage to beauty is natural to the heart of man; there is a spell on it that nothing but an ascetic can resist. Mateo sat by her side.. What were his feel- ings? Could he prevent himself from drink- ing deep, burning daughts of love? No; but the chalice was poisoned. Admiration of her person filled his veins with a fierce, uncontrollable passion. She smiled on him, and that smile pierced his very vitals. All scruples, if he had any, were removed. She must be his—all his, his alone, Their eyes met; he absolutely gasped for breath. The bulls entered unheeded; the pastime he most delighted in went by unno- ticed, A mist veiled the people, the ring, the combat; he saw but her alone—but behold, it was through a sea of b'ood, Lope, too, was there, splendidly dressed in the Majo costume, and conversing gayly with those ‘round him, or apparently watching the vicis- situdes of the fight: now applauding some dar- peyote torreros, or some depgeie ¢ ee e overthrew bide Maiakes semaes bull, as h But the agitation of the miller did not es- cape his notice: he saw those eyes fixed on his niece with an expression that he could not mistake, He saw, too, that Frascita was acting her part to admiration; yet he feared that she woald not be able to sustain it long undersuch an ordeal. He knew not what a woman can endure when the suffering is for love. Poor maiden! and was it not torture to appear gay when all was Sad within; to smile on ‘one she hated, when those smiles ought only to be wreatlied for one how deeply loved? She saw him—him, her hero, again subduing with his noble courage and matchless skill the dreadful bull; but she felt at the same time that Mateo’s eye was riv- éted intently on her; and strange to say, this Sustained her courage. No moisture suffused those sparkling eyes; they seemed ‘positively to glitter with the bril- liancy of diamonds; nor were her cheeks pale; but a flush, soft as the reflection of a damask rose in the limpid water, came and went a eringly, like the pinky lights in the northern ¥, The clear, ringing laugh, the gay tones which seemed to rs) meaneously, low and soft as the flutterings of the aspen, reassured her uncle. } OR, THH RAID OF GOMEZ. Could this be the drooping maiden lost) and overwhelmed in sorrow and in tears? Thus, while the wretched horses, mangled ; | lz ious to get him away from this; his attentions to her might have attracted notice, and you know well that it would have endangered his and bleeding, were falling victims before the | safety. But he must not perish if I can as- sharp hornsof the savage, bulls—while fhey | sist him.” were running their allotted course only to sink “Oh, it may not be true after all,” replied beneath the keen swords of tie matadors, the , Mateo, carelessly; ‘‘I for one do not believe the Fates were busily weaving the threads of the | report.” future career of these three. ‘Why not ?—nothing can be more probable. Who in all that dense, that gay and laugh- | What can be done for him? Stay, 1 am well ing throng, could have. surmised what was| known; my presence may. possibly save. him. passing in their minds? The fair is nearly over, and,I might as well go There w&s but one, and hea dirty, shabbily- | to Gibraltar ; for that. is the direction he has dressed little man, sitting in the sun. But this man scented blood from afar, as the vulture is said instinctivoly to know when and where a battleis to be fought. The last bull has fallea—the soldiers have filed off—the ring is filled with a crowd, which slowly and gradually dissipates through the thronged gateway. The pride of Ronda, surrounded by a group of admirers, moved like a queen of beauty amid them all.. She beckoned to Mateo with her fan, and bade him, in a low, soft whis- per, keep by her side. They left the bull-ring together. ’ One by one her admirers dropped off, as they fancied they saw in the miller a dangerous and successful rival; and they were left alone. ‘See how they melt away like snow before the summer sun, Frascita,” said Mateo, bitter- ly; ‘‘when I am seen with my betrothed they fear me—but you do not, my Frascita?”’ ‘‘Hush, hush, Mateo; this is. nota time for fine speeches,” said the maiden, laughing. ‘‘Frascita, but one word—will you be mine?” “It is not fair, Mateo, to urge me now, I pray thee, no mvre love-making, I am in too gay a humor forit. When the soft moon is a1 Re on the silver stream, and the birds are charming the night with their song, thena tale of love sounds pleasantly, but not in a scene like this—it is a mockery now.” “Do not trifle with me, Frascita. I see how it is—you despise me.” *‘No; I tell you no, Mateo. What a fancy! You are jealous, it seems; but, believe me, I do not despise you.” And she spoke the truth, for we never de- Spise what we hate. “But you do not love me.” ‘‘How tiresome you are this evening.” “Give me an answer, Frascita, dear I beseech eae “IT should belie my sex were I todo so to- night, after what I have already said; so you must wait patiently; like a faithful and devot- ed lover.” Could Frascita have divined that the fate af her uncle hinged upon her words, how would she have answered ? The miller gave her in reply one of those fierce, expressive glances from his serpent-like eyes, but urged his suit no further. That look haunted her all that night, and, no'dcubt, haunts her stiil if she is alive, al- though she knew not then what it meant. The miller escorted Frascita to her uncle’s house, but would not goin, and bade her fare- well in a broken and husky voice, for he loved her with all the love his nature was capable of, Before he reached the Fonda de la Reyna he had recovered. The miller was himself again, Savage, implacable as ever. He found, as he expected, Lope there; and, owas him aside, so as not to be overheard, sa. “Lope, I have just heard that a Carlist chief has been taken by the soldiers on the Gaucin road; can that be your friend the colonel ?” “Holy Virgin, is it possible?” replied the smuggler: ‘‘I was wrong, very wrong, to suf- ita, fcr him to go alone.” “So he is gone, then, and it may be true ?” saneael he got suspicious, and would not ait ’ “Rather, that you were afraid of the at- tractions of your lovely niece,” “You have partly guessed it. I was anx- taken.’ “Shall I go with you, Lope? hear, are dangerous?’ “No, no, Mateo,, there, is no, occasion. for that; yow can remain, behind and take care of Frascita—you have been nearly strangers of late. Iwill go alone: the people on the road, robbers and all, know me: there is no danger.” “Still I might as well accompany you; I long once more to be under the shade of my old cork-trees,” “‘As you please, Mateo: I shall start. at day- light to-morrow morning.” “How do you propose to go, Lope ?” inquired the miller, in a careless tone. “I shall ride the colonel’s horse; perhaps | may be able to restore him to his proper owner.” ° “Why, you told me, I thought, that you had yourself bou~ht this horse.” “So I did; but it was agreed that the colone! should have him for his next campaign, if he escaped; and if I see him he shall tate the horse. I would willingly purchase the colonel’s safety at many times the value of the best horse in Andalusia.” “You seem to take a great interest in this young Carlist.” ‘ “So I do: I knew his father well in former ays.” They. separated, each on his own bmai- bess, : “He will go,” thought Mateo. “He will not go,” thought Lope, Which was right? Shortly after this. brief conversation, in which each was trying to deceive the other, a little swarthy ig’ ar OB eet and with me escopeta sl at his saddle, passed throug the Cousin gate, and proceeded along the mountain road as fast as the rocky nature of the track admitted, He went on for five leagues witheut stop- ping. A solitary dloe standing at the mouth of a gloomy pass seemed >to attract his notice, The »oads, I for there he got off his horse and whistled, Soon a dar appeared from behind a rock, and stood in the path. It was a gipsy horse-dealer. The shades of evening had fallen, but. still they seemed to recognize one another even at a considerable distance, Scarcely a word passed between them; but the man his escopeta, and put a letter into the gipsy’s hand. ‘The latter mounted the horse, and rode rapidly off in the direction of; Gauciny the other stood a moment or two in the path, as if watching the departing horseman, and then climbing up the rocky acclivity,; was soon lost in the gloom of the evening. . Thus passed the afternoon of the second day of the fair. The fog, which hung damply and drearily over the low country, had not reached the sierras, But again the pale moon shed her broad light on the cliff and rock, on tower and town —again the pe fume of the flowers filled the night air—again the water sparkled—again the song of the nightingales was heerd amid the groves—again all was beauty and harmony and repose—again the fairest flower of Ronda sat at the o window — overlook- ed the gardens. It was past the midnight hour, - sbe could not sleep, and the cool breeze refreshed her feverish cheeks. As Fra- scita sat there, a note fell at her feet. News from her beloved one! Eagerly she
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18 ———a stooped to pick it pe sh pheroumty she kissed it; she opened it. ‘Why does she start as if a snake had bit- ten those dewy lips? Not his—not his were the words—but Mateo's, the detested Mateo’s ! Yet she read the contents aloud: “Once more, Frascita, will you be mine? Be- ware |” It was too much. The maiden arose from her seat, and draw- ing her slender form up to its full height, with flashing eyes and compressed lips, and holding the note with herarm and hand outstretched, as if it heldjsome lothed object, with the other she tore it into a thousand pieces, and with a gesture of indescribable majesty and scorn she cast the fragments out of the window. The little pieces whirled round and round in theair, glittering like show-flakes in the moon- ray; an m4 before they had reached the ground a half-suppressed, but deep and bitter curse was audibly muttered beneath her feet—then all again was still. The gray mists of morning hung about the craggy sierra, and filled the valley with a veil of vapor, as Lope and his niece took their last farewell of their mountain home. The broken, jagged, monstrous rocks loomed through the ‘misty air gigantically vast and wild, presenting to the fancy the forms of domes, “of minarets, of steeples, and ruined castles of mammoth times, scattered and mixed in strange confusion. The tall figure of the smuggler, on his noble black steed, seemed m nified to a gigantic size, as he led the way a ong the rugged «nd winding track. Frasaita followed, seated in a comfortable arm-chair sadcle, on a sure footed mule, “They were alone, The air was still. The only sounds that broke the monotony of the silence that reigned around were the clattering of the hoofs on the hollow-sounding svil, or when a night-jar rose with a feeble cry, and glided on noiseless wings through the air across their path. i Belly and a desolate scene is that wild Pine! Asingle sun-ray shone like molten fire on the summit of a lofty crag as they reached the gloomy pass of the solitary aloe. As they entered ita huge, gaunt vulture rose from a projecting rock, and stretching wide his — wings, floated in circles over their The aloe is reached. Hark ! on each side of the path there is a sound of rushing feet. From behind the rocks ane fourth four men, with loud cries, ‘‘ Death to the Carlist |” One, a tall, dark man, stumbled over a stone and fell heavily at full length; at the same mo- ment a bullet whizzed over him. It was from the escopeta of the smuggler. But he in a moment was dragged from his horse and placed on his feet. With a sudden and powerful effort Lope broke from them. He did not attempt to stir. At this moment the gipsy recovered his senses, and sprung on his feet to revenge him- self on the Carlist. “‘Seize him, men!” he shouted, ‘‘or stab him if he resists ;” and he darted forward with his i knife uplifted toward the gallant smug- ei guddenly the gipsy recoiled, and the knife dro) ped from his ck me, back me, on your lives!” he wild- oalds “this is no Carlist, but the Senor Lope; ' ere is some mistake.” “O, holy virgin! he is saved!” cried Frascita, clasping her little hands together, and lifting her eyes to heaven. “Death to the Carlist spy !” still shouted the three rateros; ‘‘out of the way, gitano; what is_ all this?” “Ay, what is all this?’ said the smuggler, “ What means this violence, my haug tily. friends? I am no Carlist. Vega el Contrabandist.” Ne ea cee ence yer er OC Oa cE / THE WAYSIDE CROSS ; “QO do not hurt him; he is my dear, dear | uncle,” screamed the maiden, in agony. The robbers hesitated. ‘There is no mistake,” shouted a voie; dog of a Carlist, die?” A charcoal-burner sprung from a rock with the bound of a panther; a knife gleamed in the air; and before any one could move, or even speak, the sharp blade was buried to the haft in the breast of the unfortunate smuggler. The three brothers stood stupefied at this sud- den and awful catastrophe. Ere they had recovered, the chartoal-burner seized Bavieca, turned him suddenly round, vaulted into the saddle, touched him with the bit, and in a moment the horse’s hoofs struck fire on the flinty roud, as he galloped madly away. A shot was fired after him, but without suc- cess. For another moment the robbers gazed at the smuggler’s body as if paralyzed. Then, simultaneously, they gave a pierci ery, and starting off at a quick run, dindipaared toward Ronda. The gipsy shook his clenched fist at the fy- ing Manolo, and departed rapidly in the oppo- site direction. Frascita threw herself on the body of her, uncle; she did not speak; no tears gushed | from her eyes; she took his hand in hers; i: it was cold, already cold; she pushed back the | hair from his forehead, and peered into his | eyes; they were fixed—fixed in death’s ghastly stare; she pressed her lips to his; no breath of life was there, although she thought they murmured her name. Alas! it was her own sorrowful sigh. Something like a small cloud passed between her and the sun, It was the vulture circling round his expect- ed prey. He settled on a rock close by. Frascita start- ed up, tossing her arms wildly in the air, and screamed aloud. The vulture spread his wings, and again wheeled round and round, andagain he settled on the rock. Oh! it was a sight to melt ‘a heart of stone, to see that young; fair girl, with her hands all dabbled with \ gore, striving to stanch the blood that still oozed from that ghastly wound, and kissing the pale, wan lips of the corpse, as if that would bring life back again; then ever and anon springing wildly herself down beside the bleeding body. Oh! it was a sad, sad sight. The shadows from the aloe grew shorter and shorter. The sun shone out in his meridian splendor. The solitary beetle dragged his slow length along the barren soil, The filthy vulture sat on the rock, stupid and motionless, «waiting his banquet. "All was silent, solitary and still. The living and the dead were there in one embrace, No one came. The shqgdows increase; the valleys are already 4 oy No one comes, “die! CHAPTER VIIL THE MAIDEN I8 CARRIED AWAY—THE HUT IN THE MORAIMA—THE MILLER AND HIS JACKAL — THE GIPS¥Y HORSE-DEALER IS CAUGHT; IS IN DANGER OF HIS LIFE; IS RE- LEASED UNEXPECTEDLY, AND MEETS WITH AN OLD FRIEND IN THE NICK OF TIME— FRASCITA AWAKES FROM HER SWOON—THE OLD MARIQUITA. And who fired the shot? and why did the gitano shake his fist at the Saying charcoal- burner ? Was it that he ieved for, and wished to avenge, the assassination of the smuggler? I am Lope de la| Alas for human nature, no! He left him where he fell, weltering in his blood. No, it was because he thought himself defrauded of his rightful spoil. Bavieea, his Bavieca was gone. Could he but have secured undisputed possession of the much-coveted horse, what would he have cared for the deed that was done, or for the trick that had been in part successfully played on him? Now, as the gipsy walked rapidly away, he fancied, and not unnaturally, that i. was en- tirely free from all participation in the death of Lope; he only saw hat Mateo had endeav- ored to get him out of the way for the pu of rofeacis the portion of the prey which rightly belonged to him. The cunning inherent -to his gipsy blood prompted him to this; nor had his revengeful disposition forgot the menacing gestures and insulting words of the terrible miller. A gitano never forgets or forgives an injury, although he may not be able to avenge it promptly or speedily; but he will wait and wait patiently, silently, devotedly; he will bide his time, until, like the persecuting, persevering mosquito, he has tried every inch to find an opening through which he may inflict a sting on his sleeping and unsuspecting enemy. Yet this had never entered “the minds of Mateo or his jackal, Short-sighted fools! to them his part was over; he was thrown aside as a worn-out tool Do longer useful; they thought no more of him |—him the frustrator of all their plans. The pointed leavesof thealoe still cast sharp and well-defined shadows upon the white soil of the mountain road, as the clattering of ap- proaching horses echoed through the rocky de- file. At length they come. maiden, is nearly over. Alas! she hears them not. The horsemen are two in number, but one in crime and wickedness, One, mounted on a gallant black horse, which snorted wildly and quivered in every limb as it approached the aloe, bore on his features a look of savage joy and triumph. The other followed, leading a mule, on whose back was spread a litter covered with snow- white dimity. See—they look cautiously around, and, dis- mounting, gently lift the lifeless girl from the bleeding body, and placing her inanimate form on the litter, cover it with the snowy cloth. Then, with bloody hands, they lift the mur. dered man, and bearing him to the edge of the precipitous descent, deposit their burden on a projecting ledge, and push it slowly over, The body, with a dull, dead sound, falls on the pointed rocks, and rolls over and over into the hollow beneath—disfigured, mangled, torn: The vulture is no longer scared from his feast, the corpse to the beak and claws of the obscene bird; the breathing, though helpless maiden, to the tender mercies of these two. Which is the better fate? Yet, like the lifting of the veil of fog from the bosom of that glowing sea, brighter scenes may dawn upon her though all is now obscur- ity, woe and darkness, And the sun twice went down and rose again, but without bringing light to the ae less Frascita, Not very far from where the Gaucin road, leaving the glare of the lonely mountains, en- ters amid the shadows of the gaunt old cork- trees, but well concealed from sight by the dense masses of forest, there then stood a wooden building. It could scarcel y be dignified with the name of a house, nor was it so mean as a hut, forit had two rooms, but something between the two, . It was not a regular venta, but an occasional rendezvous forthe contrabandists and charcoal- burners when surprised by bad weather in the solitary Moraima. A low mule shed, with a broken-down door, stood alongside the building, through which might be seen the gallant Bavieca quietly munching the barley in fa bis nose-bag. Thy watch, poor
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— OR, THE RAID OF GOMEZ, 19 The surrounding scene was one of sylvan beauty. Gnarled, old, gaunt cork-trees, with dark, green foliage, and spreading fantastic branches. cast grotesque, irregular shadows on the side of the wild, broken hills which rose behind the hut, clothed with an endless variety of richly- flowering shrubs—here tufted with graceful fern; here richly-clad with yellow brown broom or dark-eyed cistus, mingled with a profusion of wild roses. Parallel with it ran a Jong, smooth open glade of pale and soft green turf, along which meandered a little brook, where the pink ole- ander, the blue-eyed iris, and the yellow lily rivaled the flowers of the hills. Several orange trees, laden with golden fruit, and a rowof noble aloes, some still in full blos- som, stood by. Hundreds of bee-birds, bright-plumaged and busy, attracted by the honey distilled in the cups of the feathered flowers of the aloe spike and the scented blossoms of the orange trees, “Manolo,” hissed the miller between his clenched teeth, ‘“‘did I not want you, I would stab you where you sit. Fool! I love this girl.” But the cloud soon passed away, and he add- ed, in a laughing tone, ‘‘No, no, thou suspicious manikin, I will not defraud her of the rites of old mother-church. Once under my roof, she is mine; but we will have it all regular, and the old padre at the convent shall have his dues. To-morrow, when the sun is behind yon broom-clad hill, we will depart; so let everything be ready: and now, Manolo, let me sleep.” In a few minutes the two lay apparently buried in the deepest slumber, for guilt and crime murder not sleep in Spain. The char- coal-burner, however, rarely suffered the power of the drowsy rod to overcome his hab- itual watchfulness: nor did he now; still he appeared to be really asleep. Now was the gipsy’s time. He had already slipped a bridle over the flitted round them, gleaming in the sun rays/ horse’s head, and was in the act of lifting the with green and gold. cumbrous demi-piqued saddle on to the back At one end of the vista, far away in the dis-|of the unwilling Bavieca, when suddenly a tance, rose hill above hill, blue, misty, and | beautiful; the other was lost in the deep green | of the forest. Opposite to the door, where the soil was moist and black, a dark, tangled break of lofty alders, and other trees which loved the wet, gayly festooned and entwined with wild vines and other parasitica] plants, gave to the landscapea cool and refreshing appearance. Out of this tangled and densely matted thicket, pushing the boughs cautiously aside, there suddenly came forth the form of a tall,gaunt and swarthy man, As he did so, his quick, keen eye seemed to take everything in with one stealthy glance. He did not hesitate, but crossed the mossy glade with rapid steps, silent and noiseless as a red Indian, and glided like a spectre into the stable. Scarcely had he done so when two other men came from out the cottage, with mantas in their hgpds; and, spreading the rugs onthe soft turf under the shade of .the shed, they littheir cigars, and laid them down at their ease. These two-were Mateo and his jackal. They were 80 close to the stable that the gipsy could hear every word they said; and he did not fail to listen attentively, “The old Mariquita,” said’ thie charcoal- burner, in reply to @ question from his employ. er, “is no fool. She is no more mad than you orl, but a cunning old hag—a witch, if you like, She says the senorita is fast recovering: she is in a sound sleep, and when she awakes her senses will come back again, and she will speak,” “The sooner the better,” replied the miller; “Tam already tired of waiting here: I want to hear the clack of the wheel; how the old mill will be astonished at the merry wedding we} will have,’ “Pardon Me for interrupting you,” said Manolo; ‘but Would it not be better to make sure first that the senorita will have you? It is easily done,” rope was thrown, like a lasso, over the shoul- ders of the horse-dealer, pinioning his arms to his sides, and he was thrown violently to the ground, and the grinning countenance of the charcoal-burner appeared at the doorway, ‘Ha! ha!” cried he: ‘‘there you are, gitano; so it’s you, is it, like a trussed rabbit? What, you would prig the hacas while we were aleep, would you? Next time you try sucha trick on, don’t attempt to put such a saddle on, particularly if it’s a heavy one, I advise you. Hombre! you should be content with the beast himself: gipsies don’t ride on saddles; the hide is good enough for them: take my word, barebacked is the right way. Come now, what have you got to say for your noble self ?” The horse-dealer remained mute. ‘Well, then, if you won't speak, get up, black face,” said Manolo, still grinning, but jerking the rope, and pulling it tighter and tighter. ‘‘Come along; let’s see what the Senor Mateo will say to my springed wood- cock.” The gipsy showed no signs of pain, but got up silently and sulkily, and followed the char- coal-burner out of the mule-shed. Manolo brought him where he would be face to face with his employer when he sat up, and taking two or three more turns with the cord round the gipsy’s legs, fastened it; and then he awoke the miller. “Mil demonios! what is all this? Why do youawake me? Whoishe? Speak, Manolo! and don’t stand grinning there,” said Mateo, savagely. — The charcoal-burner briefly explained, and then withdrew a little on one side, “Dog of a gipsy,” said Mateo, sitting up and confronting the horse-dealer; ‘‘look at me: So you would steal the horse a second time; once won’t do for you. Ha! were it not that I owe you something for what you have already done, IT would shoot you where you stand. Who cares when a dog of a gipsy dies?” “Oh! Senor Mateo, pardon me! pardon, I beseech you,” said the gipsy in a soft, cringing, imploring tone, ‘‘I made a sad mistake; I thought the horse was mine.” “Yours!” cried the miller, staring at the un- fortunate horse-dealer in utter aniazement; “yours! And by what right, pray, do you claim him? Come, let us hear your plea; I will be advocate, alcalde, judge, and,” added he, laughing, but with a look of ominous meaning, ‘‘executioner, if need be—I have played that part before now. Know you not thatI am especial district, gitano! We are in the Moraima. Come hither, Manolo, and lis- ten to the advocate pleading his own cause.” The charcoal-burner approached to where the miller sat at his ease, smoking his cigaril- lo, which he had kindled during his speech, but where the gipsy stood bound, trembling and quivering in every joint, while beads of sweat appeared on his swarthy face. Had he been unbound; he could not at that moment have even attempted flight, for the miller’s eye fascinated him; it:not only de- prived him of motion, but even of the power of speech. He remained, therefore, silent; but that si- lence was dangerous, “Speak, hound, or I will stab you where you stand,” cried Mateo, jumping up in a rage. But the movemrnt broke the spell; the gipsy uttered an imploring cry. Another low, faivt scream responded like an echo fromthe hut, and ai_ that moment an old withered crone came to the door, and beckoned to Mateo with her finger. Mateo started in his turn, and, exchanging a rapid glance with the charcoal-burner, turned into the building. The gipsy cast a beseeching glance at Man- alo, but.said nothing. ‘He is not worth killing,” muttered that wor- thy, as he drew forth his long, keen nava a, and gazed at itsbright, sharp point with an af- fectionate expression, . Whether the remembrance of the olla and the Malaga so liberally bestowed on him by the gipsy at the fair influenced his feelings, or whether he really did not think him worth a stab of the knife, we know not, for who can explain the motives of such a being? But with a sharp stroke he severed thecords that encircled the miserable gitano, and con- tinuing the movement of his hand, waved itin the air and pointed to the forest and the hut. Without stopping to thank his deliverer, the gipsy took the hint, darted off at full speed like a startled roe, and plunged at once into the tangled brushwood. The charcoal-burner thought no more of him than he would of a thieving cur-dog released from hanging: he little knew a gipsy’s real propensities. He was gone, and that was enough for him. But he did not go very far. And did the gipsy fee! grateful for the pre- servation of his life? Not he: he never thought about it at all; but still his heart was fixed on Bavieca, As the horse-dealer, hardly knowing whither he went, struck into one of those narrow, sandy horse-paths that wind through the dark Moraima, he heard the jingling of bells, and
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and whistling aloud merrily, making the old wood ring again; and as he turned a sudden angleof the road he encountered, face to face, our old friend the jovial little muleteer. ‘‘Well met, friend horse-dealer,” shouted Pe- pito, ,oyously, springing from his horse and em- bracing the gipay. P ‘‘News! news! Here, takea pull at the dota, it’s the right sort, real Xerez, and tell us how is the Sener Lope and the senora his niece, and my adorable mistress.” “The Senor Lope is dead,” replied the gita- no; ‘‘and the senora not much better!” ‘Dead! the Senor Lope dead!” faltered out the muleteer. ‘‘Itisimpossible: come, gitano, youare joking with me—say so, come.” “You Christians are hard to convince, and you will never believe one of us; but it is as I tell you.” “Dead! the Senor Lope dead!” again repeated Pepe, wildly. ‘‘I tell you, gitano, that is impossible;’ and he flew at him, caught him by the throat, and shook him vio- lently. ‘‘Dog, you are deceiving me!” “By all the gods you worship, it is true,” stammered the horse-dealer between the pauses of the shaking. Pepe soon saw that the gipsy was not joking, and released his hold. Then, whilethe gipsy related his story, only concealing the part he himself had played, the poor little faithful muleteer stood there with tears in his eyes, crushing his broad- leafed hat between his compressed hands, and still he went on muttering: “‘Dead! the Senor Lope dead!—impossible, impossible!” But when the gipsy told how he had not long before left the miller in undisturbed posses- sion of the person of the unhappy Frascita, and the conversation he had overheard, indig- nation took the place of grief, and he called the miller a thousand opprobrious names, tear- ing his hair with very rage: but this fit, too, soon passed away; for Pepe, although excita- ble, was a shrewd little fellow, and prompt to action, Dragging the horse-dealer under an old ilex, he made him sit down, produced some food from his aforjas, and unslung the bota. The gipsy was hungry and thirsty, so he ate ravenously and drank copiously; but poor lit- tle Pepe could only drink. The wine was good and strong, and soon took effect on his mercurial temperament; and he proposed right valiantly to the gipsy that they should go at once and try to rescue the im- prisoned senorita. But this was not the gitano’s plan of opera- tion: he had no ideo of risking his life to save a girl of the hated rac, although under ordi- nary circumstances he might have done so for a horse; but to atiack the formidable miller was entirely out of the question. Pepito called him a coward, and urged him, with promises of reward and threats of ven- geance, but it wag of no avail. The gipsy had too lately escaped from the miller’s clutches to venture within their reach again, exvept at his own time, in his own a voice that he knew singing snatches of songs THE WAYSIDE CROSS; St he, however, promised faithfully to keep a |the strange old woman, who, without noticing watch on Mateo’s movements, and to commu- nicate with Frascita if possible, and assure her | of the safety of our hero. / Pepito wisely thought that this would en- courage her in her present situation, and he was right. They settled on a spot near which the miller must pass on his way to the mill, and there they agreed to meet early on the following morning, if nothing happened in the interval, Pepe gave the horse-dealer his escopeta, all the dollars he had in his sash, the rest of the he interruption, continued her rhymes— “* The birds in the sky Sing cheerily, cheerily; But sweeter am I, Caroling merrily. Then rest, maiden rest, Your roses to keep; Come, lie on my breast, And I'll sing you w sleep. Young maids, when they marry, should never go weep.” food, and the bota, in which still remained a}, small portian of the generous wine; and prom- ising him a large reward if they succeeded in rescuing the smuggler’s niece, climbed again into his saddle. And they each departed by the way that they had come, But the muleteer neither sung nor whistled as usual; his heart was too full of grief and indignation. “Blood! there will be more blood!” muttered the gipsy tohimself. “The Busne shall die and the Cali shall have his horseagain. Hurrah!” The scream that issued from the hut was, in- deed, from the lips of the forlorn maiden. She had awoke as if from a fearful dream, perhaps to a worse reality. As her senses were gradually restored to her, she became conscious that she was in a house, and not on the wild sierra: she could see through the latticed casement the waving of the branches, and she would hear the twitter- ing of the birds. For one moment she fancied that it was all a dream, and that she was again amid the gar- dens of her own loved mountain home. But the cry of the gitano brought back to her recollection the whole scene on the mountain instantaneously, as a flash of vivid lightning shows some awful danger concealed by the darkness and gloom of the murky night. She screamed aloud, and fainted away again. When a second time Frascita recovered her senses, she found a withered old woman, whose facé was like shriveled parchment, bnt gayly adorned with orange flowers in her thin, gray locks, and a handsome lace mantilla over her skinny shoulders, busily chafing her temples, and singing broken snatches of song with a harsh, croaking voice. Frascita was about to speak, but she was prevented; for the old crone, pressing her bony hand on the maiden’s lips, like withered twigs on & moss-rose, immediately broke out into a kind of doggrel rhyme— ' “ Hush? hush! my sweet bird, Not a word! not a word! For if you should speak, *T will keep you quite weak; I'll sing you to sleep With songs that shall creep Low and soft on the ear; So, sleep, my sweet maiden, without any fear.” ‘‘Ay de mi, madre mia! _Where.am I? Who ‘* What mean you, mother? Where am I? Who brought me here? Oh, tell me, for the loveof the blessed Virgin,” said the bewilder- ed Frascita, as she endeavored to rise from the bed. “Lie still, my honey-bird; lie still, my rose of the sierras, You are safe enough, my dar- ling! He.will protect you,” answered the hag. Then she continued in the same strain as be- fore— “The fox of the mountains Hath met with his fate, The deer of the forest Hath found a sweet mate; The birds in their flight Shine like gold in the sky, But none are so bright As the maiden’s soft eye. Then rest thee, my daughter, without ang fear, The day is at hand and the bridegroom 1s near.” “Oh, this is too terrible,” murmured Fras- cita, hiding her face in the bed clothes: and still the beldame went on— “The birds they are singing In frolicksome mood, The bells they are ringing In th’ evergreen wood; She's fair as the day, He’s strong and he’s tall, And none say him nay, For he masters them all. , Then blush not, fair maiden, but rest by mg side; To-day thou art single, hetiiorveen a bride.” When Frascita again dared to raise her drooping head and look up, the hag was gone, and instead, there stood by her bedside the terrible miller. Mateo gazed tenderly, nay, even affeetion- ately, vn the maiden’s pallid countenance: for, now that he had reached the coveted Moriama, he thought that she was his—all his. He therefore addressed her in a kind, coneil- iatory manner, deploring, with many expres- sions of regret, the unfortunate mistake that had heen made in the murder of her uncle for a Carlist chief, and explained why. she had been brought to the hut, saying, that she was to ill to bear the journey to Gibraltar, as it was expected that every hour Gaucin would be attacked by the Facciosos, and knowing old |Mariquita, strange as she was, to be a capita) stealthy manner, and for his own purposes:|are you?” exclaimed Frascita shuddering at | i nurse, he thought that the quiet of this re
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OR, THE RALD OF GOMEZ. tired spot would be more likely to restore her] particular purpose? And what was that pur- to consciousness, and assist in her recovery bet- | pose ? ter than any more noisy, frequented place. Hemade many tender inquiries after her health, but did not urge his suit, and said no- thing about the young Carlist. All this was plausible and specious enough, but is did not completely deceive the maiden. Frascita listened attentively to what Mateo said. She had no suspicion of his having had any participation in the death of her uncle. Terrible, and hateful as she deemed the, miller, this had never entered her imagina- tion; but that he would take advantage 6f her unprotected situation, was not for one moment to be doubted. He continued, however, to talk kindly to her about her friends at Gibraltar, saying that he would take her there as soon as it was prac- ticable—perhaps in a day or fwo; but that at that moment the roads were impassable on ac- count of the Carlists who were at San Roque. Frascita, amid all her grief, her doubts and fears, longed.to ask him what had become of ‘Juan; but she dared not, for she feared to| arouse and revive that jealousy which now | Seemed extinct. Mateo himself believed that the young Car- . list had been captured in the Felicidad, for so it was reported in the country, the peoplé on the coast having seen her cut. off from Gibral- tar by the armed felucca. It washe, moreover, who had apprised the authorities at Gaucin of the flight of Colonel Juan toward the coast, by the note sent on with the horse-dealer; and they’ had, in their turn, warned the carabineros at the Guadiara by messengers to be on the alert, and to seize| any suspicious individuals. But the real object of this note was to get the gipsy out of the way, lest (as he did) he! She reflected, and shuddered. The shallow cunning of Mateo had not duped her; on the contrary, she saw through his kindness an ominous future. Now she began to see the meaning of the songs sung by the strange old woman; these, at first, had only terrified her by their strangeness; now the reality—the horrible reality—burst suddenly upon her un- derstanding. She—she who loved with all her soul a bright and noble being, must wed this fearful, hate- ful man! Could she do so? No, no! she would sooner die—9 thousand times die, Presently she heard the noise of horses led out of a stable, and she could see two men girthing their saddles in front of their hut. One, she knew, was the miller, by his dress, and tal! athletic figure. : Who was the other? Suddenly a cold, shuddering ‘horror crept, with. an icy, chill, over the maiden’s. tender frame, and her limbs shook as if _palsied. It was he—her uncle’s murderer! Ay! even in that one awful moment when the, dying smuggler fell to the ground, every feature of his slayer was impressed upon her mind asif burned in with fire. She would have known. that. face: any- where, at any time, could she. have lived for centuries. Hark !. they ride away. A fearful vision is removed from her sight ; but it has left. a terrible impres- sion, bebind. Every thing that had occurred. passed should recognize Lopé, and interfere with their| in rapid suecession before her. plan of separating Frascita from her uncle by that simple Spanish method, the knife ! So far the miller had been completely suc- cessful, Mm spite of the return of the gitano, who, ignorant of the contents of the note, has- tened back to secute Bavieea; and everything augured well for the future, if he could only succeed in lulling suspicion’ in the maiden’s breast for a day. He therefore, as we have es ameasiel kind and conciliatory manner, the more natural as he really in some degree loved Frascita, and violence did not seem necessary to secure his object. How he was foiled in this wij] presently appear. Mateo went out, and Frascita wag left alone. As she communed with her own mind, and began to reflect, she quickly perceived the ut- ter helplessness of her situation. Aione, in the solitary Moraima, without a friend; what had she to protect or cheer her but her own maiden courage and her love for Juan—and what was this against the ferocious disposition of Mateo and his gang? She could not understand why she had been brought to this lonely place, if not for some| “What does: my \pright lily want? The startling; the awful reality—the certainty of her wretched fate—depend- ing, as it now did, on Mateo’s will, was fully revealed to her. It was he, then, who had contrived, if not executed, heruncle’s death, by means of the charcoal-burner. It was evident Shall the old woman sing you to sleep?” “No, mother ; I want to talk to you.” Mariquita sat down on a low stool by the side of the bed, which had no cur- tains, yet nearly filled the little room, and from which Frascita could see into the wood through the open casement. The maiden no longer shuddered at. the presence of the strange old hag ; for, in such a situation, to have by her.one of her own sex, even such as Mariquita, was a relief. “Madre mia,” said Frascita; in a low, soft, sweet voice, “did you ever love ?” “The bird flies, the. deer runs, the fish. swims, the Andalusian maiden loves,” replied the hag... ** The fish to the sea, The bird to the grove, The herd to the lea, The maid to her love. “Ha, ha; hal Did old Mariquita, the withered, the shriveled,.the despised, the spit upon, ever love? ‘Oh, he was young and fair! — Oh, he was good and truet All golden was his hair, His eye was soft and blue. He spoke not with our tongue, His voice was in his eye; They told me it was wrong— I answered with a sigh, “Ah, maiden!” exclaimed the hag, sigh- ing deeply, as if the recollection of those days of love had suddenly awakened in her mind. all her previous history, “it was war time; our village was full of sol- diers; but they were not of our race— they spoke with a strange tongue; they worshiped not at our altars. There was now that the story of the Carlist chief|one among them, beautiful, tall, and fair; was only a pretence to blind her, and render Mateo less odious ; his kindness, therefore, was all assumed. What could she do to avoid her fate ? Should she fly, now that they were gone? ‘Alas! she could scarcely stand ; and even if she was able to move, whither could she di- rect her steps ?—-It was altogether hope- less. Should she try and make a friend of the old Mariquita? It was a forlorn chance; but hope catches at straws. She arose and called Mariquita, and lay down again, for she felt herself weak. rosy as the streaks of the evening sky, and his hair shone like threads of gold. ‘‘He gazed upon my charms And heaved a burning sigh— He clasped me in his arms— Alas, I could not fy, Alas, I could not fly, I Joved him all too well; I gave him sigh for sigh— He triumphed—and I fell. ‘Wo! wo! They discovered our se- The old woman came in, singing as be-|cret meetings, but they knew not all that fore. had passed between us. “We were separated, and I was forced
Page 20
THE WAYSIDE CROSS; to wed one I detested. Maiden! you know not what it is to pass the dreary, wakeful night, by the side of one lothed—as I lothed him they had wedded to me— while the beating heart throbs for the em- braces of the loved one. A child was born to me—a child of love! His eyes were blue as the vault of heaven; his skin as fair as the snows of the Sierras; his cheeks rosy as the pomegranate blossom; and his hair became in color like the gol- den lily. My husband tore the sweet babe from my embrace, reviled, spat upon me, and turned me out into the wide, wide world. The Beauty of the Village’ be- came an outcast and a wanderer !” “Alas, alas! poor woman!” said the kind-hearted maiden, “yours is a sad story.” “Listen!” cried the hag, starting up, and tossing her arms wildly about: “ Hark, thundering cannons roar! Hark, pealing volleys rattle! Hist, silence reigns once more |! Hist, distant flies the battle! Where o’er the blood-stained plain The hungry vultures hover, Amid the mangled slain _ A woman seeks her lover, “ay, shudder, maiden, and close your eyes, for ’tis a fearful scene; but the deli- cate beauty sought everywhere, over mountain and over plain, through village and through town, amid the fierce, wild soldiery, exposed to want, to misery, to insult, until she found him a prey to the vultures ! “*There’s blood upon his cheek, There’s foam upon his lip, That lip that mine did seek, Its honeyed sweet to sip; All fixed his soft blue eye, So ghastly and so dim, But oh! I could not die, Bat live to weep for him. “ Yes, maiden, yes: he fell like a hero, fighting for our liberty—for me, for all of us; there on that blood-stamed field, my beautiful, my loved ono died, and I became what I am—a miserable, degrad- ed, mad old woman!” and Mariquita buried her face in her hands, as if over- come by the tale she had just told ; but those skinny fingers, instead of a starting tear, concealed from the eyes of the deep- ly-sympathizing Frascita a withering, de- moniacal sneer. CHAPTER IX. IN WHICH THE STORY RETURNS TO OUR HERO—HIS TRUSTY LITTLE GUIDE LEAVES HIM—GOMEZ APPEARS OUR HERO REJOINS HIS PARTY—THE AR- RIERO AND THE CHARCOAL- BURNER—THEY / FIGHT; PEPITO WINS; BUT SUCCESS IS DAN- GEROUS—A FRIEND IN NEED. THE miller is at his mill,making prepara- tions for the coming day—the maiden is asleep, dreaming of her lover—the gipsy is prowling about, waiting for Bavieca— but where is our hero all this time? Juan, we begin to feel that we have been treat- ing you with great neglect; but the fact is, you were doing nothing but fretting yourself, and wasting your time and pa- tience for two whole days. During that awful time, when his mis- tress was lying senseless and inanimate on the bleeding body of her dearly loved uncle, amid the uncouth rocks of the lone- ly sierra, with the vulture and the beetle sole spectators of her miserable plight, Juan was lazily, if not comfortably smok- ing his cigar on the little deck of the Fe- licidad, as she lay snugly moored amid her fellow smugglers, waiting for an op- portunity to rejoin his party. His thoughts were now nearly equally balanc- ed between his lovely mistress and the success of his faction. Before he had seen Frascita his whole soul and all the energies of his vigorous mind had been bent on one sole object— the cause of the beloved Carlos Quinto el Rey—but now the case was much al- tered ; new features arose that he had not before seen. Gradually, as he reflected, the veil was lifted from before his eyes, and he saw in this struggle all the horrors, all the mis- eries of a civil war. Even putting on one side as nothing the miller’s jealous and formidably rival- ry, how could he even ever hope to see his mistress again without wading through a sea of blood, perhaps shed by those she cared for ? Now he began to shudder at the cruel atrocities committed by both sides,and the certainty of the wretched fate awaiting all who should by ill-luck fall into the hands of the party opposed to them. No merey—no quarter! AT SAN ROQUE — | ture, in its true colors, which loyalty and ambition had heretofore covered with a ‘flimsy curtain. Yet his honor was pledged; he must rejoin Gomez at any risk—at any sacri- ; } Our hero resolved, however, to endeav- or,as far as his limited power allowed him, to mitigate the hurrors of the strife; and if he could not succeed in that—if they still persisted in this war to the knife—that he would withdraw from the struggleon the first opportunity when he could do so with honor, and quit forever his beloved but unhappy country Pepe, having seen our hero safe for the present, and having procured a pass, through the agency of Lope’s friends, of whose violent death no report had as yet reached Gibraltar, had landed on the Rock, and strove,although vainly, to pro- cure a horse to take bim to Ronda. They would not lend him one, for they were afraid of the Facciosos, and, more- over, the Queen’s troops at the lines seized every horse that could carry a man. The little arriero, however impatient himself to rejoin Lope, and urged by Juan, who wished him to return and as- sure his mistress of his safety, set out on foot on the evening of the second day for San Roque. There he found what he wanted—a good horse, some food, an escopeta, anda bota of Xerez; for he was well known there, and Lope had many friends in that part of the country, and they knew not of his unhappy death. Fortunately, it was late in the evening ° when Pepe reached San Roque, and this made him postpone his departure until the following morning ; and he was jog- ging merrily along through the lonely Moraima when. as has been narrated, he met the scared gitano. The merry little muleteer cared for nei- ther Christinos nor Carlists; they were all the same to him: but on the sands andon the San Roque road he met many fugi- tives—soldiers and carbineros—men, wo- men and children, horses, mules and asses, all laden with household furniture, flocking toward Gibraltar, and all who were able were crying out “The Carlists are coming—the Carlists are coming.” Pepe threaded his way through the Death, sudden and violent, rapine, fear |crowd quite unheeded; they were all too frightened to take any notice of him. | Lucky little dog! he passed through .the disordered Christinos unquestioned, and outrage went hand in hand to this unnatural contest. Love had at length shown him the pic-
Page 21
OR, THE RAID OF GOMEZ and quitted San Roque just as the op- posite party was entering, and, more op- portunely still, encountered the horse- dealer exactly in the nick of time. So the Fates willed it. But we are again leaving our hero—it is really too bad. On the morning of the third day’ a singular but not unwelcome spectacle presented itself before the eyes of the young Cariist,. who still remained . on board the smuggling craft. IT can fancy the shade of some grave old Roman sitting on a rock, below Car- teia, where once, perhaps, his galley lay snugiy moored, surveying, with astonish- ment, the incongruous warfarg, around him. F. “Motley is your only wear,” says the fool; and surely there was enough of it here. ; Scared women and children—irregular regulars—militia-men, in an awful quan- dary—heaps of household furniture— horses and cattle—mules, donkeys, pigs, goats, and even fowls, all huddled hig- gledy-piggledy together, sheltering under the flag that waves over the grim old rock, or flying before a wild-looking, armed rabble — themselves pursued— speaking the same language, and evi- dently of the same breed. Splendid-looking soldiers in scarlet uni- form, with heads erect, and measured tread, keeping them apart with especial politeness. “No fighting here, if you please, gentle- men.” ; Other men equally splendid looking, but in blue jackets, not quite so politely requesting one party to walk off, with special messengers in the shape of cannon balls, giving the unfortunate Carlists a bellyful of iron, while their general was giving the English officers a bellyful of pork chops and vino seco, Joking apart, the whole of this business appeared to be an anomaly, a puzzle to the uninitiated—a war and not a war. It is a fact well known to many that several of the. officers of the garrison of Gibraltar lunched with Gomez at San Roque at the very time when the “Jaseuy” was firing round shot at the unfortunate Carlists as they were marching round the head of the bay, near the mouth of the Guardaranque, killing one miserable aid- de-camp mounted on a white horse, and a few others, Lbelieve, of less note. Juan soon learned the reason of the ap- pearance of the disordered .and flying hristinos, J Gomez had occupied San Roque in force; his whole army was there. There could be now no difficulty in joining him. Juan’s heart beat high at the prospect, and forone moment he forgot Frascita and his love, and he urged the captain of the Felicidad to land him immediately. But the crafty Genoese ‘pointed out the danger. they . would run by day from the boats of the opposing ves sels of war, both English and Spanish that were lying in the bay, and bade him wait until nightfall. That was a long, dreary, thoughtful day to our hero, but, like all others, it had an end; and then, before the moon had risen, with muffled oars a small, sharp boat cut. silently and rapidly the blue waters of the bay until it ran, with a gentle, grating sound, high upon the shelving sand beneath the cliffs of old Carteia. Juan jumped nimbly out, and alone, without a guide, succeeded in finding the San Roque road, and unchallenged en- tered the town. Making himself known to some of the Carlist soldiers (for he was still disguised in his Majo dress), he inquired for the general, and in a few minutes he found himself once more in comparative safety, and heartily welcomed by that sin being; and from him Juan learned the true position of affairs. Gomez, after overrunning the greater part of Andalusia, and having occupied Cordova for nearly a week, was now d-iven fairly into a corner, and apparent- ly hemmed in by three separate parties of the Queen’s forces, without a chance of escape. . But he did not despair. The attempt to raise the country had failed. . Ribero, Alaix, and he who, at one time an exile at Gibraltar, has since play- ed such a conspicuous part in the annals of Spain, the fierce Narvaez, followed close on his footsteps, while detachments of the Christinos were flying before him, They ought to have crushed him, but they did not—they ought to have driven his army into the sea, but they could not; for Gomez, by his rapid movements, baf- fled and foiled them all. Yet what the Christino leaders were doing for the three days that Gomez was at San Roque “I cannot tell.” Juan, in his turn, was relating his ad- ventures at Ronda, and his wonderful es- cape in the Felicidad, when they were staat disturbed by a tremendous up- roar. Gomez occupied the principal posada of San Rogue. -The inhabitants of this lit- tle town showed but little antipathy to the Carlists, and they, in return, abstained mostly from plundering; and such, strange to say, was the case nearly ‘over the whole of Andalusia. The uproar beneath the windows of the inn continued, and it became evident that there was'some unusual commotion. The cause of this must now be told. The night had fallen when Pepe, with his heart still full of burning grief and bitter indignation, returned the jaded haca to his owner, who lived in the out- skirts of the town. The muleteer strolled quite unconcern- edly through the streets, amid the, wild- looking, fierce Biscayan soldiery. His arriero’s dress did not attract no- tice; and, anxious to ascertain whether Colonel Juan had yet contrived to join his party, he entered a venta which stood by. the principal posada of the town, where several Carlist soldiers were smoking and drinking. Amid a group of redeaps there stood a ~ man in the dress of a charcoal burner; but hls back was turned toward the door, and Pepe could not see in his face. The arriero seated himself at a small table and called for some wine; and he was in the act of raising the first glass to his lips when he heard a voice that he thought he knew. . His hand remained upraised, with the glass to his lips; but he did not drink. Again that voice spoke. Suddenly the muleteer’s eyeballs glared like a wild cat’s, and he gnashed his teeth together; you might have heard them rasp, as with a fierce cry he sprang from his seat, upsetting the little table, bottle, glasses and all; and with one bound he was alongside the charcoal burner, and laying his hand on his shoulder, twirled him round with a quick, violent move- ment, and they were face to face. Pepe shook his fist in the charcoal- burner’s face; but, choked with passicn, he could not speak—the gleam of his eyes showed what he meant. Manolo, for it was that worthy, had ev- idently been drinking, but was without his hat, and he started. back at first at the startling and sudden appearance of the muleteer. But quickly recoy- ering himself, he drew forth his long knife and rushed at Pepe; but his arms were seized by the soldiers, and he was held back, struggling violent- ly, and cursing horribly. “Let us have it all fair. A ring! a ring!” cried they. ‘Not in here, not in here!” called out the alarmed: host; “not in here, gentle- men, if you please: go out in the street.” “In the street, in the street !—the moon is up, and there is light enough,” cried the soldiers,as they dragged the struggling charcoal-burner into the open air. They had heard nothing of the cause of this deadly quarrel; but some backed the muleteer, others the charcoal-burner. The waning moon shed a faint, dubious light down the, open street upon. this strange scene; but the atmosphere, so pure and serene, interrupted not her rays until theyfell on the forms of ‘the wild and now excited soldiers. Pepe, drawing his knife, followed the charcoal-burner into the street.
Page 22
THE WAYSIDE CROSS; They were apparently well matched; each about the same size and stature, and each armed with a long, sharp-pointed knife. But Pepe, though mad with rage, and struck dumb with intense horror at the sight of his dear master’s murderer, had not been drinking; and, moreover, he had his hat—and much to avenge. The lower orders of Spaniards practice from their infancy the use of the deadly navaja; it is their inseparable companion, and they can use it with a dexterity al- most incredible. T have often seen in the towns and vil- - lages of Andalasia little boys playing at knives with pieces of wood, and showing great skill and readiness in’ handling their mimic weapons. The #nglshman has his fist, the Irish- man his shillelah, the negro his head, and the Spaniard his knife, which he uses as promptly and_ readily as the others; but the effect, as may be supposed, is widely different. ‘Now then, my gamecocks, at itl—a dollar on the first stroke!” shouted oné of the arriero’s backers. “A dollar on black face!” cried an- other, patting the charcoal burner on his back. Pepe and Manolo glared fiercely at one another, as each now stood prepared to spring, crouching as a panther does be- fore his leap—their knives firmly grasped in their right hands, with the thumb on the blade, and held about level with the knee. The soldiers formed a ring round them and stood in silence, for now it was not fair to speak. “Toma!” shouted the charcoal-burner, as with a rapid movement, he jumped at the arriero with a deadly intention, but uncertain feet. As Manolo was in the air, Pepe, with his left hand, dashed his broad leafed hat into his face and baffled his aim. The impetus of the spring, aided by the aguardiente he had drank, carried | apo the charcoal-burner staggering forward; and as he passed, the muleteer, jumping quickly cn one side, drove his long knife up to the haft in the side of him who had slain his best friend, and,with a shout of triumph, he cried, “Take that for Lope!” It was all over in a minute. The wounded charcoal-burner fell for- ward on his face, with the red blood spurting from the gash in his side. The soldiers, accustomed as they were to scenes of blood, were shocked at the suddenness of the catastrophe, although they might have expected it, and prompt- ly, but gently and with ease, raised the dying charcoal-burner, and strove to stanch the blood; but in vain; life was fast fleeting away. “Water, bring me water,” gasped Ma- nolo; “I have—something—to tell—I am faint—I burn—-water—water.” The soldiers promptly procured some, and poured it down his throat and over his face. This revived the charcoal-burner for aj moment, and he murmured out:—‘‘That —man—is—a spy—a Christian—a spy;” and, raising himself on one hand, he pointed with the other at the arriero, who stood silently by, regarding his dying enemy. This was the last effort of nature; for, with a look of deadly hate in his fast- closing eyes, and a curse. on his lips, the ruffian breathed his last, and Lope was avenged. No sooner did Pepe perceive that it was all over with his foe, than all his fe- rocity vanished in an instant, and the ob- ject for which he had returned to San Roque again became uppermost in his mind. . He thought not of éscaping, but of continuing his search for Col. Juan. He had avenged the uncle; he mus‘ now save the niece. He picked up his hat, and was about to depart, but the attention of the savage and capricious soldiers was now, by the dying man’s words, unpleasantly directed to the victorious little muleteer. “A Christino spy! A Christino spy’ A fair game! Afair game!” shouted they, crowding round him on all sides in every direction. One knocked his hat off—another tried to trip him up—a third struck him across the face with his bayonet—and he stood every chance of being torn to pieces on Amid the shouts, execrations and blows which literally poured upon him, he heard the voice of a sergeant asking the soldiers what all the row was about, and who they had got there. “Only a little Christino dog prowling about to see what is going on: he has just killed a man who told us all about him,” was answered by one of the sol- diers, ay" “Put him in the guard-room,” said the sergeant, “and we will see what he is made of to-morrow.” ‘No, no!” cried the soldiers all togeth- er; “he is ours—we will see what he is like now—not to-morrow; there is no time like the present.” “Listen to me, for the love of God!” screamed the half-bewildered, half enrag- ed arriero, catching at the sergeant’s arm; “I’m no spy;I'm Pepe the arriero; it’s a matter of life and death.” ‘“‘Arriero or no arriero, it’s likely to be that soon enough,” said the sergeant, turning away and shrugging his should- ers. Pepe #ied to break through them, but the crowd was impenetrable. Like a fox mo bed in cover, he he was headed at every point, and bandied from one to an- other of the ruffianly soldiery, who like the hounds, were eager for blood, now they had once smelled it. Pepe glared fiercely at them, and bran- dished aloft his bloody knife. But they only laughed at him. “Only listen to me,” cried the mule- teer again, at the top of his voice; “only listen to what I have to say, or take a message to Colonel Juan, or take me to General Gomez; I don’t care what you do with my carcass afterward.” But this had no effect; they only laughed at him the more. “A pretty joke, truly,” said one; “take such a thing as that to General Gomez!” “No, no, my little friend; he doesn’t deal with such pretty articles; he leaves them to us poor fellows,” said another. “Come now,” cried a third, “shout Viva Carlos Quinto el Rey! Down with the usurper! Down with the Liberals!” “ Anything—everything you please,” replied the arriero, clasping his hands to- gether; “only let me speak to the colonel, if it’s only for a moment.” , . . “The fox fears for his skin,” said one, even more savage, if possible, than the rest. ‘‘What say you, my boys, shall we see how he looks without any ?” Poor Pepito’s fate hung upon a thread. At that moment a window in the posa- da was thrown up, a head protruded, and a harsh, commanding voice cried out: “Silence, beasts! What is all this noise about ?” “It is only a spy of the Liberals, your excellency, that the soldiers have caught,” — replied the sergeant touching his cap.
Page 23
is > OR, THE RAID OF GOMEZ. 25 “Ts that all?” said the general, in the, act of turning away. _Inessage to Col. Juan—a message from his mistress, of life and death.” / . | | Pepe, with a sudden effort, broke from the soldiers’ grasp, and, running under the window, which was not more than six | feet from the ground, cried out, “I’m no| spy! I’m Pepe, the arriero, come with a Gomez, fortunately for our hero, as well as’ for our little friend, heard his words, and turned round into the room, saying, “This is something that concerns you, Colonel. Who is your little friend ?” “Ha! ha!” shouted a voice in the crowd, “The little chap is no spy after | all; only a pimp: ask him the color of her stockings ?” | “Leave him, alone, men,” said the ser-| geant; “his skin is safe for this bout; | _ better luck next time.” Juan arose from his seat and went to the window; but, although the moonlight fell on the form of the arriero, he could scarcely recognise in the blood-stained, battered, and dust-covered figure, who stood there without his hat, and with his long hair streaming wildly over his face, his faithful little friend and gude, the jaunty, spruce, merry muleteer. Pepe, however, uttered a scream of joy; but, re- covering himself quickly, he made Juan a low bow, and said, in a voice only loud enough for him to hear, _ “O, senor! Your excellency must come immediately; the senorita—” Juan did not wait to hear another word; but, springing from the window, to the utter astonishment of the soldiers, who fell back on every side, he caught Pepito up in his arms as if he had been a child, and rushed with him into the posada. The soldiers dispersed, and the body of the charcoal-burner was thrown on a mick-heap — fitting grave for such a monster, His appearance at San Roque may be accounted for in a few words. Frascita, as may be remembered, had regained her senses before Mateo quitted the hut on the black horse, and accom- panied by Manolo. “He had gone to his mill to get the house ready, and to warn the old padre at the convent of the ap- proaching wedding, which he intended should take place immediately. On his way, it occurred to him that Frascita would, perhaps, recognize her unele’s murderer; and that he did not wish should be the case until after they were married, and then he did not care. He therefore sent Manolo away to San Roque, with his sash heavy with dollars (for Mateo was liberal enough to those | who served him), to pick up what news he could, and ascertain the reality of the capture of the Felicidad, and the conse- quent death of his hated rival, the young Carlist. Manolo readily complied, for he was partial to aguardiente, and tired of the _ stupid life in the Moraima. But in so doing the miller lost. his right hand, and the charcoal-burner his life, perhaps, regoncile her to her fate. It would be repeating what my readers He dared not trust himself to do it, already know, if I were.to relate the con- for fear he should, too soon for his pur- versation that passed between Juan and | poses, arouse suspicion in the maiden’s the arriero. breast. = The gipsy’s tale, the death of Lope, his| Frascita did, in truth, feel deeply inter- own intended murder, the wretched sit- ested in the old woman’s story, for there uation of his mistress, half dead, and in were many points in it that closely re- the power of the miller; Pepe’s encoun-|sembled her own fate; and no wonder, ter with the murdering charcoal-burner, for Mariquita had cunningly devised her and the narrow escape the poor little | tale so as to draw the maiden on to ask fellow himself had from being torn to |more questions. pieces—all these filled the young Carlist’s| “Ay de mi; what a sad fate was yours; mind with an indescribable feeling of hor- | poor woman,” said Frascita, with tears ror and dismay, mingled with a burning, |in her eyes; “but mine, too, is sad. Pity torturing thirst for revenge. He attrib-|me, dear mother, pity me; for I, too, uted all these dreadful scenes to the un- |love!—and, alas! aias! I fear I shall natural warfare now raging the country, |never, never see him again.” creating a thirst for blood, and rendering | “And do you not love the bold miller ?’ such deeds familiar to the minds of men, leried the hag, as if in amazement. and by its consequent anarchy leaving| “Ah, no, no, mother; the man I love is them unpunished, except by as fearful a | gentle, and good, and noble.” retaliation. | “Ay, but where is he? Why does he That retaliation had already com-|not come ?” menced ; it must be persevered in, or| “Alas, mother! I know not: would to how could his darling mistress be res-|God I did! They seek his life to slay cued ? The miller must die. Pepe, well taken care of, soon recov- ered the equanimity of his disposition. | He had lost nothing but his hat, and that was easily replaced ; the cut on his face he had promised himself to repay on the first opportunity. He lad had revenge, and he was satis- fied ; at least, it quieted his mind. He advised our hero, as it was now very late, to wait until the morning dawn, and then to join the gipsy at the appointed time and place. Yai reluctantly assented ; for, al- though impatient to set out to rescue his dear mistress, he felt that he could not but trust his faithful, devoted little guide, who had already brought him so well through so many dangers and difficulties. But Juan slept little that night. Early on the following morning, a small party of cavalry, dressed in blue jackets and red caps, and tolerably well armed and mounted, might have been seen slowly wending their way in smgle file along the steep, narrow, stony road which leads from the little town of San Roque into the wild Moraima, and at their head rode Juan and the arriero. him, for they say he is a traitor to his \country, a rebel to his queen; but to me he is the breath of life. Oh, Mother of Heaven! why are there any Carlists? Why do they kill each other ?” ‘Hush !” cried the old woman, as if re- lapsing into her half-mad mood: “The glowing seas are deep That wash the Eastern shore, And mangled bodies sleep Where they shall wake no more; The boat is swift and fast That skims those smooth seas over, The boat is ta’en at last That bears the maiden’s lover.” “Oh! they have taken him,” cried Frascita, clasping her hands together in agony, as the picture drawn by the ha was realized in her mind, “and they wil murder him.” “Hush! interrupt me not,” said the beldame, imperiously : ' **The volley rattles loud, The deadly bullets come, The white sand for a shroud, The billow for a tomb; A cry upon the air, A splashing on the wave, Oh, tell me why is there A corpse, and nota grave? The wave rolls back again, A rebel corpse to cover, The maiden seeks in vain The body of her lover.” oo CHAPTER X. THE OLD CRONE AND THE DISCONSOLATE MAIDEN—THE GIPSY AGAIN|—THE KNIFZ— THE WISH GRATIFED. Mariquita was, in truth, of gipsy origin} As Frascita, excited and horrified at and her tale was altogether false; but she the peldame’s rhymes, rose up on the bed sought to gain pity and gold from the girl |to entreat her to be more explicit, and by her woful story. Mateo, moreover, had | tell her the whole truth, she saw through instructed her carefully in the part she was |the casement the form of a tall, gaunt, to play. She was to keep watch over the |swarthy man looking into the room, with maiden, and to hint cleverly what was to |a half-suspicious, half-satisfied air ; his come, and to prepare Frascita for it by | finger on his lips enjoined silence. informing her gently of the death of the | Fraseita, with admirable presence of young Carlist, which he thought might, mind, suppressed the exclamation she was about to utter ; but she could not pre-
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vent her eyes from remaining fixed on the countenance of the man who stood there. “What see you there, my aloe-flower ?” said the old hag, her suspicions aroused by the maiden’s involuntary start, and the expression of her countenance. “Oh, mother!” said the maiden, wildly, “I thought I saw him—but oh, it must have been fancy only.” “Whom mean you?” replied the bel- dame, with an ill-disguised sneer: “was it your lover ?” “Ay, de mi!” murmured the maiden: “mother! you have been playing with me; and he is alive, or how could he be here?” Frascita’s manner was so nstural, that it completely deceived Mariquita. “Ha! is it so?” muttered the crone, shaking her head, but with her teeth chattering in spite of herself, for she really believed Juan to be dead: “it must be his ghost, or perhaps the girl’s senses are wandering again; let us see, let us see;” and she hobbled out of the room. Before she could get to the door, the form of the man had vanished. This incident, trifling as it may seem, kindled instantaneously new hopes in Frascita’s breast; she was now evidently not completely deserted. She had seen this man’s face before; yes, she was sure of that. Presently she began to recollect his features. It was he who had interposed, though vainly, to save her uncle from the knives of his assassins. This was enough, under the circum- stances, to inspire even confidence in the maiden’s breast; hope was there already in full force, and she no longer believed the beldame’s tale: everybody was de- ceiving her; she, too, must dissemble. “Your songs,” said Frascita to the old woman, as she returned, “are so beauti- ful, so wild, so strange, that I suppose they set my senses wandering again. Alas! alas! and is it true that he—the brave, the beautiful, is dead ?” “Have I not told you so already ?” said the crone, sharply, and in a tone and with a manner quite different from that she had as yet used. “Be not angry with my folly, dear mother,” said Frascita, in a deprecating manner; “but come, and sing me to sleep with your pretty songs, for, in truth, I am weary and sick at heart.” . The old woman, again apparently re- suming her insane manner, complied, and commenced singing, in her strange, mon- otonous voice, pieces of quaint old songs. The maiden was soon, to all appear- ance, buried in a profound slumber. But she knew that Mariquita passed | ed her skinny hands once or twice over her eyes, breathing: and then she went out of the min¢ful of room, singing and muttering to herself. No sooner had she gone out than the maiden, creeping gently along the bed, stood at the open casement. “Hist, senora, said the gypsy, emerg- ing from the stable and speaking in a and listened attentively to her awake, THE WAYSIDE CROSS; whisper in Frascita’s ear, as she stooped to listen. “Hist, I heard all: don’t be- lieve a word she says—it is all a lie: he is alive and well!” “And who are you, that you should take an interest in my fate?” “Never mind who I am,” replied the gipsy, sulkily; “that is neither here nor there; but mind, don’t be afraid of them, and ride the black horse to-morrow.” “J will, I will,” replied the maiden; “but do teli me who sent you, who told you of my being here, and of our leaving this place to-morrow.” “T can tell you no more, my pretty mis- tress, than that there are others besides the miller—curses on him!—who care for that lovely face of yours. Now don’t blush and look angry; but, mind and ride the black horse to-morrow, don’t for- get that.” Frascita was about to question him fur- ther, but the gipsy stopped her, saying merely: “Get to bed again, get to bed again, quick, quick.” And then he glided away with noiseless steps, murmuring as he went : “ The horse, the horse!” His quick ear had detected the steps of the old woman as she moved. from the | other room. Frascita took the hint, and, before the ‘beldame had opened the door, she was, apparently, fast asleep in the same pos- ture as when Mariquita had gone out. The old woman again quietly seated herself on the low stool by the bedside, and Frascita could plainly hear her mut- tering : “There is nobody—the girl’s senses must be straying—it is natural enough —yet I wish he would come back—I don’t like this—can the dead come back again? I hope not, I hope not!” and the hag visibly shuddered. Presently she pulled out, from some ‘part of her dress, a long, sharp-pointed knife, and held it up to her eyes. “The spot is there, the spot is still there—it won't come out, it won't come out !” Frascita, unwilling to hear more of these horrors, which she felt were real, made a movement as if suddenly awak- ened. The old woman started, and hurriedly replaced, as she thought, the knife in her ‘dress; but in doing so it slipped from her trembling hands, and, catching in the ‘coverlet of the bed, fell noiselessly on the floor. | Frascita’s quick eye perceived this,| gry ‘and as. swift as the lightning’s flash a ‘burning wish to possess the weapon cross- her mind. Mariquita, seeing that the maiden was recommenced her singing, and the miller’s injunctions, framed her words so as to bear upon the future fate of the intended victim :— ‘From the forest glade And the cork-tree shade No more the wild dove roams? ‘through wood—sti But he plucks his breast To build a soft nest Fer his mate when the springtide comes, The white sheets are spread, Hung with garlands the bed, With roses her blushes to hide, | The priest he is by, | And the powder is dry, | To welcome the brave man’s bride.” | “Mother,” said the maiden, in a soft voice, “can you read dreams? Youseem to know everything, tell me what this means—oh, it was strange and beauti~- ful.” “Can the old Mariquita read dreams ?” replied the beldame, repeating Frascita’s words ; “yes, my beautiful one, yes; it is her business—say on.” “Ah, mother! I thought the bells were ringing merrily, and guns were firing in the still air. The path before me was strewn with myrtles and wild roses; at the end of it was a beau- tiful church, and at the porch a priest in his vestments beckoned to me with his finger. “A handsome young man was riding by my side, and he spoke softly to me; but as we two rode on, the church receded from us. “Still we went on and on, over mountain and through valley, over torrent and we could not reach the church. “At length we came to an orange grove. Suddenly I thought to myself, ‘This is what prevents us, we have no orange flow- ers—let us gather some;’ but I found that I sould not speak, for my throat was arched and my tongue immovable. My over perceived my distress, but he knew not what I wanted, and I could not tell him; and in this agony I awoke.” “The girl is certainly fone mad,” mut- tered the crone; “but I might as well gratify her caprice.” This was exactly what the maiden wished. “Ay,” said Mariquita, speaking aloud, “the scent of the orange-blossoms has stolen into the room on the wings of the perfumed air, and the fevered brain of the lovely one wishes for some of the flowers to inhale their dewy fragrance. That is all, my pretty one.” “Is that your reading, mother?” said Frascita, pettishly; “it is all dull enough.” ‘Hush, hush, my darling, don’t be an- ; I will go and get you some blos- soms,” said Mariquita, as if soothing a fractious child. And she went out of the room. Frascita stooped from the bed and raised the knife. She looked at it for one moment with a bitter smile, and placed it carefully be- neath her pillow. Strange bedfellow for one so young — and lovely ! Mariquita soon returned with a hand- — ful of erange blossoms, which threw a de- Me ee ee ee —
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OR, THE RAID OF GOMEZ. : Now she remembered that in her dreams she had been lifted gently up and carried to her own sweet mountain home. Mariquita must have removed it, then. The swallows are twittering round the lonely hut, the bee-birds’ distant cry is heard in the air—azon they come with brilliant plumage, streaming like meteors through the sky, to revisit their favorite aloe-spikes, for they know that the cups are already replenished with honeyed sweets. Long shadows fall from the lofty al- ders upon the smooth turf, even to the hut ; and dotted here and there, a few faint, roseate, blushing streaks appear through the clustering foliage. At length Mariquita entered, bearing « large pitcher of cold spring water. . She laid it down, and motioned Fras- cita to arise, but left the room without speaking. ! Her whole nature seemed. suddenly changed, and she no longer had flowers in her hair. The maiden arose, and, refreshed by the coolness of the limpid, sparkling water, pegan to arrange the long, lus- trous masses of hair which fell in disor- dered folds almost to the ground, and black horse on the morrow if he return- ed, and, above all, not to part with her friendly weapon. She thought again and again of Juan, and his form rising before her excited senses confirmed her in her resolution. she soon fell fast asleep. |Sooner than wed Mateo she would die, a Frascita closed her eyes and thought | thousand times die. deeply, for indeed she had much to re-| Then she thought how had her young flect upon. hero escaped from the toils of his ene- “In the first place, were this man’s |mies: that he had done so she doubted, words true? or was he only a tool in the |not, but the how was still a mystery. miller’s hands, a partner in the deception; At length, wearied with thinking, and that was being practiced upon her ? still weak from the dreadful shock her Why did he say no more, if he really |/nerves had received, the maiden sunk into come there to watch over her safety |a gentle slumber. aud assist her in escaping ? She would have given worlds for a few —_—_ minutes’ more conversation with him; but that seemed impossible. _ CHAPTER XL She pondered on his words, and re- peated to herself a hundred times, “It’s |NiaHr in THE MORAIMA—THE MILLER RE- all a lie—he is safe and well.” TURNS—THE BLACK HORSE—THE HUT Is Who could this be but Juan, her deep-| gurrrep; ror wHAT?—THE RESCUR—THE ly-loved Juan ? (sec LOVERS MEET ONCE MORE. But what did the man mean by bidding her to be sure and ride the black horse’ Pragcita slept long and soundly, and on the morrow? when she awoke felt hopeful and refresh- The black horse—that must surely be /eq Tt was night—calm, tranquil, beau- the one her uncle was riding when he |tiful night. was murdered ? The room was dark; but she felt that And she had seen it again ; yes, that | she was alone ef uitwts silent in the|balf concealed and half revealed, as if was the horse that was mounted by Ma- put. . in modest coquetry, the symmetry of her licious fragrance over the little room; but teo in front of the window. The fragrance of the orange blossoms, neck and the snowy whiteness of Frascita did not now seem to care for them, but said, rather petulantly, that she would try and sleep again. The old hag sat down as before by the bedside, but without saying a word, and She remembered now her uncle having | refreshed be tha ‘odalithe dew. stole on the her budding bosom. said that it belonged to her young Car- wings of of soft night Probes through Where the roseate light of morning, list; but how was it essential to her es- lhe opening casement. which now shone through the open win- cape ? The glistening fireflies glimmered in dow, ctreamed upon the waving tresses, Poor girl! she little knew then that myraids before the window, now disap-|¢@¢h hair appeared as a thread of gold ; it not been for Bavieca she would pearing in the gloom, now shining like but where the shadows fell, her white have, perhaps forever, lost all chances of |stars amid the dark folia ge of the tangled hands seemed to stray through silien escaping from the miller’s clutches. thicket. masses, black and glossy as the raven’s t if Mateo should not bring the| The leaves of the forest trees sighed | ¥1"8- Her naked feet peeped out, small horse back when he himself returned? land murmured gently as the slender and delicate as a child’s. for return, no doubt, he soon would. But | branches waved softly to and fro; there Light and life again beamed in those where had he gone, and what was his er- | was a sound of water. too, where the little |SP@tkling eyes; and her downy cheeks rand ? brook babbled over a tiny fall. And then |®@ught a reflection from the blush of Oh, how she dreaded the moment when /the hoarse booming of the bull-frogs, con-|@0riNg- Who could look upon such @ the should hear the tramp of the horses | cealed in the alder swamp, would come figure unmoved ? How should she act? _, {With a melancholy, mournful sound, chid-| While the graceful maiden stood there The man had told her not to be afraid ing the stillness of that lovely night; or|arranging her beautiful hair, forming a of them; but could she conceal her horror jan owl would hoot from some grim old|picture that Guido might have drawn if her uncle’s murderer appeared in her |cork tree; or a fox would utter his sharp,|from, Mariquita again hobbled into the presence ? z ’ short bark; or a night-hawk give a fecble room, bearing in her hand a cup of fra- That she felt would be impossible— cry. grant chocolate. As she presented it to the actual contact of a ferocious wild| Oh, where is night so lovely as ‘mid | Frascita, she looked at her with a strange beast would be less terrible. Yet, a the forest wild 2” r expression, in which pity and admiration symptom of fear or distrust might spoil| Once or twice the maiden fancied she|were curiously blended with habitual all. could distinguish the sound of footsteps cunning and deceit, and she muttered, in Ever since the world began, women, es- Kien lightly on the soft turf; and it|a low but audible voice, “It is too late, pecially when they are young and in love, seemed to her as if a ‘shadowy, unsub-|it is too late.” ve always had more self-possession at |stantial form fitted several times before} ‘ What is too late, mother?” asked their command than men. __ the open casement, and whispered softly | Frascita, in a gentle voice. They can dissemble and hide their (as it glided by—*“The horse, the horse!’| The hag did not reply for afew mo- feelings with much greater readiness and! But whether it was real, or only fancy, |ments; but again drawing forth the knife. facility, and in this emergency our hero- the maiden never knew. and again gazing at it with wildness ir ine proved herself a true woman. The night is fast waning, and the|her looks for more than a minute, she She resolved to feign an appearance of morning that is to decide her fate is|said, as if thinking aloud, “And has contentment with her fate, to receive ‘about to dawn. one se young, so beautiful, the courage Mateo kindly, and to betray no suspicion) Doubt not that Frascita’s heart beat|to use this? And would she sooner dic of his motives; to await the event with strangely as hope and fear alternated in| than wed one she hates? Ah, maiden hope, if not with confideuce—and in this |her breast. maiden! had I known this before, the old she was supported by the belief that her! She felt under the pillow for her last|Mariquita might and would have saved Juan was alive, and would not desert refuge. . It was gone! What did that|you from such a fate; but it is too late her; and come what come may, to ride the | portend ? now—it is too late now.”
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* Am I not an Andalusian maiden ?” replied Frascita, proudly: ‘ and thinkest thou that force should obtain what the spirit wills not? No, no, mother; it is impossible: I would sooner, sooner die!” “There was a time,’ said the hag, musingly, “when I thought as she does.” Then, with startling energy, she cried, “Look, maiden, look at that dull spot !— that is not my blood, but the blood of | |low seems to know me. And Mariquita held up the knife be-| him I hated!” fore Frascita’s eyes. “Take it, girl, take it ; death is better than misery—amisery such as I have en- dured for years— long, bitter, tearless years ; but had [ courage such as yours, this, this would not have been.” Suddenly the hag assumed a listening attitude. “Hark! they come, they come—thy trial, maiden, is at hand! Take it, and if thy heart fails thee in that hour of trial —like mine—like mine—give it back to the old Mariquita.” With trembling but eager hands the maiden took the knife and concealed it in her dress. Mariquita said no more; but commenced, as before, muttering to her- self, and singing broken snatches of songs. The maiden was by this time dressed ; and, determined to show that she did not distrust the miller or suspectehis motives, she went to the door of the hut to receive him. The glowing rays of the sun now glanc- ing through the topmost branches of the alder dazzled her eyes; but still she could see that a man darted out of the stable, with a gun in his hand, and rushed across the glade into the tangled thicket. Presently she heard, amid the forest- trees, the voices of men, the jingling of little bells, and the low sound of horses’ feet on the soft turf. A party of horsemen appeared descend- ing from the hillside into the open glade; and Frascita could distinguish, even at a considerable distance, the tall, stalwart figure of the miller riding the gallant black horse. Joyful sight for the maiden—the horse had returned! Still she looked anxious- ly and nervously for the dreaded and bloodthirsty murderer of her uncle; but he was not there. And, instead, there rode behind the miller four men, well mounted and armed; and one of them led a mule gayly capar- isoned, and with a woman’s saddle on his back. The miller dismounted, leaving Bavieca loose, and saluted Frascita courteously, complimenting her on her beauty and recovered health; and inquired, even ten- derly, if she was well enough to bear the fatigue of a journey. The maiden, in her turn, received Mateo with smiles; but not for one moment did she forget the mysterious injunction of the swarthy stranger. She patted Bavieca on his arched neck as he stood quietly by; and the noble | THE WAYSIDE CROSS ; licking her hand like a dog, asif he knew) Mateo assists her to mount, his frame her, as she said, in reply to the miller’s| thrilling at the touch; and seeing her question: |look with surprise at the armed escort, “Oh, yes, Mateo, I am quite well ; but) reassures her by saying that it is only.» I should like to ride that pretty, grace- ful animal. Where did you get him ?” The miller started, and looked sus- piciously at Frascita ; but quickly recov- ered his presence of mind as she added, “I don’t know him, though. the poor fel- Do let me ride him, Mateo—he appears so easy and gentle.” There was nothing unnatural in this, | after all; it seemed only a pretty wo-. man’s caprice ; and so Mateo thought, and he resolved to gratify it ; for he was in ahigh good humor at Frascita appear-| ing to receive him at the door with smiles on her lovely countenance. How could he suspect that she had a motive for doing this ? Did the maiden’s conscience smite her at this untruth? If it did, she showed no signs of it then, but appeared cheer- ful, and even gay. The miller and the maiden entered the hut, while Bavieca quietly trotted off to the stable ; and an hour passed away—an hour of pleasing anticipation to Mateo, but a dreadful one of trembling anxiety and uncertainty to Frascita. Yet she hoped on, though vaguely and indefinitely. The sun shone out bright- ly and serenely, illuminating the wild forest scenery ; and the rays fell on the hill clothed with golden broom. Then the miller arose, and excusing himself by saying that he must go out and see the saddles changed and the horses got ready, left the room; but it was in truth to hear old Mariquita’s re- port of what had passed during his ab- sence. But the old woman replied, briefl sulkily, that she had nothing to tell. Mateo, accustomed to her strange, un- certain manner, thought nothing of this ;| but, putting some money into her hand, aes 4 she held out for the purpose. en- tered the stable. The hag clutched the com eagerly in her skinny fingers, as if she loved its very touch. But when the miller had turned away, so that her movements could not be seen, she threw it from her into the brushwood, muttering: | Beautiful wert thou, when the fierce and precaution against streggling parties) | Carlists; and, taking the leading-rein in his hand, gets on his horse, and they ride away at a foot pace. Scarcely had they disappeared amid the broken hills, when a man, gliding ‘from the thicket, entered the stable, and | saddling the mule, led him out, and rode off in the same direction, following their track through the brushwood. Beautiful Almoraima! many and many a pleasant hour have I spent amid thy grim old cork-trees. I loved thee at all times, and at all seasons. Beautiful wert thou when the startled roe-deer, bounding from the ferny brake where he had made his lair, gazed around with head erect and bril- liant eye, as if uncertain whither he should fly; then, as he heard the opening ery of the busy pack—away, away—over brushwood—through brake—down head- long ravine—over rugged water course— through tangled swamp away he nimbly fled; while, dashing after him in wild pursuit, the eager chiding of the hounds and the cheering cry of the huntsman echoed merrily through the wilderness of wood. scorching sun glared intensely on the ex- posed sierra! how cool, how refreshing was thy deep, soft, mellow shade! Gay flowers clothed the hillsides with a dyed garment of loveliness; the wild 'vine, festooned in many a graceful fold, curled and twisted around and amid the lofty forest trees ; then the smooth turf, dotted here and there with a densely- foliaged bella sombra, and moist with tricking rills, invited a gallop; and yon sloping bank, o’ershadowed by that quaintly-branching cork-tree, promised a cool reposing place. Yes, many and many a time have I, undeterred by robber tales, alone and un- armed, gone to thee, to any a green- ness, thy solitude, thy silent beauty: and, tying my horse to some charred or brok- 'en stump, laid myself down beneath some dark-foliaged ilex amid the flowering cistus-bushes, and — shall I say it ?— “T cannot take it; ’tis the price of smoked my fragrant cigar. blood, ’tis the price of blood.” Thou wert my love, my beauty, then ; The sun is behind the hill; the horses| and still, memory is grateful unto thee. are at the door ready for the road; the Slowly through the shady Moraima mule is left in the stable, and its saddle} rode the miller and the maiden. is transferred to the broad back of the matchless Bavieca ; the miller stands by him, holding in his hand a long leading-! rein of platted cord, which is fastened to the headstall of the black horse. Three of the four smugglers are al- ready mounted; the fourth is on foot: they have all their escopetas ready un- slung, as if prepared against some sud- den attack. The maiden is ready; she has sought for the old Mariquita, but in vain—she is horse seemed to return her caresses by | not to be found. Had the sylvan beauty of the scene any charm for them? Alas! no. Mateo was familiar to it; and at that moment Frascita was all in all to them; he saw but her alone. And the maiden’s thoughts were wandering after her lost love; or, perhaps she was divining what was yet to come. They had reached a spot where the road—which was still covered with soft, short turf—became so narrow that only . two could with difficulty ride abreast. . On one side, the hills rose nearly ab-
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OR, THE RAID OF GOMEZ. ruptly from the path, intersected here nd there by a rocky ravine. On the other lay stretched, for several miles, one of those densely-wooded, tan- gled, treacherous swamps not unfrequent | have thee;” and drawing a pistol from his| in the Moraima, impracticable to horses, | sash, he stood up in his stirrups and took | but a refuge for the hunted deer. Suddenly the black horse pricked up his pointed hears, and neighed shrilly. Along the path, as if from an echo, the horse was answered. The miller quickly checked both the horses—for he still held the leading rein, and standing up in his stirrups, gazed eagerly down the path; soon his keen eye detected the glancing of arms amid, the distant cistus-bushes ; the smugglers in the rear closed up at this pause. The horsemen in front now dashed from their hiding place, and, appearing in the path, their red caps became sud- denly visible. ; < “The Carlists! the Carlists!” cried the miller’s followers, in terror, as they turned their horses round, and, spurring them into a gallop, fled over the smooth sward. As they in their turn appeared to the gipsy, he sprung from his mule, and dart- ed into the thick cover of fern and under- wood by the road side. For one moment only was the miller irresolute. He turned the horses round, and, clasping the long leading-rein of the startled Bavieca firmly in one hand, forced both into a gallop. ; “Frascita! Frascita!” shouted a well- known voice, “I come, I come.” The maiden strove to check her horse, pulling with all her little strength at the reins, but in vain ; for, excited by the shouts, the noise of horses galloping be- hind him, and seeing others in his front, Bavieca dashed wildly on, stretching himself out as if it was a race. Still, the sharp bit checked his speed, and the cord was tightened. “Faster, faster—-let his head go,” cried the miller, fiercely, and tugging savagely at the leading-rein as Bavieca fell rather behind. Still they gained a little on their pursuers, and Frascita saw it. What is so quick as thought ? In a moment, a happy moment, the maiden remembered the knife, the old woman’s parting grt ; the stake was for life and Juan. With reckless courage she dropped the reins on the horse’s neck, and, drawing the knife from its conceal- - ment in her bosom, she stooped forward, and with a quick stroke of its sharp edge, severed the leading-rein ; then as quickly dropping it, and recovering the reins, with both her hands and all her force she strove to arrest her_horse’s headlong flight, as she screamed franti- cally :— “Juan, Juan !” The miller wheeled suddenly round; but as he did so, Bavieca stopped as sud- denly, and fretting at the Seri bit, be- to plunge and rear violently. oe Let his head go, girl; he will kill you,” again shouted the miller, more _ fiercely than before. “T care not,” said Frascita, resolutely ; “‘ Mateo, I will not fly.” CHAPTER XII. “Then die,’ cried the miller, in a CONCLUSION; CONTAINING PRINCIPALLY A FEW hoarse, unnatural voice. ‘ He shall not ‘a deliberate aim at the shrieking maiden. Juan saw the action, and he, too, shriek- j ed till the woods rang again. « Juan, Juan, save me!” screamed Fras- cita, wildly. There came a flash, a smoke from the pistol, and then a double report echoed along the tangled swamp. The miller’s arm dropped broken and helpless by his side; and the bullet from his pistol found a harmless resting-place in the soft turf. Half-stunned by the shock, and wholly unconscious of what he was doing, Mateo darted his sharp spurs into his horse’s flank, and wheeling him suddenly round, galloped madly away. Where still the blue smoke hung in wreaths over the fern, and among the leaves of the cistus-bushes, the gipsy’s eyes gleamed triumphantly as he passed. Terrified by the flash, the smoke, and the double report, Bavieca again reared mally up, pawing the air with his fore- feet ; and the maiden, exhausted by her efforts, and fainting with fear, slipped gently’ off from the saddle on to the soft turf. No sooner had she fallen than Bavieca, as if conscious of what he had done, stood still, trembling in every limb; and, stretching out his long neck, began to lick her hands. Then, while Juan, flinging himself from his horse, was raising the inanimate form of his mistress, the gipsy, with a’ wild cry, sprung on Bavieca, and urged! him up the steep hill ; but it was all too late, for the soldiers, who had but. imper-| fectly seen in the narrow track what had taken place, throwing themselves from their horses, poured a straggling volley after the flying gitano. A bullet struck him on the head, and with one fearful, heart-rending scream, he fell, and his body disappeared amid the closely-matted brushwood. Juan raised the maiden’s drooping head, and frantically kissed those dewy lips. Suddenly, with a thrilling cry of joy, he shouted : “She breathes, she breathes !—water, | water !” Pepe, rushing into the swamp, returned in a moment with his hat full of water, and sprinkled it gently over the maiden’s face. With eager aad trembling anxiety, Juan watched the effect. . Presently a faint blush flickered be- neath the transparent skin of those pallid cheeks; a low, gasping sigh stole through ‘her half-closed lips. ‘ | Then, once more, like the first bright sun-ray after the awful hurricane, a soft beam shone out from beneath those silk- en lashes, and the maiden softly mur- mured out, “Juan, my beloved Juan, is it indeed thou ?” Thus these two met again. ad | REMARKS ON WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE. With this scene ended my little guide’s tale. | Anxious to learn the subsequent fate f the handsome Carlist and the fair Frascita, for I felt deeply interested in ithem, I inquired if he knew what became of them afterward. Pepe replied: *“T do not know for certain, senor. The Carlists quitted San Roque in ‘a day or two, and I left about the same time on business of my own. Some say that Oolonel Juan was killed by a cannon-shot from one of ase vessels while he was passing along | the sand-hills by the Guadaranque ; but, \Ifor my part, do not believe it, for the | officer who was thus killed rode a white horse, and I know myself that the colo- | nel was mounted on the gallant Bavieca. | Besides, some months after the death of Senor Lope (and here my little guide | crossed himself and nruttered some words of prayer), I was in our great city, Ma- | drid ; and one day, when I was drinking wine in a house close by the Puerta del Sol, I overheard some contrabandistas | from the north discussing the beauty of a Carlist chief, a lady, and a black horse, | whom it seems they had guided through | the passes of the mountains into France. /One said the man was the handsomest, some the senorita, and others were lost in admiration of the splendid jet-black | Steed. So you see, semor, it must have | been they.” “Without doubt,” said I; “and you are Pepito, the arriero of Cordova?” “Preciso,” replied he, grinning. “And the wooden cross by the aloe- flower was to mark where the gallant Lope fell, and that was the stain of his blood on the road ?” Pepe evidently did not relish these questions, but he replied in the affirma- tive. Then turning his head away, perhaps to hide a tear shed for his dear master’s death (though Spaniards are not much given to weeping), he remained silent and uncommunicative for some time af- terward. This little tale, not writterf for publi- cation, but for my own amusement, to ass away the tedious hours of the long, eary winter nights in North America, is intended to depict the utter lawless- ness and consequent misery of a natur- ally beautiful and gay country, such as Andalusia, under the blood-stained hor- rors of an unnatural civil war, and the poor control of a wretched, pusillanimous government (if, indeed, it can be go called). Crime produces crime, blood- shed familiarizes men to murder, until man’s life becomes of no more value than the reptile’s which is crushed beneath the feet. And such was Spain then ; and is it better now? = The reality is, in many cases, worse
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30 THE WA¥SIDE CROSS. than fiction ; and who, conversant with| Madrid road: if I mistake not, Borrow) on the unwary traveler from the shade of that, unhappy country, can say that the/ mentions the same old man. The Moraima, or Almoraima, so often| herds of black pigs revel in luxuriance mentioned in the tale, is a vast and ex-| beneath sweet-acorned oaks, and the deep tremely wild and picturesque district of | note of the herdsman’s cow-horn echoes altogether a work of fiction. Most of|forest, which extends from the Guadiara| through the forest. picture I have attempted to delineate is too highly colored ? It must not be supposed that this is the characters, scenes, and incidents, happened either while I was at Gibral- tar, or came under my personal ex- perience while traveling in the south- ern part of Andalusia ; and the des- criptions are taken from nature. There is one anachronism which it might be as weli to mention, namely, that of the great fair of Ronda being held in autumn instead of the spring; but it was neces- sary for the conduct of the story, as the to the Guadaranque, about fifteen miles from east to west, and nearly ten from south to north, from a few miles behind San Roque to Castellar. This district is well worthy the atten- tion of the botanist and the natural his- torian, for it abounds with a wonderful variety of beautiful plants, shrubs, flow- ers, and animals. The principal timber-trees contained in this vast forest are the different kinds of descent of Gomez into Andalusia is his-,the robur and the ilex, the most common torical. Some of my readers may perhaps re- cognize in Lope de la Vega the well- known contrabandista Frascito Martinez, of Ximeneh. I can see him now, splen- didly dressed in the Majo costume, the best-looking, the proudest, the very per- sonification of the haughty Spaniard, crossing, with measured steps, the crowd- ed bull-ring of that singular and roman- tic city of the sierras, the indescribable yet lovely Ronda. , The miller of the Moraima is well known to those who at that time follow- ed the Calpe fox-hounds into the recesses of that glorious forest. To the officers of the garrison of Gibraltar I believe he was uniformly civil; but there is no doubt that he had killed, with his own hand, many individuals—it was then supposed to the number of seven—and one under very singular circumstances, namely, the one alluded to in the story by Pepe, the Azriero. This ferocious man’s mill was burned by the Carlists in the Autumn of 1836, and I believe his only child perished in the flames. The scene in the venta near the mouth of the Guadiara is taken from what I saw there while on a sporting ex- cursion from Gibraltar, for the sake of being the sweet acorn-oak (quercus bal- lota), and the cork-tree (quercus suber) ; besides these the ilex (quercus ilex), the true British oak (quercus pedunculata), and the beech-oak (quercus faginea), are sometimes met with; but the two first form the leading and prominent feature of the landscape. In the swamps, or sotos, the common alder (alnus glutinosa), the black alder (rhamnus frangula), from which the best charcoal is made, the weeping birch (be- tula pendula), the white poplar (populus alba), thrive in the moist, Hack soil, oft- en festooned with wild vines and other parasitical plants. In the open glades are found the olive, the thorn, the bella sombra, the chestnut, the orange-tree and the fig, bssides an infinity of others too numerous and va- ried for any but a botanist to describe. Along the little rills which trickle through the soft turf grow the pink-flow- ering oleander and the rhododendron, to which resort, at certain seasons of the year, multitudes of small birds. The denizens of this lovely district are varied and numerous—wild boars, wolves, foxes, roe-deer, hares, rabbits, badgers, hedgehogs, raccoons, and, I believe, por- cupines, are to be met with : red-legged shooting and the fly-fishing, both of| partridges, woodcocks, wild pigeons, and which were capital in their way. The chase and the escape of. the smug- gling craft, nearly as I have related, ac- tually occurred; and as I was an eye- witness of it, and the manner in which it was effected, I can vouch for the fact, although it may seem improbable and doves abound.- The bee-bird (merops apiaster) flits round the flowering shrubs with its sin- gular flight and st e cry, devouring the bees and sucking the honey like the humming-bird, a species of which I have often met with, but of duller colors than exaggerated to my nautical friends. The|many of its tropical brethren. scene, I remember, was heightened by a splendid thunder storm bursting over the | epops), Sierra Vermeja. The little Pepita and the old Carlist are no creations of my pen. This damsel, pretty and graceful as a fawn, came cing up to me in one of the courts of tle Alhambra to present me with a nosegay of fresh-gathered flowers with the dew still hanging about their petals. The old man I encountered in that most detestable even of Spanish inns, the Fonda de la Diligencia at Cordova, while I was waiting for a conveyance to take me on to Seville, two diligences having been just burned by the Carlinos on the Another lovely bird, the hoopoe (upupa is not uncommon ; and the night- jar i Nap iy glides on noiseless wings along the dark, rocky ravines, ut- tering its harsh and singular noise. Eagles and hawks vary the scene ; and overhead a string of huge, gaunt vultures are wending their way through the trackless sky toward Africa. some densely-foliaged thicket, and vast Altogether there is a surpassing charm in this beautiful sylvan district. The underwood, which in many parts is very dense, is principally composed of fern, broom, furze, wild myrtle, and va- rious kinds of cistus, mingled with wild roses and an infinity of other flowering shrubs. The hillsides and the open grassy glades are adorned with a profusion of wild flowers of fragrant smell and bril- liant: hues. The scenery is wild, and yet park-like and ever-varying. Every now and then the horseman comes upon a rocky, impracticable ravine, or a densely-wooded and impenetrable swamp. These sotos are always a sure find for the Calpe fox-hounds, and many a bril- liant woodland run have I seen from them. A mystery has always hung over Go- mez after his retreat from San Roque. I well remember the reports that were 7 circulation at Gibraltar concerning m. Some said that he was betrayed by his own party, who were jealous of his tal- ents; others, that he himself was the traitor, and had been bought with Chris- tino gold. Then came an account of his having been tried by a court-martial and shot: after that he certainly did disappear from Spain; at all events, he never afterward played a prominent part, his really talented general is, I be- lieve, at this moment a detenu, if not ac- tually a prisoner in the south of France, I believe at Bayonne. The Arab custom of firing off guns at a wedding is still kept up in Andalusia. I remember seeing a bridal party near Gaucin, where the men were blazing away their powder in fine style. I had intend- ed to have followed my little intelligent guide over the wild sierras to other scenes, But, alas! the leviathan Ford has swept over all that country with his giant pen, and left no crumbs behind for a hungry writer to pick up; and so, as I was answered by mine host when arriv- ing, tired, hungry and thirsty at La Neu- va Venta (near Temi, “No hay nada, ni pan, ni sal, ni vino, ni agua.” One egg there was, but what was that among four ravenous wayfarers ? Columbus himself, with his experience of eggs, could not have settled the ques- tion of the partition of this one. Near the entrance into the forest, | From Spain to where Columbus went where the river through a grassy multitudes of lili Guadaranque flows) is a natural transition, and there, if this level flat, where grow | little work should please the public, I in- es, I have sometimes|tend to proceed with my pen, as I did seen the scarlet and white flamingo, and| with my person. that most elegant of all birds, the snow- white egret. Half-wild, fierce-looking cattle rush ovt | THE END.
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TS AL ed, ORE Pa AEN CIT ICTAION S A NEW LIBRARY Expressly Designed for “Our Boys” WHO LOVE True Stories of Stirring Lives! Tales of Actual Peril and Adventure! Romance of Sport on Field and Flood! Daring Deeds and Great Achievement, On the oceans and seas—in the deep, silent forests—on the boundless plains—in the mountain fastnesses and the untrailed hillsk— over the wild game ranges and the cattle ranches—on lakes, rivers and lonely lagoons—over the world, everywhere; thus being something Wholly New and Novel, and giving a literature which in quality, kind, and exciting interest is PECULIARLY THE AMERICAN BOY’S OWN! Each Pre eey a perfect and complete work, from the hand of some noted and well-accredited writer, is a Book in Irsene— literally a half dollar book for a half-dime—and so answers the call, in this day of cheap publications, for a ‘ Library” that is unexceptionable in tone, thoroughly delightful in matter, and so modest in price as to be easily within the reach of every one who cares to read. Issued weekly. NOW READY AND IN PRESS. No. 1. Adventures of Buffalo Bill. From Boyhood to | No. 5. Texas Jack, the M . Thrilling Adven- ‘i Deeds of Daring, Scenes of Thrilling Peril, and tures in the Life of ah ete “ Texas “Jack,” the Romantic Incidents in the early life of William F. Cody. By Noted Scout, Indian Fighter, Guide, Ranchero, Mustang Col. Prentiss Ingraham. Breaker and Hunter of the ‘‘ Lone Star State.” By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. No. 2. T cean Hunters; or, the Chase of Levia- faa Romance of Perilous Adventure. By Captain | No. 6. Cruise of the Flyaway; or, Yankee Boys in Cey- Mayne Reid. (3 An extra large number. sy lon. By C. D. Clark. No. 3. W the Pistol Prince. Remarkable career of | No. %, Roving Joe: The History of a Y Berd< = J. gtore (known to the world as “ Wild Bill”), giving the Ruffian. Brief Scenes from the Life of Jimi token, Jr. true story of his adventures and acts. By Col. P. Ingraham, By A. H. Post. No. 4. ; or, the Young Cattle Herd- | No, 8. The Flyaway Afloat; or, Yankee Boys ’Round —— Teen tet Badger, Jt. the World. By C. D. Clark. Ready macunre tik BEADLES BOY'S LIBRARY is for sale by all Newsdealers, five cents per copy, or sent by mail on receipt of sit cents each. BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York.
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