In vain did Mercedes scan the broad bosom of the Pacific Ocean in search of something to say that would be soothing to Clarence’s feelings, very proper for her to utter, and very acceptable to her mamma’s sentiments, had she been there to hear it. But that vast sea was dark and mute. It did not respond. It only made her shudder to think of its awful silence that was so solemn, but not in the least comforting. It was so dark, so limitless, so cold. She turned her eyes to the luminous wake trailed by the steamer where such wealth of diamonds was wasted. “Fitful scintillations and then all lost in gloom,” she said, adding: “No, all is not wasted, those bright diamonds are not as evanescent as we, they will sink, but reappear again and remain there always to gladden or amuse poor travelers for ages to come; yes, when our two poor hearts have ceased forever to throb with joy or pain.”
“Is it not, then, wrong when life is so flitting to refuse pure and holy happiness which God has permitted to the children of man?”
“We will be talking bookish, like Corina Holman, if we sit here alone with the silent Pacific. Let us go to find Elvira,” said she, rising. “Ah, there she is now!”
Elvira was bidding good night to her two lady friends who stood at the door of their state-room, and (as all ladies must) had something very interesting to say at the last moment.
“And so I am to be patient whether there is hope or not,” said Clarence.
“You said you would speak with papa. You forget how very kind he is to everybody in general, and how partial to you in particular.”
“Yes, he is most generous, almost too noble for this world.”
“I have often thought that, but as he is past fifty, I trust that a kind Providence will spare him to us for many years yet.”
“Of course, he will be spared to you. If no good man could live, then the gift of life would be a brand upon man’s forehead. But a character as his, is truly very rare. He comes nearer to my standard of excellence than any other man I ever saw, and I revere and love him for it.”
“I shall treasure those words in my heart, believe me. Let them remain there forever,” she said, her voice vibrating with emotion.
“Well, well, and where is George?” said Elvira, looking around for her missing husband.
“He went to the captain’s room to play cribbage about two minutes after you left,” said Mercedes.
“Good chaperone he is; and what have you been talking about here like two little owls who know they musn’t jump into the water because they are not ducks?”
“One isn’t, any way,” Clarence said, smiling.
“As my married experience is yet fresh and limited, I don’t know whether it would be proper or not for us three to take a turn on deck and see whether George is enjoying himself. What do you think, Mr. Darrell, would a husband object to that?”
“I should say not. Why should he? To my way of thinking no husband of ordinary good sense could object to his wife showing that interest in him. Mr. Mechlin will not, I am sure.”
“Let Mr. Darrell take a look first,” suggested Mercedes.
Clarence arose to go, Elvira said: “Only pass by, as if by accident, and we’ll go or not, according to circumstances.”
When Clarence had gone beyond hearing, Elvira said:
“He looks pale again, have you made him unhappy?”
“I have not made him happy, that is sure, and I am miserable, but you know mamma’s feelings, what can I do? Oh, what can I do?” said she, putting her arms around her sister and the hot tears she had been repressing flowed fast. “I am so sorry I have to make him so unhappy.”
“I must say I feel sorry for him myself. I am not sure that mamma does him justice,” Elvira observed reflectively.
“And to think that papa himself told him to follow me.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes; and he is disappointed, but what can I do, dear, when mamma told me not to encourage him?”
“I certainly am under no pledge, and papa’s authority is entitled to as much respect as mamma’s,” Elvira said significantly.
“That is true, but you see mamma made me promise not to encourage him,” said Mercedes with sad insistence.
“Yes, and Rosa and Lota urged her to it. There is George now.”
“I will go to my room; they will see by my red eyes that I cried.”
“Go and bathe them. Drink some water, too, and come back.”
“And I’ll bring you some by way of an excuse.”
“Why did Mercedes run off?” George asked.
“She will be back in a minute; she went to take a glass of water.”
“Oh! why did she not tell me to bring it to her?” said Clarence regretfully. “I ought to have thought of bringing it. Wouldn’t she rather have a glass of wine or lemonade? and you, too, Mrs. Mechlin? I shall take it as a favor if you will accept. A glass of champagne with ice I think would do very well for all of us; don’t you think so Mr. Mechlin?”
“Yes, champagne with ice would be very nice, provided the champagne be good,” George replied.
“Let us try any way,” said Clarence, going to order the wine. George and Elvira watched him, and when out of hearing George said:
“Don’t you know I like that young man very much. What is your mother’s objection to him?”
“His family, I believe, or rather his father.”
“Old Darrell looks like a decent, honorable sort of a man to me. Certainly Clarence is very gentlemanly, and (what is equally to be considered) Mercedes likes him more than is good for her peace of mind if she is not to have him.”
“My poor little sister, she is so unhappy, and, just think of it, papa told Clarence to come, to follow Mercedes and propose to her.”
“He did? That is just like him. Doubtless he thought of the times when he would ride eighty miles to go and serenade Doña Josefa, and his sympathies all went to Darrell. It is a pity your mother doesn’t feel as kindly.”
“And what makes me feel more for Mercedes is, that she loves Clarence dearly, but in obedience to mamma’s wishes she will not even give him any encouragement at all.”
“Then we must, that’s all. Only let us first be sure that she loves him.”
“Oh, as to that, if you had only seen her beautiful eyes filled with such sad tears because she cannot accept his love, you would have no doubts as to her feelings.”
“Then my course is clear. I am a Christian gentleman and will not see savage torture inflicted on my blue-eyed hermanita.1 I think I know how to fix it up.”
“What will you do?”
“Quien sabe2 just this minute, but it will be something, depend upon it. There he is now,” and Clarence came, followed by a waiter bringing the champagne and ice. He looked disappointed at not finding Mercedes.
“That little sister of ours I fear has given us the slip. I think I’ll go and fetch her bodily,” George said, rising to go.
“No; let me go,” said Elvira. When George was left alone with Clarence he said:
“I fear that Mercedes is very unhappy, she left when she saw us coming, Elvira says, because she feared her eyes showed traces of tears.”
Clarence clenched his hands as if he would like to throttle all bad luck in general, and this one in particular, looked haggard, but remained silent. George continued:
“Spanish girls are trained to strict filial obedience, and it is a good thing when not carried too far. Now, Mercedes made to her mother some very foolish promise, and if her heart was to break into little pieces she would not swerve—not she—though she be fully aware that her happiness would be wrecked for ever, she would not disobey her mother.”
“But is it alone her mother’s wishes? In obeying her mother, does she not follow her own inclination?”
George laughed, saying: “She must be a strange girl, indeed, if she weeps so bitterly and is so unhappy to follow her inclination.”
“Oh, if I only could think that! Are you sure?”
“Why did Doña Josefa wish to send her away? Only for the hope that she might get over her love for you. Mercedes is not yet eighteen, and, being so young, her mother thought that by sending her away from you and yours, she might forget you. Only such hope as that could have prevailed upon Doña Josefa to part with her baby. Spanish mothers will never let a daughter go out of the maternal sight until they are married; but for the fear that Mercita’s attachment to you might become incurable if not effaced early, the mother was ready to sacrifice her feelings. For it was a terrible sacrifice, it was like pulling her heart strings to send her baby off.”
“Oh, how she must hate me then to have such strong objections to me,” said Clarence, sadly.
“No, she does not hate you”—and George hesitated.
“Yes, I know she thinks I have done something wrong or dishonorable, but what that is, I have not the slightest idea.”
“Excuse me for saying so, but I think it was a mistake not to tell her—and Mercedes also—that you bought the land you occupy. Doña Josefa cannot think it is honorable to take up land as your father did. She cannot understand how any law of Congress can authorize a man to take the property of another against his will and without paying for it.”
“And she is perfectly right. I see the mistake now, and I regret it more than words can tell. You knew why I asked Don Mariano not to mention that I had paid him.”
“Yes, Gabriel told me first, and he, too, thinks it is a mistake to let the Alamar ladies have a wrong idea of you. He thinks you do an injustice to yourself. We were talking about it when Don Mariano joined us, and he agreed with Gabriel and said that he would speak to you about it very soon. Doesn’t any of your family know about it?”
“Yes, Everett and mother do. She would not have come down if I had not told her I paid for the land. But she and I thought that for the present we had better say nothing about it to father, knowing how sensitive he is about his views of ‘Squatter rights.’ He has had so much trouble about those same rights.”
“I suppose you will have to tell him soon—I mean when the attorney general dismisses the appeal.”
“When will that be, do you think?”
“Just as soon as the Supreme Court is in session. It would have been done last fall had not the solicitor general interfered in the most absurd and arbitrary manner.”
“I heard he had, and I heard the settlers rejoicing about it, but I never knew how it happened—I would like to hear.”
“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” said Elvira, coming, “if my eloquence and persuasive powers were not of the unprecedented quality they really are, I would never have been able to persuade the señorita to come. Would you believe it? she was actually in bed for the night.”
“Ah!” Clarence exclaimed, regretfully.
“Yes, I told her that if she didn’t come, you would take the champagne to her room, and this so frightened her, that she began to dress herself immediately, but the poor little thing trembles as if she had the ague. I gave her a cashmere wrapper and soft shawl to wrap up and not take cold.”
“Go and tell her we have good news for her,” suggested George.
“She’ll think you are jesting,” Elvira answered.
“Not if you tell her that we know what it is that Doña Josefa has against Darrell, and we’ll make it all right.”
“Oh, don’t deceive the poor little thing when she seems as if all her strength is already gone from her,” Elvira said.
“But we are not deceiving her,” George insisted.
“Hush! here she comes,” Elvira said, and Mercedes slowly approached them. “Come, sweet Baby, these gentlemen say they have some awful nice news for you.”
“News that the wine is good, I suppose, but I don’t like wine,” she said.
“No, it isn’t the wine,” George said, rising for Mercedes to take his place. “Sit down here between Darrell and myself and you shall hear all about it.”
“What is it?” Mercedes asked, looking from one to the other.
“I can’t tell you, little sister, for they haven’t told me,” Elvira said.
“Darrell, you fill the glasses now while I tell these señoritas what sort of a black sheep Doña Josefa thinks you are, and so thinking, objects to you.” Clarence proceeded to put ice into the glasses, while George continued: “The objection is, that she believes the Darrells are ‘squatters,’ like all the others at the rancho, whereas Clarence bought their land from Don Mariano and paid for it even before they built their house.”
“Oh! I am so glad to hear that!” Elvira exclaimed with a sigh of relief. “But why don’t papa tell it to mamma? It is an injustice to the Darrells to let her ignore it.”
“It is my fault, Mrs. Mechlin,” Clarence said; “my father holds the accepted but very erroneous popular opinions about ‘squatter rights,’ and I, to avoid painful discussions with him, requested Señor Alamar not to say, for the present, that I had paid for the land.”
“You see, little sister, how, after all, you have not been loving a squatter? What a pity,” said George, putting his arm around Mercedes, who buried her face in the lapels of his coat. “It isn’t half so romantic to love a plain gentleman as to love a brigand, or, at least, a squatter.”
“Doña Josefa’s objection to me is perfectly proper and correct. I would not let a daughter of mine marry a squatter no more than to marry a tramp. I shall, of course, request Don Mariano to put me right in her estimation, and tell her I do not feel authorized by Congress to steal land, though my father and many other honest men hold different opinions about it.”
“There! Do you hear that? Let us have a bumper, and drown the squatter in champagne! Exit tramp! Enter gentleman! Here is to Baby’s health,” said George.
All emptied their glasses, except Mercedes, whose hand shook so violently that she spilled more wine than she drank.
“Don’t lose your courage now,” Elvira said to her.
“I believe pussy is regretting she lost her squatter. Isn’t that so, pussy? You have not said one word. Are you regretting that, after all, you cannot sacrifice to love your patrician pride by marrying a land-shark, thus proving you are a heroine?”
“Oh, what a silly boy,” she said, laughing.
“Really, I think our romance is spoiled. It would have been so fine—like a dime novel—to have carried you off bodily by order of infuriated, cruel parents, and on arriving at New York marry you, at the point of a loaded revolver, to a bald-headed, millionaire! Your midnight shrieks would have made the blood of the passers-by curdle! Then Clarence would have rushed in and stabbed the millionaire, and you, falling across his prostrate body, said: ‘Tramp or not, I am thine!’ ”
“Oh, George, stop your nonsense,” Elvira said.
“Whereas now,” George went on, “the unpoetical fact comes out that Darrell is a decent sort of a fellow, and there is no reason why a proper girl shouldn’t have him for her husband; and our romance is stripped of its thrilling features, as the hero will not steal, even when Congress tells him to. And that is the dénouement, with the addition only that I am hungry. What have you got to eat in those two little baskets that Tano brought on board, and which smell so nice?”
“Ah, yes, I had forgotten. Mamma put up a nice lunch, thinking we might want it if we felt sick, or didn’t want to go to the table. I’ll go and bring it,” said Elvira, setting down her glass, and rising.
“Let me go,” said George, “as I am the hungry one.”
“Bring both baskets. Let us see what they have. Ah, I was forgetting, I have the three little silver plates in my satchel; we must have those,” added Elvira, following her husband.
“Can you forgive my stupidity? See what a world of anxious thoughts we would have avoided by explaining to Doña Josefa everything,” said Clarence to Mercedes.
“Yes, it was unfortunate. But you will return soon and ask papa to tell her all, will you not?”
“Indeed I will, by the next steamer; and will have better heart to await your return. My precious angel, don’t ever forget how devotedly I idolize you! Will you let me send you a ring, if your mother allows me?”
“Couldn’t you bring it yourself?”
“Oh, Mercedes, my beloved! how happy you make me!”
“Look here,” said George, groping in the dark; “Where are the magic baskets? I don’t smell them.”
“I knew you wouldn’t, that is why I came to find them.”
“Look here! if you follow a fellow like that, you’ll get kissed,” said he, taking his wife in his arms, and covering her face with kisses.
“Stop, George, some one might pass who didn’t know you are my husband.”
“That’s so,” said he, desisting. “But the fact of the matter is, that I want to kiss you all the time, you are so pretty and such a sweet darling. Give me the basket, and let your hungry husband go before he eats you up.”
“Here they are. I’ll carry the plates and knives.”
“Tano said something about boned turkey, a la espanola, stuffed with mashed almonds and ‘ajonjoli,’ ” said George, setting the baskets on a chair before Clarence; “and something about a ‘tortita de aceituna,’3 with sweet marjoram, and I think we got them, to judge by their fragrance.”
“Shall I go and order more wine?” asked Clarence.
“Oh, no, no,” said Elvira, “this is plenty.”
“How strange it is that I haven’t felt this wine at all,” said Mercedes; “one-half glass only will make my face unpleasantly warm always, for that reason I dislike wines; but see, I drank this whole glassful, and I don’t feel it any more than if it was water.”
“But don’t you feel warmer? You were shivering when you came from your room,” George said.
“Yes, I feel better,” she said, timidly.
“Now eat a little and you will sleep better. Take one of these ‘empanaditas de pollo,’ ”4 said Elvira, offering one.
“Give me one,” George said. “I know them by experience, and the trouble about them is that you can never have enough, though you feel you have eaten too many. Try them, Darrell, and when you have filled our glasses I’ll satisfy your curiosity, telling you why the Solicitor General would not dismiss the appeal of the squatters.”
“Yes, I want to know all about that,” said Clarence, filling the glasses.