The First of the English: A Novel
to hold, despite anathema and dispensation both—swear!”
And sinking to the floor the Countess de Pariza, affrighted, takes the
oath prescribed by Alva’s daughter, who places the crucifix upon her
lips.
“What need of such long testament?” asks Guy, who has looked upon the
scene astonished, Miss Hermoine, giving him new views of her character.
“Because I don’t trust her,” answers the girl. “It will be cunning
priest that will get her out of that. Break it and your soul flies
straight through purgatory to unending torment, Countess de Pariza.”
“I—I always thought you loved me,” gasps the duenna, rising from her
knees.
“Loved you?” ejaculates her charge, a strange light in her eyes. “Dost
think I have forgotten when I was twelve years old you slapped my ears?
Don’t think I fear you, though! Let that be for your Moorish slave girl
who goes to your dressing closet as to the torture chamber. I heard her
shriek under your scourge the other morning. But don’t dare, with
coward nature, to revenge yourself on her. Beware of me, I hate
cruelty! I am Alva’s daughter!”
At this astounding conjunction Guy bites his lips, fighting down a
smile and Doña de Pariza gives out a half-smothered chuckle.
But the girl steps up to her and cries: “Don’t dare to look as if you
jeered my father’s name; don’t dare to accuse him of cruelty. He has
always been good to me as an angel. I’ll not hear it from your lips—or
YOURS EITHER!” for a little of Guy’s smile has escaped from him, and
she comes walking up to her lover with haughty face, saying: “Remember,
I am a Viceroy’s daughter.”
“Penalty!” laughs Chester.
“Oh yes—oh—oh—I forgot! Yes, my lord!” and making obeisance to him. As
he exacts the forfeit she whispers: “Oh Santos! you are awful—you kiss
me every chance you get.”
At this scene Duenna de Pariza glares astounded, and mutters to
herself: “God be praised, Miss Spitfire has at last found her master!
This worthless, dissipated Guido Amati will make her dance to his
fiddling, I warrant you!” then goes to her chamber, leaving the two
alone, at which they are nothing loath.
Could La Pariza gaze in upon them one moment later she would be even
more astounded, for she would see Colonel Guido Amati giving Miss
Hermoine a little lecture upon the advantages of keeping both temper
and tongue well in hand.
To this the girl listens attentively with downcast eyes in a manner
that rather astonishes but intensely delights Guy, as he has now made
up his mind that there is only one way to gain this lady of his
love—that is to carry her off; and to do that he feels he must dominate
her completely, entirely.
But continuing this lecture a little too long, she suddenly cries:
“Bug-a-boo! Bug-a-boo! Viceroy’s daughter!” and dances up laughing. And
he, pursuing her, to exact penalty; they have a merry race of it about
tables and chairs and over divans, Hermoine gathering up her long court
train and fleeing with dainty feet and agile ankles before him, until
at last he catches her at the third curtained arch of the room, one
whose drapery he has never yet seen raised.
Here she, as he holds her in his arms, grows very serious and whispers:
“Don’t scold me; if you say the word I’ll do penance, my Guido, for
being haughty with you, but not with her. In here I’ll say ten Ave
Marias for you to-night.” Then drawing aside the curtains she shows him
the chapel of the house, illuminated, behind whose burning tapers
stands the picture painted by his dead friend, the masterpiece of
Oliver, and murmurs: “Here is where I pray for you!”
“Yes,” responds Guy, pointing to the lovely Madonna, “I worship at that
same shrine myself.”
“Hush, don’t jest,” answers the girl solemnly. “This is the chapel in
which we will be married.”
This idea puts Chester’s thoughts into a horrible jumble, and he makes
a fearful mistake, over which they have their first real discussion,
for he suggests very deftly the plan of secret marriage.
At this she says haughtily: “Unknown to my father, without his consent,
he who loves me? Never!” and becomes distant to her Guido for four or
five minutes.
But he, deftly withdrawing from the matter, and pleading it is only his
wild love for her, Hermoine forgives him and finally sends him away
very happy, more wildly in love than ever, but now knowing that he has
a very ticklish business before him—to kidnap this young lady and yet
keep her affection.
The interview with the Countess de Pariza shows him that speed is now
vital to his success, and that any long delay in the matter will
probably be fatal to his scheme and perchance his life.
But the girl has her plan of action also and a courier arriving the
next morning with letters from Holland, she claps her hands in glee at
some sudden idea that has entered her vivacious brain and murmurs:
“Papa’s coming. I’ll—I’ll do it! Hurrah! I’ll do it!”
CHAPTER XXI.
“MY LORD OF ALVA!”
Unknowing Doña de Alva’s plans for his welfare, her sweetheart, like
prudent man, goes about getting together the little fortune with which
he intends to begin housekeeping; and next morning in Antwerp remains
on his vessel taking charge of the storage and tallying the bags of
gold that a few hours before belonged to his future father-in-law and
now are his.
These come on board packed securely in wool and done up in the sailors’
bedding, and were it not for their weight, would seem very much like
what they pretend to be; however, they are all handled by Chester’s own
crew, and the heavier the sack the better pleased is the seaman who
carries it. In truth, it is only by the sternest command and
threatening to kill the first one who cheers that Chester keeps the
delight of his tars from becoming evident to the surrounding vessels.
Corker himself brings down the first load.
“Bodé Volcker is as grand a buccaneer as ever walked the plank,”
whispers that mariner as he makes report to Chester. “He would fight to
the death for the gold bags. He’s already given Jamaica twice to old
Mother Sebastian, and it’ll be the devil looking after his own if she
doesn’t die of rum before we get the last sack out of the house. Bodé’s
got cords to tie her with if the worst comes to the worst; her being
without squeal makes the thing neat and easy. No need of gags, just
simply bind her to the bed-posts and she’s fixed.”
All that day the gold comes steadily on board and by the evening, for
the men work very hard, Chester finds he has beneath the cabin floor of
the Esperanza one hundred and seventy-nine bags of gold sealed with
Alva’s arms; and calculating them at twenty thousand crowns each, he
finds he has three million five hundred and eighty thousand crowns.
This tallies exactly with Corker’s counting of the sacks.
Then leaving the men under Niklaas to get out the silver and the chest
of unknown valuables, Martin Corker being kept in charge of the ship,
as the Esperanza with the gold on board is very precious now, Chester
takes boat and passing down the Schelde again arrives at Sandvliet,
eagerly impatient for sight of sweetheart.
In this respect Doña Hermoine seems equally anxious. Apparently on the
lookout for the boat, she runs down with happy eyes to meet Guy at the
landing, crying, with joyous voice: “Good news! Good news!”
“What news?” Chester asks anxiously—almost any news is bad news to him
now.
“Papa is coming—he will be here soon. Then you shall ask him in
person.”
“When will my lord duke be here?”
“In three or four days his letter said.”
“A—ah!” This is a big sigh of relief, for Guy now knows the next night
will settle his business one way or the other with this fair being, who
clings to his arm as he strides up the path to the house, her little
feet making two steps to his one.
He has determined that the succeeding night will settle whether she
shall be his wife and joy during all his life, or it will be the last
of her. This thought makes his manner very tender to her, for come what
may he knows she loves him.
Then tête-à-tête in the oriel window over the Schelde, they have
pleasant converse together, though he tells her his time with her must
be short.
“Short? Why?” she pouts to this suggestion.
“Because I am making arrangements about my fortune; you know, to make
proper showing to your father.”
“Oh yes, I’ve heard that before! My lord of Alva has always been to me
loving and indulgent. As such he will not refuse my request. I have
heard him speak of you, my Guido, as the bravest man in the army of
Spain; that means a great deal where so many men are brave. That march
you made will make him love you as it does me.”
This praise of the dead man in whose shoes he stands drives from Guy’s
tongue a confession that has been almost upon it once or twice in these
last two days. He fears the effect of revelation upon his sweetheart
and thinks tremblingly: “God help me if she loves my name, not me!”
Perhaps later in the evening he might tell his story to Hermoine, for
he thinks it almost a justice to her that she know the truth—did not an
incident come to these two that seems trivial, but has greater effect
than either guesses upon their lives.
Guy has laughingly inquired about the Countess de Pariza.
“Since last night she has not spoken to me. She keeps to her own suite
of apartments,” answers the young lady. “That woman, if she dared,
would betray me; as it is I pity her Moorish slave girls. You know when
papa gave me present of Zora he made Alida gift to the Countess de
Pariza. But I liked Alida best, and to take her away from her
tyrant—for that’s what my duenna is—you needn’t stay my lips at every
word, though it is pleasant, Guido mio—I have succeeded in exchanging
their services and Alida waits on me and Zora on the Countess. It was a
bargain, though no writing passed between us. But to-day, this very
morning, she claimed again the duty of Alida. Is it to revenge herself
on her?” she goes on intensely. “If so; if she puts hands on the poor
girl, let her beware of Hermoine de Alva.”
As she speaks the girl, springing from Guy’s arms, starts up and
whispers: “What’s that? Hark! My heaven, it is Alida!”
For a faint wailing sigh seems to come floating to the room from some
distant apartment. “It is Alida! That coward has struck her!” she cries
as the sound of agony comes floating in again.
And in a flash, with blazing eyes and vengeance on her face, Hermoine
de Alva darts from the room, Guy following her, his feet scarce keeping
up with her rapid flight. Turning up a passage, he finds himself—for
the girl has hurriedly dashed open a door—gazing on a curious picture.
It is the chamber of the duenna; in it stands Doña de Pariza, with
vicious whip upraised, and cowering before her crouches Alida, the
Moorish slave. But the lash does not descend. With the spring of a
young tigress Hermoine plucks the whip from the astounded Countess.
“How dare you intrude into my chamber?” cries the duenna.
“How dare you strike one that belongs to me?”
“Your pardon, Doña de Alva,” sneers La Pariza. “This girl is the gift
of your father to me. Give me my whip, that I may continue my
correction.”
“Never! Alida is mine; you made her over to me in words; she is mine to
love, mine to protect, she is my Alida. Cruel one! you have asked for
your whip! You shall have it!” And an avenging goddess is standing over
the shuddering duenna, who gives an affrighted scream.
But Guy has hand upon the white arm that is upraised.
“I’ll do it if she dares to touch her again!” says Hermoine savagely to
Guy; then whispers gently: “Alida, go to my chamber and stay; there you
are safe,” next breaks out: “Let her dare to lay hand on you and I’ll
not respect even her gray hairs!”
“Perdition! my wig!” screams La Pariza, and they leave her tearing her