‘No one,’ Conyngham heard a voice exclaiming as he went into the garden on returning from his fruitless ride, ‘no one knows what I have suffered.’
He paused in the dark doorway2, not wishing to intrude3 upon Estella and her visitors; for he perceived the forms of three ladies seated within a miniature jungle of bamboo, which grew in feathery luxuriance around a fountain. It was not difficult to identify the voice as that of the eldest4 lady, who was stout5, and spoke6 in deep, almost manly7 tones. So far as he was able to judge, the suffering mentioned had left but small record on its victim’s outward appearance.
‘Old lady seems to have stood it well,’ commented the Englishman in his mind.
‘Never again, my dear Estella, do I leave Ronda, except indeed for Toledo, where, of course, we shall go in the summer if this terrible Don Carlos is really driven from the country. Ah! but what suffering! My mind is never at ease. I expect to wake up at night and hear that Julia is being murdered in her bed. For me it does not matter; my life is not so gay that it will cost me much to part from it. No one would molest8 an old woman, you think? Well, that may be so; but I know all the anxiety, for I was once beautiful—ah! more beautiful than you or Julia; and my hands and feet—have you ever noticed my foot, Estella?—even now—!’
And a sonorous9 sigh completed the sentence. Conyngham stepped out of the doorway, the clank of his spurred heel on the marble pavement causing the sigh to break off in a little scream. He had caught the name of Julia, and hastily concluded that these ladies must be no other than Madame Barenna and her daughter. In the little bamboo grove10 he found the elder lady lying back in her chair, which creaked ominously11, and asking in a faint voice whether he were Don Carlos.
‘No,’ answered Estella, with a momentary12 twinkle in her grave, dark eyes; ‘this is Mr. Conyngham—my aunt, Se?ora Barenna, and my cousin Julia.’
The ladies bowed.
‘You must excuse me,’ said Madame Barenna volubly, ‘but your approach was so sudden. I am a great sufferer—my nerves, you know. But young people do not understand.’
And she sighed heavily, with a side glance at her daughter, who did not even appear to be trying to do so. Julia Barenna was darker than her cousin, quicker in manner, with an air of worldly capability13 which Estella lacked. Her eyes were quick and restless, her face less beautiful, but expressive14 of a great intelligence, which, if brought to bear upon men in the form of coquetry, was likely to be infinitely15 dangerous.
‘It is always best to approach my mother with caution,’ she said with a restless movement of her hands. This was not a woman at her ease in the world or at peace with it. She laughed as she spoke, but her eyes were grave, even while her lips smiled, and watched the Englishman’s face with an air almost of anxiety. There are some faces that seem to be watching and waiting. Julia Barenna’s had such a look.
‘Conyngham,’ said Madame Barenna reflectively. ‘Surely I have heard that name before. You are not the Englishman with whom Father Concha is so angry—who sells forbidden books—the Bible, it is said?’
‘No, se?ora,’ answered Conyngham with perfect gravity; ‘I have nothing to sell.’
He laughed suddenly, and looked at the elder lady with that air of good humour which won for him more friends than he ever wanted; for this Irishman had a ray of sunshine in his heart which shone upon his path through life, and made that uneven16 way easier for his feet. He glanced at Julia, and saw in her eyes the look of expectancy17 which was, in reality, always there. The thought flashed through his mind that by some means, or perhaps feminine intuition beyond his comprehension, she knew that he possessed18 the letter addressed to her, and was eagerly awaiting it. This letter seemed to have been gaining in importance the longer he carried it, and this opportunity of giving it to her came at the right moment. He remembered Larralde’s words concerning the person to whom the missive was addressed, and the high-flown sentiments of that somewhat theatrical19 gentleman became in some degree justified20. Julia Barenna was a woman who might well awaken21 a passionate22 love. Conyngham realised this, as from a distance, while Julia’s mother spoke of some trivial matter of the moment to unheeding ears. That distance seemed now to exist between him and all women. It had come suddenly, and one glance of Estella’s eyes had called it into existence.
‘Yes,’ Se?ora Barenna was saying, ‘Father Concha is very angry with the English. What a terrible man! You do not know him, Se?or Conyngham?’
‘I think I have met him, se?ora.’
‘Ah, but you have never seen him angry. You have never confessed to him! A little, little sin—no larger than the eye of a fly—a little bite of a calf’s sweetbread on Friday in mere24 forgetfulness, and Sancta Maria! what a penance25 is required! What suffering! It is a purgatory26 to have such a confessor.’
‘Surely madame can have no sins,’ said Conyngham pleasantly.
‘Not now,’ said Se?ora Barenna with a deep sigh. ‘When I was young it was different.’
And the memory of her sinful days almost moved her to tears. She glanced at Conyngham with a tragic27 air of mutual28 understanding, as if drawing a veil over that blissful past in the presence of Julia and Estella. ‘Ask me another time,’ that glance seemed to say.
‘Yes,’ the lady continued, ‘Father Concha is very angry with the English. Firstly, because of these bibles. Blessed Heaven! what does it matter? No one can read them except the priests, and they do not want to do so. Secondly, because the English have helped to overthrow29 Don Carlos—’
‘You will have a penance,’ interrupted Miss Julia Barenna quietly, ‘from Father Concha for talking politics.’
‘But how will he know?’ asked Se?ora Barenna sharply; and the two young ladies laughed.
Se?ora Barenna looked from one to the other, and shrugged30 her shoulders. Like many women she was a strange mixture of foolishness and worldly wisdom. She adjusted her mantilla and mutely appealed to Heaven with a glance of her upturned eyes. Conyngham, who was no diplomatist, nor possessed any skill in concealing31 his thoughts, looked with some interest at Julia Barenna, and Estella watched him. ‘Julia is right,’ Se?ora Barenna was saying, though nobody heeded32 her; ‘one must not talk nor even think politics in this country. You are no politician, I trust, Se?or Conyngham—Se?or Conyngham, I ask you, you are no politician?’
‘No, se?ora,’ replied Conyngham hastily; ‘no; and if I were, I should never understand Spanish politics.’
‘Father Concha says that Spanish politics are the same as those of any other country—each man for himself,’ said Julia with a bitter laugh.
‘And he is, no doubt, right.’
‘Do you really think so?’ asked Julia Barenna, with more earnestness than the question would seem to require; ‘are there not true patriots33 who sacrifice all—not only their friends, but themselves—to the cause of their country?’
‘Without the hope of reward?’
‘Yes.’
‘There may be, se?orita—a few,’ answered Conyngham with a laugh, ‘but not in my country. They must all be in Spain.’
She smiled and shook her head in doubt. But it was a worn smile.
The Englishman turned away and looked through the trees. He was wondering how he could get speech with Julia alone for a moment.
‘You are admiring the garden,’ said that young lady; and this time he knew that there had in reality been that meaning in her eyes which he had imagined to be there.
‘Yes, se?orita, I think it must be the most beautiful garden in the world.’
He turned as he spoke, and looked at Estella, who met his glance quietly. Her repose34 of manner struck him afresh. Here was a woman having that air of decision which exacts respect alike from men and women. Seen thus, with the more vivacious35 Julia at her side, Estella gained suddenly in moral strength and depth—suggesting a steady fire in contrast with a flickering36 will-o’-the-wisp blown hither and thither37 on every zephyr38. Yet Julia Barenna would pass anywhere as a woman of will and purpose.
Julia had risen, and was moving towards the exit of the little grove in which they found themselves. Conyngham had never been seated.
‘Are the violets in bloom, Estella? I must see them,’ said the visitor. ‘We have none at home, where all is dry and parched39.’
‘So bad for the nerves—what suffering!—such a dry soil that one cannot sleep at night,’ murmured Madame Barenna, preparing to rise from her seat.
Julia and Conyngham naturally led the way. The paths winding40 in and out among the palms and pepper trees were of a width that allowed two to walk abreast41.
‘Se?orita, I have a letter for you.’
‘Not yet—wait!’
Se?ora Barenna was chattering42 in her deep husky tones immediately behind them. Julia turned and looked up at the windows of the house, which commanded a full view of the garden. The dwelling43 rooms were as usual upon the first floor, and the windows were lightly barred with curiously44 wrought45 iron. Each window was curtained within with lace and muslin.
The paths wound in and out among the trees, but none of these were large enough to afford a secure screen from the eye of any watcher within the house. There was neither olive nor ilex in the garden to afford shelter with their heavy leaves. Julia and Conyngham walked on, out-distancing the elder lady and Estella. From these many a turn in the path hid them from time to time, but Julia was distrustful of the windows and hesitated, in an agony of nervousness. Conyngham saw that her face was quite colourless, and her teeth closed convulsively over her lower lip. He continued to talk of indifferent topics, but the answers she made were incoherent and broken. The course of true love did not seem to run smooth here.
‘Shall I give you the letter? No one can see us, se?orita. Besides, I was informed that it was of no importance except to yourself. You have doubtless had many such before, unless the Spanish gentlemen are blind.’
He laughed and felt in his pocket.
‘Yes!’ she whispered. ‘Quickly—now.’
He gave her the letter in its romantic pink, scented46 envelope with a half-suppressed smile at her eagerness. Would anybody—would Estella—ever be thus agitated47 at the receipt of a letter from himself? They were at the lower end of the inclosure, which was divided almost in two by a broader pathway leading from the house to the centre of the garden, where a fountain of Moorish48 marble formed a sort of carrefour, from which the narrower pathways diverged49 in all directions.
Descending50 the steps into the garden from the house were two men, one talking violently, the other seeking to calm him.
‘My uncle and the Alcalde—they have seen us from the windows,’ said Julia quickly. All her nervousness of manner seemed to have vanished, leaving her concentrated and alert. Some men are thus in warfare—nervous until the rifle opens fire, and then cool and ready.
‘Quick!’ whispered Julia. ‘Let us turn back.’
She wheeled round, and Conyngham did the same.
‘Julia!’ they heard General Vincente call in his gentle voice.
Julia, who was tearing the pink envelope, took no heed23. Within the first covering a second envelope appeared, bearing a longer address. ‘Give that to the man whose address it bears, and save me from ruin,’ said the girl, thrusting the letter into Conyngham’s hand. She kept the pink envelope.
When, a minute later, they came face to face with General Vincente and his companion, a white-faced, fluttering man of sixty years, Julia Barenna received them with a smile. There are some men who, conscious of their own quickness of resource, are careless of danger, and run into it from mere heedlessness, trusting to good fortune to aid them should peril51 arise. Frederick Conyngham was one of these. He now suspected that this was no love letter which the man called Larralde had given him in Algeciras.
‘Julia,’ said the General, ‘the Alcalde desires to speak with you.’
Julia bowed with that touch of hauteur52 which in Spain the nobles ever observe in their manner towards the municipal authorities.
‘Mr. Conyngham,’ continued the General, ‘this is our brave Mayor, in whose hands rests the well-being53 of the people of Ronda.’
‘Honoured to meet you,’ said Conyngham, holding out his hand with that frankness of manner which he accorded to great and small alike. The Alcalde, a man of immense importance in his own estimation, hesitated before accepting it.
‘General,’ he said, turning and bowing very low to Se?ora Barenna and Estella, who now joined them, ‘General, I leave you to explain to your niece the painful duties of my office.’
The General smiled and raised a deprecating shoulder.
‘Well, my dear,’ he said kindly54 to Julia, ‘it appears that our good Alcalde has news of a letter which is at present passing from hand to hand in Andalusia. It is a letter of some importance. Our good Mayor, who was at the window a minute ago, saw Mr. Conyngham hand you a letter. Between persons who only met in this garden five minutes ago such a transaction had a strange air. Our good friend, who is all zeal55 for Spain and the people of Ronda, merely asks you if his eyes deceived him. It is a matter at which we shall all laugh presently over a lemonade—is it not so? A trifle, eh?’ He passed his handkerchief across his moustache, and looked affectionately at his niece.
‘A letter!’ exclaimed Julia. ‘Surely the Alcalde presumes. He takes too much upon himself.’ The official stepped forward.
‘Se?orita,’ he said, ‘I must be allowed to take that risk. Did this gentleman give you a letter three minutes ago?’
Julia laughed and shrugged her shoulders.
‘Yes.’
‘May I ask the nature of the letter?’
‘It was a love letter.’
Conyngham bit his lip and looked at Estella.
The Alcalde looked doubtful, with the cunning lips of a cheap country lawyer.
‘A love letter from a gentleman you have never seen before?’ he said with a forced laugh.
‘Pardon me, Se?or Alcalde, this gentleman travelled in the same ship with my mother and myself from Bordeaux to Algeciras, and he saved my life.’
She cast a momentary glance at Conyngham; which would have sealed his fate had the fiery56 Mr. Larralde been there to see it. The Prefect paused, somewhat taken aback. There was a momentary silence, and every moment gave Julia and Conyngham time to think. Then the Alcalde turned to Conyngham.
‘It will give me the greatest pleasure,’ he said, ‘to learn that I have been mistaken. I have only to ask this gentleman’s confirmation57 of what the se?orita has said. It is true, se?or, that you surreptitiously handed to the Se?orita Barenna a letter expressing your love?’
‘Since the se?orita has done me the honour of confessing it, I must ask you to believe it,’ answered Conyngham steadily58 and coldly.
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1
wither
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| vt.使凋谢，使衰退，(用眼神气势等)使畏缩；vi.枯萎，衰退，消亡 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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7
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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8
molest
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| vt.骚扰，干扰，调戏 | |
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sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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ominously
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| adv.恶兆地，不吉利地；预示地 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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capability
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| n.能力；才能；(pl)可发展的能力或特性等 | |
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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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expectancy
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| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
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18
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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20
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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22
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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purgatory
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| n.炼狱；苦难；adj.净化的，清洗的 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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29
overthrow
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| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
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30
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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31
concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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32
heeded
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的过去式和过去分词 )；变平，使（某物）变平( flatten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33
patriots
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| 爱国者，爱国主义者( patriot的名词复数 ) | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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zephyr
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| n.和风，微风 | |
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parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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40
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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41
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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42
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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43
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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46
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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47
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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48
moorish
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| adj.沼地的，荒野的，生[住]在沼地的 | |
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49
diverged
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| 分开( diverge的过去式和过去分词 )； 偏离； 分歧； 分道扬镳 | |
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50
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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51
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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52
hauteur
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| n.傲慢 | |
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53
well-being
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| n.安康，安乐，幸福 | |
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54
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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55
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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56
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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57
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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58
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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