The Thin Red Line; and Blue Blood. Griffiths Arthur
another minute he came out with Benito Villegas, the man in the brown suit, who had spoken to Mrs. Wilders in the Commercial Square.
"Cypriana," he began at once, in a half-coaxing, half-apologetic tone.
"Silence! Answer my questions, or I will thrash you with your own whip. How dared you intrude yourself upon me to-day?"
"Forgive me! I was so utterly amazed. I thought some bright vision had descended from above, sent, perhaps, by the Holy Virgin"—he crossed himself devoutly—"I could not believe it was you."
"Thanks! I am not an angel from heaven, I know, but let that pass. Answer me! How dared you speak to me to-day?"
"The sight of you awoke old memories; once again I worshipped you—your shadow—the ground on which you trod. I thought of how you once returned my love."
"Miserable cur! I never stooped so low."
"You would have been mine but for that cursed Englishman who came between us, and whom you preferred. What did you gain by listening to him? He lured you from your home—"
"No more! The villain met with his deserts. He is dead—dead these years—and with him all my old life. That is what brings me here. Attend now, Benito Villegas, to what I say!"
"I am listening," he answered, cowering before her, and in a tone of mingled fear and passion. It was evident this strange woman exercised an extraordinary influence over him.
"Never again must you presume to recognise me—to address me, anywhere. If you do, take care! I am a great lady now—the wife of an English general. I have great influence, much power, and can do what I please with such scum as you. I have been with my husband just now to the Convent, the palace of the Governor, and I have but to ask to obtain your immediate expulsion from the Rock. Do not anger or oppose me, man, or beware!"
Benito looked at her with increasing awe.
"Obey my behests, on the other hand, and I will reward you. Ask any favour! Money?"—she quickly took out a little purse and handed him a ten-pound note—"here is an earnest of what I will give you. Interest? Do you want the good-will of the authorities—a snug appointment in the Custom-house, or under the police? They are yours."
"I am your slave; I will do your bidding, and ask nothing in return but your approval."
"Nothing! You grow singularly self-denying, Señor Benito."
"The señora will really help me?" said Benito, now cringing and obsequious. "One small favour, then. I am tired of this wandering life. Here to-day in Cadiz; Ronda, Malaga, to-morrow. At everybody's beck and call—never my own master, not for an hour. I want to settle down."
"To marry?" inquired Mrs. Wilders, contemptuously. "In your own station? That is better."
"I have not forgotten you, señora. But the wound was beginning to heal—"
She held up her hand with a menacing gesture.
"I will not deny that I have cast my eyes upon a maiden that pleases me," Benito confessed. "I have known her from childhood. Her friends approve of my suit, and would accept me; but what lot can I offer a wife?"
"Well, how is it to be mended?"
"For a small sum—five hundred dollars—I could purchase a share in these stables."
"You shall have the money at once as a gift."
"I will promise in return never to trouble you again."
"I make no conditions; only I warn you if you ever offend, if you ever presume—"
"I shall fully merit your displeasure."
"Enough said!" she cut him short. "You know my wishes; see that they are fulfilled. You shall hear from me again. For the present, good-day."
She gathered up the skirts of her dress, turned on her heel, and swept out of the place.
In the gateway she ran up against Serjeant McKay, who had been hovering about the stables from the moment he saw Mrs. Wilders enter the courtyard. He had seen nothing of what passed inside, and as the interview with Benito occupied some time he had grown uneasy. Fearing something had happened to the general's wife, he was on the point of going in to look after her when he met her coming out.
"You have been following me," said Mrs. Wilders, sharply, and jumping with all a woman's quickness at the right conclusion. "Who set you to spy on me?"
"I beg your pardon, madam; I am not a spy," said the young serjeant, formally saluting.
"Don't bandy words with me. Tell me, I insist!"
"The general was afraid something might happen to you. He thought you might need assistance—perhaps lose your way."
She looked at him very keenly as he said these last words, watching whether there was any covert satire in them.
But McKay's face betrayed nothing.
"How long have you been at my heels? How much have you seen?"
"I followed you from the Convent, madam, to this door. I have seen nothing since you went in here."
"I daresay you are wondering what brought me to such a place. A person in whom I take a great interest, an old woman, lives here. I knew her years ago. Psha! why should I condescend to explain? Look here, Mr. Sergeant"—she took out her purse and produced a sovereign—"take this, and drink my health!"
The sergeant flushed crimson, and drew himself up stiffly, as he said, with another formal salute, "Madam, you mistake!"
"Strange!" she exclaimed, scornfully. "I thought all soldiers liked drink. Well, keep the money; spend it as you like."
"I cannot take it, madam; I am paid by the Queen to do my duty."
"And you will not take a bribe to neglect it? Very fine, truly! General Wilders shall know how well you executed his commands. But there!—I have had enough of this; I wish to return to the yacht. Show me the shortest way back to the water side. Lead on; I will follow you."
Sergeant McKay took a short cut down the steep steps, and soon regained the Waterport. There Mrs. Wilders hailed a native boat, and, without condescending to notice the orderly further, she seated herself in the stern-sheets and was rowed off to the Arcadia.
CHAPTER VIII.
A SOUTHERN PEARL.
"Mariquita! Ma—ri—kee—tah!"
A woman's voice, shrill and quavering, with an accent of anger that increased each time the summons was repeated.
"What's come of the young vixen?" went on the speaker, addressing her husband, the Tio Pedro, who sat with her behind the counter of a small tobacconist's shop—an ugly beldame, shrank and shrivelled, with grey elf-locks, sunk cheeks, and parchment complexion, looking ninety, yet little more than half that age. Women ripen early, are soon at their prime, and fade prematurely, under this quickening Southern sun.
The husband was older, yet better preserved, than his wife—a large, stout man, with a fierce face and black, baleful eyes. All cowered before him except La Zandunga, as they called his wife here in Bombardier Lane. He was at her mercy—a Spaniard resident on the Rock by permit granted to his wife—a native of Gibraltar, and liable to be expelled at any time unless she answered for him.
The shop and stock-in-trade were hers, not his, and she ruled him and the whole place.
"Mariquita!"