Part 7

Every year the old woman grew more infirm, till she could not even walk from room to room without leaning upon her staff. At times her temper was terrible, and nothing but the soft touch of Leota’s hand could calm her. She loved with all her strong hard nature the young maiden who daily was growing to womanhood crowned with surpassing beauty.

She was getting very old. With an iron will she resisted the pitiless hand of time, but she could not stay it. Her long hands became more bony and angular, her eyes more red and bleared, and her voice more cracked and shrill; yet she seemed to be looking forward to a long life, and was more hard and grasping than ever. It was only Leota that she loved more than gold.

One night Crimson Tuft had a curious dream. He thought, as he lay half sleeping and half waking, dreaming delightful but impossible things, that the old woman came in softly and poured something upon his head, and that when he started, she held a sponge to his nose, until he sank back powerless. He seemed to inhale something sweet and fragrant. It was very pleasant and soothing: that was all he could remember. In the morning, he felt heavy and drowsy, his head ached, but he roused himself, rose and dressed as usual. When he looked in the glass he saw that his hair was redder, and his skin a deeper brown than ever. Memories and a strange suspicion flashed over his mind.

Far back in the years he remembered dimly a little boy, named Paul, a fair child, whom he had been taught to believe a dream. There was a mystery. Could she have changed Paul to Crimson Tuft in a night?

After this, Crimson Tuft became more thoughtful than ever. There was a mystery to solve, and he would devote all his energies to it. He was eighteen years old, a very intelligent young man, but entirely unacquainted with the world. He had yet much to learn.

One day the old woman called him to her, and looked, in her curious way, at him for a long time. “Crimson Tuft,” she said, “you are my servant, but I have given you great advantages, so that you are as well educated as many a rich man’s son. But that is not all; I wish to make your fortune.”

Then the old woman fell into a deep study, and Crimson Tuft stood waiting and wondering what would come next.

At length he grew tired. “Señora,” he said, “you wanted to speak with me.”

She gave a sudden start as he spoke. “Oh! yes,” she replied, “but I had forgotten you. You are my servant, and have been so always.”

“Always?” asked Crimson Tuft.

A dark frown passed over the old woman’s face, and Crimson Tuft regretted his folly. He was very anxious to hear what she had to say to him. There might be some hope of relief. But again she was silent; and, worse than all, she seemed displeased.

The Donna Leota passed the open window, singing lightly a pretty Spanish air, and the shadows began to clear away from the clouded brow.

“Excuse me, señora,” said Crimson Tuft, softly. “If in some way I can serve you, I shall be only too happy.” He, too, had heard the soothing song.

“Crimson Tuft,” she replied, “I am not now so strong as I was twenty good years ago, and I want some one near me whom I can trust, for I have affairs that must be attended to now--some one who will not cheat me out of my gold. I have looked carefully about, and can see no one but you--you, whom I have trained, educated, and cared for so many years. The world is so ungrateful and wicked! Even you, who owe every thing to me, might rob me--me, an old woman. It would be a wicked thing--a great crime!”

The red, eager eyes of the old woman were fastened upon the face of the young man, and with all her shrewdness she tried to read him. Her pinched features grew sharper, and her voice shrill as the whistling wind. She grasped her staff, and hobbled across the room several times, in an excited manner.

“You are such a curious, ugly fellow. What have _you_ to hope for in the world, save from me? But, if you are faithful, I will advance you. But I can as easily punish as reward.”

The red blood flushed even the brown cheek of the boy, for he was painfully conscious of his extreme ugliness, and he thought sadly of the Donna Leota.

“Listen, boy,” continued the old woman. “There is a great world beyond these walls. Can I trust you to go away over the waters with me? Remember all I promise you, and be faithful.”

She looked steadfastly into the luminous eyes of Crimson Tuft, that dilated with pleasurable exultation. She was evidently satisfied with the truth and sincerity she saw beaming there, for she proceeded:--

“I must go again to Mexico, but not alone. The Donna Leota will accompany me, for in the years to come I can not be separated from her. And you must go, as I shall need you. I am very rich, and must trust you with a great secret; but I have studied you well.”

“Señora,” said Crimson Tuft, eagerly, “I will be true to you; you shall never regret.”

“Swear it!” she said, fiercely.

So the young boy knelt, and pressed the good book to his lips, repeating after her a most solemn oath, to serve her faithfully, and keep sacred the great secret, which was to be revealed to Leota only, in case of the grandmother’s death.

“Now,” she said, “I am weary. To-morrow I will tell you all.” And she leaned back in the arm-chair, and shaded her eyes with her fan. Crimson Tuft went out, with his heart beating wild in a tumult of conflicting emotions.

On the morrow, again she called him to the library, and locked the door.

“I have made my will,” she said, “and you are handsomely provided for, in consideration of your proving faithful to the trust I repose in you. Besides this, while I live, you shall never want for gold. Is it all fully understood?”

Then Crimson Tuft said, “It is understood, señora, fully.” And she took from her desk a carefully sealed paper, which she wrapped in sheep-skin, and, again sealing it, gave it to the boy. “This paper,” she said, “describes the exact spot where a great treasure is hidden upon my hacienda, near the City of Mexico. There is no chance of your gaining this for yourself for there are two other persons living who have similar papers; indeed, precautions, that I shall not tell you of, have been taken, so that it must fall to the Donna Leota at last, for she is the only true heiress. You see I am cautious, very cautious,” she added, the old look of suspicion rising in her face.

From this day Crimson Tuft was her chief adviser. He and the dwarf made all preparations for the journey. In about a week all was ready, and they went to San Francisco in a carriage, which drove immediately down to the steamer, and they were soon comfortably settled on board.

“Now,” said Crimson Tuft, “there is still time, and I can walk about the city for half an hour.” But the señora grew excited, and exclaimed, “No! no! you might get lost; remember, you are a stranger.” And the Donna Leota said, softly, “Surely, you will not go away!”

So the dwarf performed all the commissions, and for an hour the señora was absent; but, before leaving, she had said to Crimson Tuft, “I leave the Donna Leota in your care.”

At length the ship sailed. Then came the long, sluggish, dreamy days at sea. Crimson Tuft and Leota were often together upon the deck, for the old señora would not allow her there alone. What golden days they were to the poor Crimson Tuft. More and more he was growing to love the pretty young señorita, and she could not resist the powerful spell of his luminous eyes.

One night she rushed wildly through the saloon to his state-room. The grandmother had been taken suddenly very ill, and must see Crimson Tuft.

She breathed with great difficulty, and her words came low and broken: “If I live to reach Mexico, you will not need this paper; but I am old,” she added, bitterly, “and the old must die.”

With great pain she went on: “If I should not live to reach the hacienda, you will see the child has her own. Dig up the treasure yourself, and do not defraud her of one single gold piece, or the curse of a dying woman will follow you, even from the darkness of the grave.” Then again Crimson Tuft promised, and, taking the paper, left her alone with “the child,” as she still fondly called the Donna Leota.

This attack passed away, but another soon followed, and again Crimson Tuft was summoned to her side. Her glazed eye brightened as she saw him. “Remember,” was all she could say, and again he made the solemn promise. It was the third and last time. With the old señora all was now over.

Leota trembled with fear, and wept bitterly. The grandmother had loved her, and now there was no one left, only Crimson Tuft, who sat by her side all through the silent hours.

The next evening, at sunset, the old señora was buried in the sea.

No one wept but the beautiful young maiden, as the steamer went on, leaving in its wake the cold, lifeless body, wrapped in its shroud of sparkling waters.

At length the good ship arrived safely in Mexico, and Crimson Tuft took the proud young heiress to the hacienda, where a crowd of friends and retainers awaited her.

The will was opened, and there was a large legacy left to Crimson Tuft. But it was as nothing to him. With so much ugliness, what had he to hope for!

In the last paper the señora had handed him, there was a still fuller description of the spot where the treasure was hidden, and a night appointed for him to seek it. It was the eighteenth birthnight of the Donna Leota. Till then, she was to be placed in a convent, and Crimson Tuft was to have the best tutors in the City of Mexico. This would make a man of him.

So the young people were separated for a time, but the two years soon rolled by, and Crimson Tuft returned to the hacienda with his papers.

What a change there was in him. His brown, dark face had grown every day more fair, and his stiff red hair more soft and silky, and of a rich brown color. It was really wonderful. The young man was transformed, day by day, from the ugly Crimson Tuft to the handsome Paul.

The Donna Leota had become the beautiful woman that her childhood promised, and when she met Paul after the two years of separation, she felt that the great mystery was solved, and knew that she could never love any one else. So they were betrothed, and she was to be made his wife on her eighteenth birthday.

At the appointed time, Paul sought and found the great treasure that had been hidden for so long. There were immense iron pots, full of shining gold pieces, that had been hidden during one of the many Mexican revolutions. Thus it was found that the Donna Leota was the richest maiden in all Mexico, and she had many suitors among the wealthy Spanish hidalgoes; but she cared only for Paul, for the spell of the wonderful eyes, which had been Crimson Tuft’s, was upon her.

At last, the joyous wedding-day came, and every one said, “What a tall, handsome señor is the bridegroom, and how very lovely the bride. The sun shines upon them and it will be a happy marriage.”

Soon after, they went to San Francisco, and Paul felt the old dream returning.

One day, as he walked through the market-place, he came to a vegetable stand. Behind it sat a sorrowful woman, with a sad, mild face, that woke the sleeping memories of his heart. “Mother!” he exclaimed, with a thrill of tenderness in his voice that raised the bowed head of the lonely one. She gave one look into the eyes that, once seen, could never be forgotten, and cried, “Paul! my son, my son!” and opening her arms, received upon her bosom the head of her long lost treasure.

How she wept, and smiled, and pressed him to her heart; then held him off, that she might gaze upon the dear handsome face.

Then they went home to the father, who was old and sick. He had lost strength and heart years ago, and they were very poor. “He has never held up his head,” so the mother said, “since our boy was taken from us.”

But that was all over; the lost was found; poverty, sorrow, and sickness fled with his presence.

He took the old father and mother home to Leota, who received them into her own heart; for, were they not his parents and hers?

At first the old vegetable woman stood a little in awe of her high-born daughter, but that soon melted away in the warmth of the dainty little Señora’s affection; and the father, mother, son, and daughter, lived all their lives together, a happy family, united in heart and mind by the silken bonds of a true, earnest affection.

SNOWDROP AND ROSEBUD.

A CALIFORNIA STORY.

Years ago, before the gold-seekers came to California, there lived at the Mission of San Gabriel, a Spaniard, whose beautiful vineyard was admired by all the country.

In early life he had been a great traveler, and while in Germany, he met a fair golden-haired maiden, whom he loved and married. After a few years he emigrated to America, and settled at the Mission of San Gabriel--near the town of Los Angeles.

There he prospered greatly, his cattle increased to great herds, covering the green hill-sides, and his vineyard was the pride of his heart. He built a pleasant house, and surrounded it with a garden filled with all kinds of fruit. In that delicious climate, fruits of the tropic and temperate zones grow together; while the white flowers of the North, and their crimson-hued sisters of the South, blossom side by side.

There seemed nothing wanting to make his happiness complete but children. The house was too silent; he wished for the silvery laughter of childish voices; he longed to press little ones to his heart, and call them his own.

At last, God gave him two little girls; but the fair, golden-haired mother lived only to bless them, and was then buried by the clear “Lake of the Tulés.” At first he was inconsolable, and for months refused to see his little ones; but one day, while he slept, the old Indian nurse took them into his room, and laid them on the bed by his side.

Little Snowdrop nestled in his bosom, but Rosebud ran her fingers into his beard, and pulled it so hard that she woke him. There she was, when he opened his eyes, crowing with delight--her little rosy lips close to his, and the fair Snowdrop in his bosom.

Then all the father’s love, which had only slept, awoke, and he pressed the little ones to his heart, weeping; but especially he loved the beautiful Snowdrop, she was so like her mother.

After this, although he still mourned greatly for his wife, he loved these little ones very dearly; and as years passed by, became happy in the absorbing devotion to them, which filled his whole heart.

He watched over them with the most jealous care. Even in childhood, he would not allow them to play with other children; and as they grew older, his fear was awakened lest some of the young señors of Los Angeles should see and fall in love with them. For his daughters to form a mèsalliance, he was quite sure would break his heart.

As he was obliged often to go from home on business, he employed an old Indian woman as duenna, and charged her never to allow the girls out of her sight for a moment.

Rosebud was a Spanish girl, with purple-tinged hair, soft black eyes, and clear olive complexion. Through the satin skin the warm blood flushed her cheeks, and her lips were more tempting than ripe cherries; but Snowdrop was a rare German maiden in complexion, clear and fair as the noonday. Her eyes were like violets. Her hair in the sunshine was like fine spun gold, and so long that it reached to her feet, and hung like a mantle of glory about her.

It was no wonder the old man guarded his daughters so carefully; for though so different, they were equally beautiful, and all the young men of good family were anxious to pay court to them.

Day by day they sat upon the piazza of the inner court, reading the fascinating romances of old Spain, which was to them the dreamland of delight. They longed very much to go out, and see something of life among the rich Spanish families about San Gabriel and Los Angeles, but their father would not allow it; and the old duenna was always near them; even when they walked through the vineyard or the orange orchard, she followed them.

One day, Rosebud called Snowdrop into the garden, and sitting under a large almond-tree, she said: “Look over this book of prints with me, while we talk softly, for the duenna must not hear every thing.”

Snowdrop rested her golden tresses upon her sister’s arm, and, turning over the leaves of the book, they talked together.

“Sister dear,” said Rosebud, “we lead a very dull life here. All young girls are gay and happy. What is the use of being beautiful, with no one to see us but servants and old women?” A look of conscious beauty gathered around her pouting lips, as she ran her dainty fingers through the silken meshes of her sister’s golden hair.

“Our dear papa loves us,” said Snowdrop, “but I do wish to be loved by others,” she added--her violet eyes softening, and a faint flush spreading over her fair cheeks and neck.

“And I to be admired! but how can we be either?” replied Rosebud, “shut up here, with the old duenna to watch every thing we do? God made us beautiful, and I’m sure he intended us to be seen. And for my part, I am determined to go to the consul’s grand ball, if I have to run away!” and her pretty dark eyes filled with tears.

“Oh! sister Rosebud, think of the dear papa!” said Snowdrop.

“He did not tell us not to go out of the garden alone; he only told the duenna to watch us. If we could only manage her,” said Rosebud, thoughtfully.

“I am afraid it would not be right,” replied Snowdrop, “but I want to go very much. We will make an altar-cloth, and embroider it with gold, as an offering to the Blessed Virgin. Perhaps she will pity our loneliness, and help us.”

So they wrought an altar-cloth of purple and gold, and spread it upon the altar, before the picture of the Blessed Mother, in their own chamber; putting vases of beautiful flowers upon it. When it was finished they were quite happy, and sat down with their guitars, and sang very sweetly together, till their father came home.

The next morning, an old Mexican woman, with baskets of trinkets for sale, knocked at the garden gate.

When she was admitted, she spread out her finery before the young señoritas. The duenna hastened to the piazza where they were sitting--for no one was more fond of looking over the _vendedora’s_ basket than she, always finding something she could not do without among its tempting stores--this time it was a gay-colored shawl, and she ran away for her purse.

As soon as she was out of sight, the old woman whispered:--

“Pretty señoritas, I have charms to sell. This will make you admired, and this loved,” she said, holding up two curious little bags--one tied with long pink ribbon, the other with blue--“and this,” pointing to a third, “will make you sleep. It contains a powder. You must drop one grain into a glass of water. It is perfectly tasteless, but it brings on a sleep so profound, that until the effect passes away, nothing could awaken you from pleasant dreams.”

The young girls bought the charms. Snowdrop took the one tied with blue ribbon, and placing it in her bosom, whispered, “Now I may be loved.”

“And I will be admired,” said Rosebud, taking the other; but the charm for sleep she concealed in her pocket, just as the old duenna returned, eager for her purchases.

“I have pretty slippers for little dancing feet,” said the old woman, holding up two pairs of the daintiest white satin slippers you could imagine.

“The señoritas have no use for them,” exclaimed the duenna, frowning; but the young girls found that they fitted so nicely, and looked so pretty, they bought them.

“Papa is rich enough to give us any thing we want, and we fancy these,” said Rosebud. They bought strings of beads, ribbons, and combs for their hair, until the old duenna was nearly frantic. What they could want of all these, shut up as they were, she could not tell.

Then Rosebud said:--“We will have some new dresses;” so they bought fine white muslin and lace. Snowdrop bought a bright-colored handkerchief, which she gave the duenna, who was so much pleased that she promised to help them make their dresses.

As soon as the old woman went away, they all sat upon the piazza, shaded with vines, and commenced cutting and stitching upon the delicate fabric so busily, that by evening the skirts of their dresses were quite finished.

The next morning they were early at work again.

“Why do you hurry so much,” said the duenna, who never liked to work very long at a time.

“To have it over the sooner, dear duenna,” answered Snowdrop, smiling so sweetly that the duenna took her needle again quite pleasantly.

Snowdrop’s dress was trimmed with blue ribbon, Rosebud’s with crimson and gold. The young girls wrought upon them all their pretty fancies, till, when they were finished, the duenna thought them beautiful enough for a queen.

At evening the work was all done; and the duenna, quite fatigued with her unaccustomed task, sat dozing in her arm-chair.

Suddenly she roused herself, exclaiming:--“How warm it is! I am very thirsty.”

Rosebud jumped up quickly, saying, “I will bring you fresh water;” so she ran down to the spring at the foot of the garden, and there she met the faithful old Miguel--who had been in the family for years before she was born, and loved the young señoritas as though they were his own children.

Rosebud caught him by the arm, and whispered:--“Have the horses at the back garden-gate to-night at nine o’clock, you dear old Miguel, for you shall take us to the consul’s ball.”

“But the señor?” said the old servant, in astonishment.

“Never mind the señor, you dear, careful man.”

“But the duenna?” he continued.

“Never mind! never mind! I tell you I will go! so be sure you are ready in time,” said Rosebud, laughing, and shaking her finger as she ran away.

Poor old Miguel was in a great dilemma. He loved the pretty señoritas, and wanted to help them; but he feared the señor.

“It may cost me my place; and in this family I have lived, and here I would die; but my pretty children are so lonely, it is too bad to shut them up--and old Miguel will not fail them.”

Thus his fond love for the fair girls he had carried in his arms in their helpless infancy, conquered his discretion; and he went to the stable to groom the horses.

Rosebud brought the water--clear, cool, and sparkling--to the old duenna, and she drank it eagerly in her thirst, little dreaming of the sleep-charm the gay young señorita had dropped into the cup.

Almost instantly she became very drowsy, and, closing her eyes, she fell asleep in her chair. In a short time her heavy breathing told how surely the charm had taken effect.

“Now for the ball!” said Rosebud. So the young girls dressed themselves quickly, but with great care--looping their sleeves with rare flowers from the garden, and tying their ribbons very tastefully.

“I think we shall do,” said Rosebud, looking at the beautiful girl reflected from her mirror, then at the softer beauty of her sister.

Snowdrop answered by a kiss, and they went out softly, and down the garden path to the gate, where the faithful Miguel waited for them.

An hour’s ride brought them to the brilliantly lighted mansion of the consul, and all the young señors were delighted at the arrival of the fair sisters.

No one was so much courted and admired, among all the fair señoritas at the ball that night, as Snowdrop and Rosebud; and none of the gay hidalgoes were more happy than old Miguel, who was peeping from behind the hall door, enjoying the triumph of his darlings. At last he became uneasy, and, approaching them with a respectful bow, told them it was time to go home.

Taking special leave of their host and hostess, bowing gracefully to the guests, they started for home--leaving all, admirers, and many lovers behind them.