Part 9

All this time Bolivar was battling with the might of Spain, and del Torre (del Torre y Luna now he always called himself, liking, at least, to link his name with hers; but she had dropped her own name and called herself del Torre alone--Maria Dolores del Torre) was Bolivar’s captain. Years the war lasted. Once our General was captured in the city; he came to Carácas at a time of war, when it was legal for the Governor to capture him; he had heard some rumor that his wife was ill. He would have been shot but that he escaped from gaol, and this so easily that the prison doors seemed to turn of themselves. No youth, or woman, or child in all Carácas but would have turned a traitor for our lady.

Del Torre’s face looked old--Dolores knew it not. She never saw him--except, perhaps, a distant figure on a horse. When he was out, she roamed the house; when he came back she shut herself within her apartments. He never returned, from the shortest absences, a walk or a mass, without making formal announcement. He wondered only at the flowers; the perfections of his banquets, the splendor of his household, were for his guest and as it should be. At first del Torre had hoped to see at least a handkerchief fly from her window, a greeting or a wave of the hand, on his return. But it was always black and blank when he saw it. At first, this cost him tears: a greeting seemed so little--only courtesy! But afterward he only sighed; no man should repine that events fulfil his expectations rather than his hopes.

Their money grew apace. With part of hers Dolores built a church at Los Teques, a property that had been her mother’s, not far from the city. Half her time she spent there; and it stands there still, and is called after the Vergen de las Mercedes--Our Lady of Pity--to whom alone Dolores dared to pray. But the Church took her treasure and it kept her secret. Sometimes, in God’s providence, even pity is withheld.

One’s heart beats quick to think what might have happened had she ventured to confession--the priest who married them still was with her, in the household, an honest priest, who loved del Torre, too. But Rome, which knows how to be gentle as a mother, can also be as cruel as the grave. So Dolores went on in building churches, and Don Sebastian offered his brave heart wherever he saw a bullet fly for liberty. The best work of the world is done by broken hearts.

One time that he came home, he found a medallion by his plate. It was set with pearls, in tricolor enamel. He opened it, and it was a miniature of her. Then once a rush of human blood bore all his barriers of honor, duty, resolves of conduct, far away. He hastened through the house to the tower, where she lived. He hastened--crying Dolores, Dolores, as he had cried in his delirium. Her maid opened--not Jacinta, but Jacinta’s daughter, now a woman. My Lady Marquesa had gone to the convent at Los Teques for some weeks’ prayer.

XV.

AFTER this, del Torre’s body grew broken, with his heart.

It was the last campaign of liberation. The final battle was fought not far from Los Teques, where the convent was; and the wall of the church of the Vergen de las Mercedes was scarred with balls. The fight was over, the country was free. And the General at last was killed.

Bolivar himself went with del Torre’s body to Carácas; our General’s _corps d’armée_ were his pall-bearers. The news, of course, had been sent to the city; the Governor had fled; the General’s tri-color now, the red-white-green of Colombia, was floating over the Capitol. All the town was gay with banners, merry with song. It had forgotten the earthquake, and was now rebuilt, though lower down. The Casa Rey now stood at the head of the principal street, which sloped from it down the mountain side. And as the regiment escorting his body debouched into this avenue and turned upward (as its dead leader had so often done before), and the town came in view, there was a great hush upon the people. For lo! Now, at last, the window of the tower was wide open and the house bore all no black, but was festooned with laughing tri-color. And the window of the tower was open, and there within stood our Lady Dolores, in her white wedding laces, waving her hand.

She met them at the great door. Bolivar, and the officers who had been with our General, started. For, as she stood there in her slender satin gown, her eyes upon them, she was like a young girl. And her girlish waist was bound about with pearls.

The fact was, she was seven-and-twenty. They placed his bier first in the great room; but she would have it in hers, so in the tower-room they placed it, with burning candles standing sentry now where she had stood; and by its side were lilies--the flower of the Holy Ghost--and then they left her. Then first, since her wedding-day, she looked upon him, face to face, his eyes now dead to see. Their eyes so met. And outside, from the city now again joyous, came the carillon of freedom bells.

XVI.

THIS is the life story of Don Sebastian Ruy José Maria, Marques del Torre y Luna; and of Maria Josepha Dolores del Torre, Condesa de Luna, his wife; and of the old stone castle that alone the earthquake left standing in the pleasant city of Carácas.

The Holy Catholic Church had alone their secret; and she kept it; and now she has, laid up on earth, their treasure too. No longer such grim motives vex their country; if she battles with herself, it is for money or for acres of wide coffee land. Such cruel tales cannot be found there now. But, perhaps, withal, some touch of noble life is vanished, with that flag of blood and gold. Good cannot grow bravely without evil in this world.

You may see the Casa Rey still standing in the sombre street, and the empty tower window there. The Marquesa del Torre y Luna died, quite old, more than a score of years ago. Her blue eyes are no longer there. Perhaps they are in heaven, and now at last, “know not their love from God.” The people of Carácas think so. Her eyes

“Even than on this earth tenderer-- While hopes and aims long lost with her, Stand round her image side by side, Like tombs of pilgrims that have died About the Holy Sepulchre.”

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

On page 6, the second occurrence of is has been removed.

On page 7, aquaintances has been changed to acquaintances.

On page 59, ’Ive has been changed to I’ve.

On page 71, Higginbothem has been changed to Higginbotham.

On page 85, Healey has been changed to Healy.

On page 91, pinetop has been changed to pine-top.

On page 128, inly has been changed to finally.

On page 147, Venezualen has been changed to Venezualan.

On page 186, was has been changed to were.

All dialect, archaic, varaint and LOTE has been left as typeset.