CHAPTER XV.

THE ALAMEDA DE LA CANADA.

"That Fortune is not nice in her morality," says Maria Edgeworth; "that she frequently favours those who do not adhere to truth more than those who do, we have early had occasion to observe. But whether fortune may not be in this, as in all the rest, treacherous and capricious--whether she may not by her first smiles and favours, lure her victims to their cost, to their utter undoing at last, remains to be seen."

And so it remains to be seen how far the blind goddess favoured Pedro and his well-beloved brother, Zuares.

Towards the close of the next day, they drew near the great city of Santiago, and meeting a muleteer, who was travelling towards Quillota, with a train of mules, laden with jerked beef and hemp, they further improved their financial resources by selling to him the horse of Hawkshaw, with bridle and saddle, for 100 dollars, and the muleteer was too well pleased with his bargain to make any particular inquiries respecting it; but took the precaution, after he left the sellers, to halt in the first peach grove, and shear off the horse's mane, dock his tail and forelock, and otherwise disguise him.

On entering Santiago, to avoid any further mistakes, Pedro proceeded at once to get Don Salvador's cheque turned into hard cash of the Chilian Republic. Then he had the somewhat picturesque costume of Zuares changed for a handsome suit of Spanish livery; and, thirdly, he betook himself to the Alameda de la Canada, just as the streets were being lighted, in search of the house of the Morenos.

The Alameda of Santiago is, perhaps, the most magnificent promenade in any of the South American cities. It is more than 150 years old. Measuring 1,000 yards in length, it is divided into three stately walks, on each side of which runs a carriage-way. There are also three canals, which intersect it, and six rows of gigantic poplars.

Here is also the ancient convent of St. Francis, with a church built of pure white stone, having a lofty steeple, from the galleries of which may be seen the fertile vale that stretches to the base of the Andes--the land of gold and of fire.

The stone seats were all occupied by ladies. All were gay, and many of them were beautiful. Their lace mantillas were all thrown back, to float over their shoulders, for the evening was warm, and all their large feather fans were at work.

Gentlemen in sombreros hovered round their seats in hundreds, and the fine band of a Lancer regiment of the Chilian Republic played near the octagon fountain, at the foot of the centre walk, and filled the ambient air with the strains of "Il Trovatore."

The December evening was lovely, as well as warm (the thermometer rises to 85 degrees there in January), and the yellow glory of the set sun yet lingered on the giant summits of the snow-clad Andes, shaded off into saffron, purple, and dark blue in the ravines and valleys, through which roll those rivers that mingle their gold-dust with the sand on the shores of the Pacific--the Rio Monte and the Aconcagua, whose banks are bordered by groves of the orange, the fig, the peach, and the pomegranate, for in Chili the land teems with all that can minister to luxury and to wealth.

Accompanied by his valet, who walked at a respectful distance behind, bearing his poncho and umbrella, our acquaintance, Don Pedro Florez, walked along the Alameda, with a cigar in his mouth, his sombrero stuck very much over his right eye, and both hands thrust into his trousers pockets. He peered or leered into the faces of all the ladies with an air of assurance that he might not have adopted, had he and Zuares not recently dined. He inquired of a water-carrier for the mansion of Don Salvador, and it was speedily pointed out to him.

"_Demonio!_" thought Pedro, as he ascended the broad flight of marble steps in front; "it is a regular palace, this! And what if Donna Ignez should have been too ill to travel after her cold bath?--she may be still at Valparaiso."

Pedro was somewhat scared, and Zuares was so completely, by the magnitude and magnificent aspect of the mansion, the door of which was open, revealing a lighted vestibule, and lamps were shining through nearly all of its lofty windows. The balconies were richly gilded; the Venetian blinds were all up, and thus the rich curtains, the draperies, and gilded ceilings of the apartments could be seen from the Alameda.

Don Salvador was at home.

Pedro took his cloak from his valet, whom he told, with great condescension, to amuse himself for the remainder of the evening at the dancing-rooms, but to be at their hotel before midnight. Zuares touched his hat, with his tongue in his cheek, while his brother was ushered into the _ante-cámera_, or drawing-room, where Don Salvador, Don Perez, and Padre Eizagiuerro (whom he could very well have spared) received him with great politeness; but the first alone with any cordiality.

Coffee and chocolate were being served round, and Donna Ignez came forward, blushing and smiling, to be presented to her "brave preserver."

She was, evidently, of pure Spanish blood; her pale brunette complexion showing clearly that there was no native mixture in her blue veins; while her eyes, and their lashes and brows, were black as night.

As Pedro surveyed the girl's pure loveliness, not her least attractions seemed to be her necklace, her long pendant ear-rings, her bracelets, and high Spanish comb, all _en suite_--all blood-red rubies, which sparkled all the brighter for the snowy pearls that mingled with them in settings of richly-chased gold, for Pedro Barradas had the eye and heart of a pirate.

Two sisters of the pale and discontented Don Perez were present--Donna Erminia, a tall and magnificent girl (whose broad white shoulders and large proportions made Pedro wish that she had been the merchant's daughter), and little Donna Paula, who was only some ten years old or so, but who seemed a miniature edition of Erminia, with a high comb, fan, and veil, a demure little face, and calm, black, inquiring eyes. She sat on a velvet hassock near the knee of Don Salvador, with whom she was an especial favourite.

All unused to society such as this, Pedro was sorely abashed for a time, till his natural impudence came to his aid. His past education, and his service as a boy in the cathedral church of Orizaba, he now recalled with success, and the knowledge he had gained of clerical matters, served him in his endeavours to cast "dust in the eyes" of the Padre Eizagiuerro as to his real character, and yet, withal, the priest mistrusted him.

He saw that there was something unreal about this Don Pedro--that he was not a gentleman of Spain, or any other place; and as for the Padre Ugarte, he suspected something worse than mere imposture. Yet, veiling the native ferocity of his character, Pedro was now humble, fawning, and discreet--oh! exceedingly discreet! He had a great game to play--a rich end in view.

"We met, senor, once before that accident," said Donna Ignez, looking up with a bright smile in her soft eyes.

"Yes, senora," replied Pedro.

"At the Matriz Church--ah, you remember!"

"Could I ever forget?" was the gallant response.

"And the sermon?'

"It was divine," said Pedro, in a low voice, but yet distinct enough to reach the ear of the padre.

So now they were friends at once, to an extent that cousin Perez could neither understand nor relish.

Though, when inflamed by his potations, a mad ruffian, as we have shown by his proceedings on board the _Hermione_, Pedro was not altogether destitute of the subtle art of winning female favour--the art in which his father excelled so fatally, and which was the only inheritance he had left him--so he exerted every energy to please the fair young Ignez, and to use with industry the time that fortune gave him.

So, after detailing a very bloody engagement between the ships of the Federals and Confederates, in which he alleged he was wounded and left for dead on the enemy's deck, he suddenly affected to discover a new source for deep interest in Donna Ignez--a close and most remarkable resemblance which she bore to "a sister, whom he loved dearly."

"Where does she reside?" asked Donna Erminia; "in Spain?"

"Dear old Spain, of which papa talks so much," added her cousin Ignez.

"Alas! no," said Pedro, beginning to cudgel his invention.

"Is she dead?" asked Ignez, gently.

"No."

"Then she must be married, of course?" said little Donna Paula, fanning herself with all the air of her great-grandmother.

"No--she became a nun, in spite of my advice," said Pedro, sighing; "one of the sisters of Santa Clara."

"Where, senor?" asked Erminia; "we are very curious, you see; but it is the privilege of our sex."

"At Orizaba; and it was long before our good friend, the bishop, who was her godfather----"

"Ah, you know the Bishop of Orizaba, do you, senor?" said the Padre Eizagiuerro, coming suddenly forward.

"Perfectly, padre," replied Pedro, wishing his tongue had been bitten off.

"Probably you have heard the story of the miraculous image, which came back to the cathedral in the night?"

"Yes; but at that time I was on board the _Florida_."

"I have just had a letter from the bishop about it."

"Indeed, padre," stammered Pedro, beginning to feel far from comfortable, as the padre began to search the pockets of his soutan.

"Dear me--dear me----where can I have put it?--he is an old college friend of mine--I have left it in my vestry; but, senor, you will be glad to learn that they have now distinct traces of the impious thief, who so sacrilegiously stole the thirteen diamond stars and the golden aureole from the holy image of Our Lady."

Pedro, who had hitherto been piling falsehood upon falsehood, winced at this communication, and felt himself grow pale; but, to his infinite relief, the padre turned away to address Don Salvador.

"Talking of thieves, ladies," said Pedro, "I had a robber encounter last night, on the hills above Valparaiso."

"An encounter--_Madre de Dios_--of what nature?"

And, thereupon, Pedro proceeded to detail a very spirited scuffle, in which he must have perished, as he had at least fifteen assailants, but for the unexpected arrival of his servant, the faithful Zuares.

"The man you lost at Valparaiso, senor?" said Moreno.

"Exactly--the same brave fellow."

"Oh, Don Pedro, this is romance upon romance!" exclaimed Ignez, as, with two very white hands, she smoothed back the dark masses of her magnificent hair, evidently greatly pleased with the impostor, to whose rhodomontades she listened as a charming and romantic young lady, whose life has just been saved by a striking, athletic, and imposing dark stranger, may be supposed to do.

Her cousin and _fiancé_, who had clung for life or death to the keel of the pinnace, which he had overset by mismanagement, was fearfully at a discount--even little Donna Paula did not mind him a bit; and of this state of matters Don Pedro Florez, cousin of the Marshal Duke de Serrano, hastened ito make the best use, for he could temper his assurance with vast art when he chose, affecting actually to be timid and shy--he "had always been so, when studying at Salamanca," as he whispered to Ignez, when seated at the piano.

He soon cherished a love (if we may call it so) for this unsuspecting girl; but, like the love that Hawkshaw bore for Ethel Basset, the lust of lucre was its basis--recklessness and obstinacy did the rest.

On the other hand, a long, weary, and somewhat tame engagement with her cousin--an understood affair, that had lasted all her girlhood--rendered Ignez, perhaps, more open to the advances of a stranger, by the very novelty of his attentions.

After making an appointment to drive with the whole party to the beautiful valley of Mepooho next day, Pedro returned to his hotel extremely well pleased with himself, and just in time to prevent Zuares, who had been imbibing too freely in the Reeoba, or market-place, from being carried off by the horse-police, for drawing his knife on the waiters, kissing the chambermaids, and other little eccentricities.

Pedro made such admirable use of the opportunities afforded by that expedition to the valley, and others, in which the young ladies took him to see the Jesuits' Church, the Chapel of Our Lady del Rosario, the great Church of La Campagnia, and other public sights, that he had thrice spoken of love to Ignez, who only blushed and smiled, but did not forbid him, or seek to avoid the subject, unless when Perez or her father were within hearing, when a quick warning glance from her charming eyes withheld him. Thus the heedless girl, unfortunately for herself, established with him a species of secret understanding, which made Pedro conceive a very daring scheme indeed--to compel her to become his by a _coup-de-main_, as he dreaded the result of the padre's correspondence with the bishop, and an exposure of his escapade at the Posada de San Augustin.

More than one painful and unpleasant scene ensued between Ignez and her cousin Perez now. She was piqued, and he was furious; hence the coldness that ensued between them favoured the adventurous Pedro. Yet poor Don Perez loved the wilful girl to distraction, as the phrase is.

He was too feeble to compete in bodily strength with such a bulky ruffian as Pedro, and was too honourable to resort to secret means of getting rid of him. Failing with Ignez herself, he disdained to apply for the intervention of her father's authority, and yet he saw daily, yea, hourly, how, misled by her imagination alone, the heart of his beautiful cousin was being corrupted, warped and turned from him.

"Why is this?--how is this?--answer me, Ignez?" he once asked her, imploringly.

"He saved me," said she, with her sweet face half averted from him, "when you left me to perish."

"Ignez!" exclaimed the young man, in a voice of shame and agony.

"It is true, cousin Perez."

"I cannot swim--I have told you so a hundred times."

"Then you should learn, my poor Perez."

"I could but shout for succour."

"And _he_ came!" she said, with heaving breast and flashing eyes.

"Unless assisted by Heaven, I could not have saved you, dear, dear Ignez," said he, almost in tears.

"Then you should have perished with me, if you loved me."

"_If I loved you!_" he repeated, in sorrowful reproach; "but what need was there for perishing, when I saw succour coming?"

"You saw him--you saw him who saved me," continued the pitiless little beauty, with each reply planting an arrow in the heart of poor Perez.

"He saved you for the bribe of a thousand dollars!" said he, scornfully; "all on the mole heard that plain enough."

"In vain do you enviously seek to detract from him, cousin Perez. He saved me for myself--perhaps for himself too," was the still more cutting rejoinder.

"Enough, Senora de Moreno," said Perez, in a towering passion; "I shall yet unmask this piccaroon--this wretched impostor, if to do so should cost me half my fortune!"

As Perez uttered this threat, and retired by one door of the drawing-room, it chanced that the redoubtable and interesting Don Pedro Florez de Serrano entered by another, and these words, which he heard distinctly enough, made that worthy cavalier feel very much as if in a Californian vapour bath--the hottest of such contrivances; and he felt, moreover, there was no time to be lost in getting rid of Don Perez, and bringing matters to issue with Ignez de Moreno.