Part 10

"'As I went over the mountains, I came upon a couple of muleteers directing a file of laden mules; they looked hot and wayworn, so I blew the dust off them, and cooled their feet, and the hoofs of their beasts. As I came near I recognized my friend Pepito, but he no longer looked so happy as of old; his expression was dark and anxious, and it grew gloomier as he listened to some sombre tale his companion was telling.

"'"Are you sure--certain sure?" he exclaimed.

"'"Mas cierto que el reloj, hombre [56]," replied the sinister companion, whom I now also recognized for a fellow of very bad reputation in Pepito's village, and who was said to have vowed vengeance on Dolores because she had married Pepito instead of him.

"'"And if I turn back to-night, I shall find him of whom you speak in my cottage?" continued Pepito, in an agonized tone.

"'"No doubt of it," returned the other.

"'Now I would not believe any ill of Dolores, so I tried what I could to divert their attention. I threw myself so violently against the face of the leading mule as to make her miss her way, and nearly step over the brink of the precipice which the path they were travelling bordered; but Pepito was a practised muleteer, and caught her head in time to prevent an accident. Then I blew his hat over the edge, but he was as good a mountaineer as muleteer, and readily climbed down the steep side after it. I could do no more.

"'Damp mists were gathering along the banks of the Guadalquivir: my mission was to disperse them before they became injurious to health. I might not tarry, so I passed on my way, sighing through the tall trees. But before the sun rose next morning, I contrived to reach Pepito's cottage. No one was stirring, but I easily made my way in through the open windows. There lay in the bed in calm and peaceful slumber, the old man whom I had seen making up his bundle in glad expectation of his visit proving a joyful surprise. The doors and casements rattled for fear, as they always will do when they see me coming, and I was vexed to find my curiosity had thus disturbed the old man's sleep. But there was something worse than my coming to rouse him. First there was a noise of footsteps under the window, then the barking of the watchful dog, then the sound of some one climbing up the wall, then groping his way through the window. The old man started in his bed, nerved with the consciousness that he was the guardian for the time of his son-in-law's property; he hastily disengaged his navaja [57] from his belt by the bedside, and stood up to grapple with the intruder, who, similarly armed, advanced straight into the room with an assurance which showed he was no stranger.

"'Then I perceived that Pepito, misled by his perfidious friend, had returned in the night-time, so as to prove the truth of the report given him. When he found himself confronted by a man's arm, he felt no longer any doubt, but closed upon him in rage and fury. I had no heart to stay and see the result of a fight between two armed and desperate men, but I set up my loudest and most desolate howl, and swept madly through the pueblo [58]. I made the branches of the trees crack, and the fittings of the houses clatter; wherever I saw a door or gate open, I set it banging to and fro, and by a supreme effort, I even moved the great church-bell so that it gave one or two deep tolls. Thus wakened, the people soon heard the cries and recriminations of the combatants, and ran out of their houses in numbers to track the sound.

"'It is part of my fate that I must ever be moving onward; I can never stand still and never go back, though I can make a grand sweep over a large tract of country, and so come round again to a place after a time. It was a long time, however, before I was able to work my way round after this, but one day I happened to overtake my sister the Breeze, and knowing the interest I had taken in the young couple under the parral, she immediately began telling me about them; I desired nothing more than to learn what had befallen them.

"'"Oh," she said, "I hope you will never have to go by there again, you couldn't bear it!"

"'I began to suspect what had happened that fatal night. "Then the neighbours were not in time to part the men after all?" I exclaimed.

"'"They were parted, but both died of their wounds next day."

"'"And Dolores?"

"'"Dolores was so horror-stricken at the dreadful sight, that she entirely lost her reason. Some good people have taken her quite away, far, far off, thinking she may get better in an entirely different scene. But all the time she was here, I used to stir gently through the room to fan her burning forehead when the air was sultry; and I often looked deep into her eyes when they stared so wildly, seeking for Pepito and her father, who she always thought were coming to see her, and I always saw there a look which told me she was not long for this world."

"'"God take her in His mercy!" I exclaimed. "And the parral and the cottage, what of them?"

"'"All left desolate. The hares and the foxes have the grapes to themselves. No one will go to live in the house. No one will even pass by it if they can any how avoid going that way; and I hope you will keep away from it too, brother, for the sight would make you sad indeed."

"'Our ways parted here; and I was not sorry, for my heart was too full for more talk. I need hardly say that on the first opportunity I went to see how the old place looked. And sad enough it seemed; sadder even than now, because the memory of Pepito and Dolores was fresher upon it.

"'I feel so sad whenever I am there, that I moan and sigh, and the simple people say it is Pepito and his father-in-law crying out against each other. Sometimes, wild with anger, I feel ready to crumble the whole place to atoms--and then I dash down beams and stones and branches of trees; and then, again, I fear to lose all the traces I have loved so well, and I blow sand and mould and seeds of creeping plants to bind the scattered portions together, and root them again to the spot.'

"That's a dreadfully sad story, Lolita; it has made me feel shyer than ever of this dreary place."

"The Wind's stories are always melancholy, Ana dear; though you don't know his language, you hear that his tone is always plaintive."

"Then I don't want any more of the Wind's stories. I'll tell you what I like. I like the sights I see in the Sunbeam."

"Oh, tell me what you see in the Sunbeam!"

"Then you must come out of this dreary place, and sit down with me on the sunny bank yonder, and I'll tell you what I have seen."

WHAT ANA SAW IN THE SUNBEAM.

"When I lie on the tomillar [59] and look through the sunbeams," said Ana, "I see all the little sprites getting ready the beautiful colours to paint the flowers and the insects, and the clouds, and others that dye the tree-leaves green and gild the old walls, and others that teach the insects to hum and the birds to sing, and little children to smile.

"Do you know, Lolita," pursued Ana, "when a little baby is put into the cradle for the first, very first time, if the Sunbeam plays upon it, the little sprites always look after that baby, and never forget it, but when it is grown up into a big man or woman they still continue their care. There was once such a little baby, Lolita, born in a poor little cottage; such a poor little cottage, Lolita, that there were no shutters to the windows of any kind, when it was ever so hot the sun all came in, and made the air suffocating, unless the poor mother could pin up an old dress; but it was not often she had one besides the one she had on. So it happened that when this little baby was born, Lolita, the sunbeams were streaming in, with the little sprites all basking in them, and the sprites kissed this little baby, and said, 'Dear little girl, we will never leave you; only be good, and so long as you are good we will see that you shall want for nothing at all.'

"A very little while after, Lolita, that little baby's father died, and you might have said the sprites had forgotten her; but it was not so. They kept their word exactly. She did not know her father had died. Her mother was there, and took care of her, and she was too little to know that other children had more pleasure, so she wanted nothing.

"She did not even know, Lolita, the labour her poor mother had to work for them both, and even when she sang her to sleep with her sad, ceaseless song,--

"En los brazos te tengo, Y considero, ¡Qué será de ti, niño, Si yo me muero [60]!"

she knew nothing of its meaning; her little face was pressed close and warm against her mother's breast, and a flower or a fruit, which the sprites had painted for her, was enough to complete her happiness.

"Before Pura--such was her name--was two years old, her mother died too. But the sprites had not forgotten her, Lolita: her mother had a sister, and when this sister came to the funeral, they had painted Pura's cheeks with such fresh, clear tints, and lit up her baby face with such a bright, sweet smile, that her aunt would not part from her, but took her home and brought her up as her own child, and was to her as a mother.

"The sprites played with her now just as before; and when she was asleep they used to dance on her bed, and say, 'Dear little girl, we will never leave you; only be good, and so long as you are good we will see that you shall want for nothing at all.'

"Meantime, Pura grew up to learn to be useful: she worked in the garden, and kept the house tidy, and fetched the water from the fountain, and did all that Tia [61] Trinidad wanted. She was very good and very obedient, and never wasted her time; her only amusement was lying on the thyme-bed in the sunshine, because then the sprites painted such pretty dreams for her.

"But Tia Trinidad was growing old, and after her there was no other aunt, nor any relation to look after Pura; and though she would not say it aloud to vex Pura, who was always bright and gay, she yet continually repeated in her own mind, just as the poor mother used to sing,--

"En los brazos te tengo, Y considero, ¡Qué será de ti, niño, Si yo me muero!"

"So things looked very bad again, Lolita; but the sprites had not forgotten Pura, as you shall see.

"Tia Trinidad earned her living by waiting on strangers at the little inn down in the village, and as few people came that way, she was often many days without earning a 'chavo [62]. One day, however, there came a great gentleman who had returned from the Indies with a great lot of money; he said he had roamed the world long enough, and seen enough of great cities; he meant now to settle himself in some quiet, remote village, and the only thing he wanted in this world was a nice, good, industrious wife, who would make his home smiling and happy.

"'Then I can fit you to a nicety!' broke in Tia Trinidad, who had been seized with a most diligent dusting fit all the time the traveller had been detailing his plans to the Cura [63] of the village, and had not missed a word.

"'Can you?' said the traveller, not at all displeased at her boldness.

"'That can I,' continued Tia Trinidad, earnestly; 'and there isn't a girl to match her in Madrid, and the Padre Cura will bear me out!'

"'What ... Pura, you mean ... I suppose?' said the Cura, somewhat embarrassed between his desire to speak the truth, and his fear of crushing the--as it seemed to him--exaggerated ideas of his poor parishioner. 'Yes, Pura is a good girl enough;' and he paused to think how much he could say in her favour; 'young, and--pretty, and--simple, and--lively, and--notable altogether, but----'

"'Well,' interrupted the traveller, hastily, 'out with your but! for you have named the very qualities which go to make up my ideal of a wife; speak, hombre [64]!'

"'Well, I mean--I mean, only that she is a little--a little--what shall I say?--a little homely for your wife----'

"'Homely, is it? Oh! if that's all, we sha'n't quarrel. I don't want any of your fine ladies who are only thinking of setting themselves off, and attend to nothing but their toilet! Come, good woman, ask your young friend to allow me to come and see her to-morrow.'

"Too overjoyed to answer, Tia Trinidad set off on the instant at full speed, and ran so fast you could not have told what her gown was made of as she passed. When she reached home, out of breath, she told her niece to adorn the house, and dress herself in her best, for she expected a visitor next morning.

"Pura--who, though now seventeen, still kept up her simple habit of doing whatever she was bid with alacrity--fulfilled the directions given her with great exactness and success, and never thought of asking who or what the visitor was, or what business brought him.

"When the traveller called next morning, and found the room so smiling, the sunbeams playing through the muslin blinds upon the snow-white curtains, the brightly-tinted flowers--which, by the way, the sprites had painted on purpose--so tastefully arranged, and Pura herself looking so neat, and with no thought of display in her head, he was delighted, and left with an air of satisfaction, which convinced Tia Trinidad that all was going on right. Only, as he was going away, he turned and asked Tia Trinidad if Pura could make lace; and Tia Trinidad, who deemed her niece such a pearl that there was nothing she could not do, without thinking, answered "Yes." Nevertheless, poor Pura had had too much labour with the garden and the house-work all her young life to have had leisure for indoor occupation. She could take a turn, indeed, at her aunt's spinning-wheel; but such an accomplishment as making lace she had never practised.

"'Why did you tell the gentleman I knew how to make lace, when I don't, aunt?' she exclaimed, for she could not bear an untruth about the least matter.

"'Well, I did not know what to say, all in the surprise,' replied the good aunt. 'It seemed as if I should give a false impression of your habits, which are so industrious, if I said you could not do any thing he expected of you.'

"'Then why didn't you say that I could spin, and scour, and dig?' answered Pura, ingenuously.

"'Dig, and scour, and spin, indeed! Fine recommendations for his purpose,' rejoined the aunt, mysteriously; and before Pura could ask what on earth this 'purpose' was, a messenger brought in three bobbins of fine black silk, for her to make into a piece of lace, as a proof of her skill.

"'Oh, aunt, what shall we do? What shall we do?' sobbed poor Pura, who could not endure to be thought a deceiver.

"'Don't worry, child,' returned the aunt, 'something or other will turn up. There's nothing so easy as making lace, after all, and three bobbins are gone like winking. You must get through it somehow, for your fate depends upon it.'

"Pura went to bed that night crying; and cried herself to sleep. But very early in the morning, very early indeed, Lolita, the sunbeams woke her--you see the sprites never lost sight of her. And three beautiful sprites--the three who had most care of her--came floating down the Sunbeam. Without saying a word, they took up the bobbins of silk, for they had brought every thing with them that was wanted for making lace, as if they had known all about it, and, rattling them about, en un dos por tres [65], they turned off a splendid mantilla, all made out with flowers, and birds, and every thing you can think of, and then threw it on the bed, and disappeared before Pura had time to recover from her surprise.

"When the stranger called next day, and saw this extraordinary proof of industry and skill, he could hardly believe his eyes, and went away more pleased than the day before.

"'Didn't I tell á su mercé [66] that she was a jewel?' whispered the old lady.

"'I begin to think you did not exaggerate,' answered the traveller.

"And then, turning to Pura, he asked her if she was as perfect in household duties as in accomplishments; whether, for instance, she understood cooking.

"'¡Pues no ha de saber cocer [67]!' interposed the aunt, without allowing Pura time to speak; for she knew the good girl would have answered the strict truth; and she thought as the sprites had got her out of one scrape, they might be trusted to get her out of another.

"In the evening, the messenger came again, this time followed by two other porters, each carrying baskets of provisions, which they set down, with the message that Pura was to make a famous olla podrida, and the gentleman would come in and dine off it the next day.

"Pura's tears fell fast on the beautiful market spoil, on which Tia Trinidad stood feasting her gaze. Never had such a provision of generous diet stood within sight of her hearth! But Pura only reflected on her incapacity to deal with such choice materials, and she knew there was no help to be got from her aunt, to whose cuisine even a piece of bacon was a rare delicacy.

"Pura went to bed that night as sad as the night before, for she kept saying to herself, 'Suppose the gentleman should think it is I who have been deceiving him!'

"But the sprites did not forget her, Lolita. Very early in the morning--very early!--they came in on the Sunbeam, as bright and as beautiful as before; and in a trice they had laid the fire in the stove and blown the charcoal into a fine red glow; then, while one took down the large ollas [68] from the shelf, and filled them with water at the well, one was busy plucking the fowls, and another washing and preparing the vegetables. The vegetables were soon put on in one olla with the bacon; and then the fowls, the ham, the sausages, the tripe, the pigs'-fry, the rolls of lean meat nicely larded and stuffed, all set to stew in another, and all seasoned with the greatest care and delicacy. The whole morning Pura watched the sprites. And though Tia Trinidad saw nothing but the Sunbeam playing about the kitchen, Pura saw them, as they carefully skimmed the pots, added to the liquor or the flavouring, made up or slackened the fire; then, an hour before dinner-time the contents of the two ollas were mingled with care, and once more set on to simmer, while with herbs, and bread-crumbs, and garlic, pimento, and parsley, certain albóndigas gruesas [69] were being made ready, and fried in sparkling oil to a fine golden hue, ready to drop into the olla the moment before serving up.

"The traveller came, faithful to his appointment, and the delicious odours of the olla met him directly he entered the garden-gate, overpowering the perfume of the carnations on the window-sills. Proudly Tia Trinidad bore in the lordly dish, for she knew that never in the palace was a more perfect stew served. The traveller dined with undisguised satisfaction; he confessed it was the ne plus ultra of cooking. Nothing was wanting, of nothing was there too much, every thing was in its due proportion and proved the handiwork of a true artist in cooking.

"'As you understand so well how to prepare this homely dish,' he said, at the close of many compliments, as he took leave, 'I am sure your delicate taste must be equally faultless at confections--I shall ask you to make me a turron [70] to-morrow.'

"Pura, struck dumb with perplexity, was vainly striving to frame some speech by means of which to explain how little part she had had in the performances he had been led to ascribe to her; but while she was yet thinking, her admirer had already plucked a carnation for her hair, and, raising his hand in affectionate farewell, had taken his departure.

"Tia Trinidad busied herself with putting by the remains of the abundant meal: there was meat enough to last her frugal needs a week, and more, and some to spare for a poor neighbour besides.

While she schemed and portioned, Pura, torn by conflicting thoughts, stood still, with the carnation in her hand, gazing after the form of the stranger as he disappeared among the trees, and wondering why she had not courage to run after him and explain all.

"She stood thus leaning against the window-pane, and still gazing, perplexed, hours afterwards, when the same messenger who had visited her on the two evenings before, again appeared, with a load of almonds and filberts, pine-kernels and walnuts, honey and eggs. Pura took the things from him with a heavy heart, for she was much too humble and simple to expect that the sprites could be so kind as to help her again; so she went to bed in as great distress as on the preceding nights. Nevertheless, early in the morning--very early, very soon after sunrise, that is as soon as the sun was up high enough for his beams to get in at her window--in came the three sprites, and, without saying a word, set to work, just as they had the day before; then began such a wonderful bruising, and pounding, and mixing, that Pura soon lost all fear of the work not being performed as perfectly as on the two former occasions. They had not yet half finished their mixing, when all of a sudden she noticed a soft buzzing sound, like the humming of bees, but all in beautiful melody; and then she saw the Sunbeam full of sprites of every hue like living flowers. They were the genii of the flowers, and they wore the very forms of the flowers, their bright petals making so many wings, and they came and poured each its own perfumed nectar into the confection, giving it a flavour such as no turron, of earth at least, ever possessed before.

"'We have done all these things for you,' said the sprites, when they had completed their handiwork; 'now, we want you to do one thing for us.'

"'Oh, whatever you like! only tell me any thing I can do!' answered Pura, with a ready grace.

"'Well, it is this. We know three poor girls, very poor and very sick; they are all terribly deformed cripples. They are so deformed and so ugly that they live in the hospital, and never get asked any where. It would be such a pleasure to them to come to your wedding-fête. They will be no ornament to it, I know; but still, will you let them come?'

"'Oh, yes; to be sure, poor things;' answered Pura, with grateful and charitable alacrity; 'that is, whenever I get married. But who would marry a poor penniless orphan-girl, who can do nothing? More likely I shall have to go to the hospital too, when aunt dies.'

"'Oh, no; you're going to be married very soon, to that traveller who has been here so often.'

"'What; to that kind, handsome gentleman!' cried Pura, in raptures. But a moment after, a cloud stole over her joyous countenance; and, hiding her face in her hands, she said, sadly, 'No; that can never be. I dread even to meet him again, because we have been deceiving him. Oh, it was very wrong; I would not have done it for the world if I had had time to speak. If he wants to marry me, it's because he thinks I'm so clever; and when he finds I can do nothing he will turn his back, and that is not the worst. When he finds he is deceived, and I can do nothing, oh, how he will despise me!' And she sobbed again.

"'No, it is not because you are clever,' answered the sprites; 'it is because you are good. If you have not learned more, it is because you had not the opportunity. You have always been industrious at doing what you did understand; and as to deceiving him, that has never been your will and intention. So cheer up! we will make it all right. Only don't forget to invite the three poor girls from the hospital to the feast.' And the sprites floated away on the sunbeam.

"'Be sure I shall not forget them, poor things!' cried Pura after them.

"The next day the stranger came again; and having tasted the exquisite turron, which seemed indeed to have been perfumed by no ordinary taste, he told Tia Trinidad he hoped she would let him marry her niece at once.

"There was nothing the old lady desired more; for she had inquired about him meantime, and found he was a worthy man, as well as abundantly supplied with this world's goods; so all was speedily arranged.