At the Point of the Sword Part 40

"Why, all this tomfoolery! Fancy a masked ball with Canterac in the mountains ready to swoop down on us at any moment!"

"The more reason why we should enjoy ourselves while we can. Besides, you are as bad as the rest: you promised to go!"

"I have forgotten it, then."

"Well, you did; so make haste--the carriage is waiting."

"I have no dress ready," said I coldly.

"That doesn't matter in the least. Go in your uniform; you look very well in it."

"Thanks, I prefer to stay here."

"You forget the ball is given in our honour! Colonel Miller won't be too pleased at finding you absent. 'Twill be a slight on our host and hostess."

"Very well, if you put it that way, I'll join you in the messroom shortly," said I indifferently.

"That's right. Slip your things on sharp; the animals will get restive."

Alzura was in high spirits. He loved fun of all kinds, and this ball was just to his taste. Plaza and Cordova shared our carriage, and both of them rallied me on my glum looks.

"Crawford's a bloodthirsty fellow," cried Alzura banteringly--"never happy unless he's fighting!"

"That's a libel!" said I warmly; "I'm sick of the whole thing. When this war's over, I hope never to hear a shot fired again."

"Be easy," laughed Cordova; "you'll be an old man by then, and too deaf to hear even the report of a pistol."

"There may be more truth in that than you think," I observed, bitterly.

"Never mind, my boy," said Plaza; "you won't hear any shots fired to-night. There's no great harm in enjoying ourselves for an hour or two. Here we are! What a crowd outside!--Put on your mask, Alzura; the people will like the fun."

There was a roar of laughter from the spectators as Alzura, appeared, and we went into the hall amidst a round of cheering. Most of the guests wore some fanciful costume, but several officers, Miller and O'Brien among them, were in uniform.

The magnificent _salons_ were illuminated by thousands of lights; the guests were numerous, and represented most of the beauty and wealth of Lima. My father and mother had not come, neither did I see Montilla.

Rosa, of course, would have scorned to attend a ball given to the Patriots.

Despite the lights and the music and the striking gaiety of the scene, I could not banish my feeling of dread. I felt, as people say, that "something was going to happen," and moved listlessly among the brilliant a.s.sembly, wondering what it would be.

"You look bored, Crawford," remarked O'Brien, coming across to me. "Is anything the matter?"

"No, thanks; I'm a bit off colour--that's all."

"Would you rather be in the mountains?" asked Colonel Miller, who had joined us.

"It depends on circ.u.mstances, colonel," I replied, trying to smile.

When they had left me, I fell back on my occupation of gazing indifferently at the brilliant scene. I could take no interest in it, nor in the chaff and nonsense of my friends, who tried hard to make me more like myself. It seemed that in some mysterious way I was waiting for something, though what I could not imagine. When the summons actually came, I was not in the least surprised.

Alzura, who brought it me, had no idea he was a.s.sisting at a tragedy, but, with a merry laugh, exclaimed, "Crawford, there is a lady outside waiting to see you; she will not leave her carriage."

"Who is it?" I asked.

"I don't know; I haven't seen her. A servant gave me the message, and I set off to find you."

"Thanks," said I quietly, and crossing the brilliantly-lit _salon_, took my cap and went into the vast hall.

Who had come for me--my mother? That was my first thought, but a moment's reflection showed that it was unlikely. Had there been anything wrong at home, she would have sent Jose on a swift horse. The answer to my question came as I stood on the flight of steps leading to the hall. The crowd of people had dispersed, and only a solitary carriage with its attendants stood at the door. Recognizing the Montilla livery in an instant, I ran down the steps with a beating heart.

The carriage door was open, and the light from the hall fell full on the white face of Rosa.

"What has happened?" I cried. "Why do you look so frightened? Tell me, quick!"

Her only answer was to bid me step inside. The footman sprang to his place, the coachman gathered up the reins, the carriage turned with a swing, and almost before I realized it we were off at a gallop. The girl's face was hidden now in darkness, but I had seen it for a moment, and could not forget it. She was white and scared; her cheeks were tear-stained, and her eyes full of apprehension and grief.

Some terrible disaster had happened, but I could not learn what it was.

To all my questions she replied, "Home! home!" and ordered the coachman to drive faster. Then she burst into a fit of crying, uttering incoherent words, of which I could make nothing.

"Is it your father, Rosa?" I asked. "Has anything happened to him?"

At which she cried still more, upbraiding me for I knew not what.

The gates of the hacienda were wide open. We pa.s.sed through at a gallop, and the trembling, foam-covered horses drew up at the front door. As soon as the carriage came to a standstill, I jumped out and a.s.sisted Rosa to alight. All the servants seemed to have gathered in the hall. Their faces were white, their eyes wild with dread; some of them still s.h.i.+vered. Evidently a great calamity had occurred. What was it?

Looking around, I noted the absence of Don Felipe. That gave me a clue to the nature of the disaster. Perhaps he lay dead in his room; perhaps the government, suspecting him of treachery, had torn him away.

I did not hit on the exact truth, but my conjectures went very near it.

Rosa's wild fit had pa.s.sed; she was no longer a weeping girl, but an imperious mistress. Her tears were dried; she had banished her fear.

There was a light of scorn and command in her eyes.

"Away, cowards!" she cried. "Do you call yourselves men, and would not try to save your master? Begone!" and she stamped her foot in pa.s.sion.

The servants slunk off abashed, and she led me along the corridor. The door of her father's room was closed, but she opened it, and said, "Come in, Juan; see your friends' handiwork!"

The apartment was in total disorder. Chairs were overthrown; the table was stripped of its contents; all kinds of articles lay strewn about the floor: there were very evident signs of a fierce and prolonged struggle. On one wall was the mark of a bullet, and a corner of the apartment was splashed with blood. I gazed round eagerly for Montilla's body, but it was not there.

"See," said the girl, "he was sitting there when the ruffians burst in upon him. He fought for his life like a cavalier of old Spain, but the cowards were too many. They flung themselves upon him like a pack of wolves, and bore him to the ground."

"But who were they?" I asked in amazement. "Who did it? Tell me plainly what happened."

"Need you ask?" she said coldly. "The ruffians were your friends--your servants, for all I know."

"Rosa, you are speaking wildly. I do not wonder at it: this terrible affair has upset your nerves."

Then she turned upon me, her eyes blazing with angry scorn.

"What is it that you wear beneath your tunic, Juan Crawford?" she cried. "Are you ashamed that it should be seen?"

At first I did not understand her meaning; then a glimmer of the truth began to dawn on me, and slowly I drew out the silver key.

"Do you mean this?"