Home > Authors Index > William MacLeod Raine > Daughter of the Dons; A Story of New Mexico Today > This page
A Daughter of the Dons; A Story of New Mexico Today, a novel by William MacLeod Raine |
||
Chapter 19. Valencia Accepts A Ring |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER XIX. VALENCIA ACCEPTS A RING
"Where have you been? What have you done with Sebastian? Why did you leave without telling me about it?" she demanded. "One question at a time, my cousin," he answered, smiling at her. "But let us walk while I tell you." She fell into step beside him, moving with the strong, lissom tread that came from controlled and deliberate power. "What is it you have to tell? If you were called away, why did you not leave a message for me?" she asked, a little imperiously. "I wasn't called away, Valencia. You were excited and angry. My opinion was that Sebastian would speak if the matter was put to him right. So I cut the rope that tied him and we ran away through the back door of the hotel." Her dark eyes, proud and passionate, began to smoulder. But the voice with which she answered him was silken smooth. "I see. You pretended to be working with me--and then you betrayed me. Is that it?" "If you like," he said with a little shrug. "I backed my judgment against your impatience. And it turns out that I was right." "How? What has happened? Where is Sebastian?" "He is galloping toward the hills as fast as he can--at least I hope he is. What happened is that he told me where Gordon is hidden." "Where?" "At your house. When you were there to-day you must have passed within twenty feet of him." "But--do you mean that Pablo and Sebastian took him there?" "Exactly. They did not foresee that you would come to town, Valencia." He added, after a moment: "I have seen Mr. Gordon, talked with him, and released him. At this moment he is in your brother's room, probably asleep." All the sharpness had died out of the young woman's voice when she turned to her cousin and spoke with a humility rare to her. "Forgive me, Manuel. I always know best about everything. I drive ahead and must have my own way, even when it is not the wise one. You did just right to ignore me." She laid her hand on his coat sleeve pleadingly, and he lifted it to his lips. "_Nina_ ... the Queen can do no wrong. But I saw you were driving Sebastian to stubbornness. I tried to let him see we meant to be his friends if he would let us." "Yes, you were right. Tell me everything, please." She paused just a moment before she said quietly: "But first, what about Mr. Gordon? He is ... uninjured?" "Beaten and mauled and starved, but still of the gayest courage," answered the Spaniard with enthusiasm. "Did I not say that he was a hero? My cousin, I say it again. The fear of death is not in his heart." He did not see the gleam in her dark eyes, the flush that beat into her dusky face. "Starved as well as beaten, Manuel?" "They were trying to force him to give up his claim to the valley. But he--as I live the American is hard as Gibraltar." "They dared to starve him--to torture him. I shall see that they are punished," she cried with the touch of feminine ferocity that is the heritage of the south. "No need, Valencia," returned Pesquiera with a dry little laugh. "Mr. Gordon has promised himself to attend to that." He told her the story from first to last. Intently she listened, scarce breathing until he had finished. Manuel had told the tale with scrupulous fairness, but already her sympathies were turning. "And he wouldn't agree not to prosecute?" she asked. "No. It is his right to do so if he likes, Valencia." She brushed this aside with an impatient wave of her hand. "Oh, his right! Doesn't he owe something to us--to me--and especially to you?" "No, he owes me nothing. What I did was done for you, and not for him," the Spaniard replied instantly. "Then to me at least he is in debt. I shall ask him to drop the prosecution." "He is what his people call straight. But he is hard--hard as jade." They were walking along a dark lane unlighted save by the stars. Valencia turned to him impetuously. "Manuel, you are good. You do not like this man, but you save him because--because my heart is torn when my people do wrong. For me you take much trouble--you risk much. How can I thank you?" "_Nina mia_, I am thanked if you are pleased. It is your love I seek, Heart of mine." He spoke tremulously, taking her hands in his. For the beat of a heart she hesitated. "You have it. Have I not given my word that--after the American was saved----?" He kissed her. Hers was a virginal soul, but full-blooded. An unsuspected passion beat in her veins. Not for nothing did she have the deep, languorous eyes, the perfect scarlet lips, the sumptuous grace of an artist's ideal. Fires lay banked within her in spite of the fine purity of her nature. Nature had poured into her symmetrical mold a rich abundance of what we call sex. The kisses of Manuel stirred within her new and strange emotions, though she accepted rather than returned them. A faint vague unease chilled her heart. Was it because she had been immodest in letting him so far have his way? When they returned to the hotel Manuel's ring was on her finger. She was definitely engaged to him. It was long before she slept. She thought of Manuel, the man chosen it seemed by Fate to be her mate. But she thought, too, of the lithe, broad-shouldered young American whose eyes could be so tender and again so hard. Why was it he persisted in filling her mind so much of the time? Why did she both admire him and resent his conduct, trust him to the limit one hour and distrust the next? Why was it that he--an unassuming American without any heroics--rather than her affianced lover seemed to radiate romance as he moved? She liked Manuel very much, she respected him greatly, trusted him wholly, but--it was this curly-headed youth of her mother's race that set her heart beating fast a dozen times a day. She resolved resolutely to put him out of her mind. Had he not proved himself unworthy by turning the head of Juanita, whom he could not possibly expect to marry? Was not Manuel in every way worthy of her love? Her finger touched the diamond ring upon her hand. She would keep faith in thought as well as in word and deed. At last she fell asleep--and dreamed of a blond, gray-eyed youth fighting for his life against a swarm of attacking Mexicans. _ |
||