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The Purple Land

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I then minutely examined all the other horses, and finally finished
the farce by leading out the roan cream-nose, and was pleased to notice
the crestfallen expression of my good shepherd.

"Your horses do not suit me," I said, "so I cannot buy one. I will,
however, purchase this old cow; for it is the only animal here I could
trust my wife on. You can have seven dollars for it--not one copper
more, for, like the Emperor of China, I speak once only."

He plucked off his purple headgear and scratched his raven head, then
led me back to the kitchen to consult his wife, "For, señor," he said,
"you have, by some fatality, selected her horse." When Cleta heard
that seven dollars had been offered for the roan, she laughed with
joy. "Oh, Antonio, he is only worth six dollars! Yes, señor, you shall
have him, and pay the seven dollars to me. Not to my husband. Who will
say now that I cannot make money? And now, Antonio, I have no horse
to ride on, you can give me the bay with white forefeet."

"Do not imagine such a thing!" exclaimed her husband.

After taking _maté_ I left them to settle their affairs, not
doubting which would come out best from a trial of skill. When I arrived
in sight of Peralta's trees I unsaddled and picketed my horses, then
stretched myself out on my rugs. After the excitements and pleasures
of that day, which had robbed me of my siesta, I quickly fell into a
very sound sleep.




CHAPTER XXVII


When I woke I did not remember for some moments where I was. Feeling
about me, my hand came in contact with the grass wet with dew. It was
very dark, only low down in the sky a pale gleam of light gave promise,
as I imagined, of coming day. Then recollection flashed upon me, and
I sprang up alarmed to my feet, only to discover with inexpressible
relief that the light I had remarked was in the west, not the east,
and proceeded from the young moon just sinking beneath the horizon.
Saddling my two animals expeditiously, I rode to Peralta's _estancia,
and on arriving there carefully drew the horses into the shadow of a
clump of trees growing on the borders of the ancient, wellnigh
obliterated foss or ditch. I then dropped on to the ground so as to
listen better for approaching footsteps, and began waiting for Demetria.
It was past midnight: not a sound reached me except at intervals the
mournful, far-away, reedy note of the little nocturnal cicada that
always seemed to be there lamenting the lost fortunes of the house of
Peralta. For upwards of half an hour I remained lying on the ground,
growing more anxious every moment and fearing that Demetria was going
to fail me, when I caught a sound like a human whisper. Listening
intently, I found that it pronounced my name and proceeded from a clump
of tall thorn-apples some yards from me.

"Who speaks?" I replied.

The tall, gaunt form of Ramona drew itself up out of the weeds and
cautiously approached me. She was shaking with nervous excitement, and
had not ventured to come near without speaking for fear of being
mistaken for an enemy and fired at.

"Mother of Heaven!" she exclaimed, as well as her chattering teeth
would allow her to speak. "I have been so agitated all the evening!
Oh, señor, what are we to do now? Your plan was such a good one; when
I heard it I knew an angel had flown down and whispered it in your
ear. And now my mistress will not stir! All her things are
ready--clothes, money, jewels; and for the last hour we have been
urging her to come out, but nothing will serve. She will not see you,
señor."

"Is Don Hilario in the house?"

"No, he is out--could anything have been better? But it is useless,
she has lost heart and will not come. She only sits crying in her room,
saying that she cannot look on your face again."

"Go and tell her that I am here with the horses waiting for her," I
said.

"Señor, she knows you are here. Santos watched for you and hastened
in to inform her of your arrival. Now she has sent me out only to say
that she cannot meet you, that she thanks you for all you have done,
and begs you to go away and leave her."

I was not greatly surprised at Demetria's reluctance to meet me at the
last moment, but was determined not to leave without first seeing her
and trying to change her mind. Securing the horses to a tree, I went
with Ramona to the house. Stealing in on tiptoe, we found Demetria in
that room where she had received me the evening before in her quaint
finery, lying on the sofa, while old Santos stood by her the picture
of distress. The moment she saw me enter she covered her face with her
hands and turned from me. Yet a glance was sufficient to show that
with or without her consent everything had been got ready for her
flight. On a chair near her lay a pair of saddle-bags in which her few
belongings had been stowed; a mantilla was drawn half over her head,
and by her side was a large woollen shawl, evidently intended to protect
her against the night air.

"Santos," I said, "go out to the horses under the trees and wait there
for us; and you, Ramona, say good-bye now to your mistress, then leave
us together; for by and by she will recover courage and go with me."

Santos, looking immensely relieved and grateful, though a little
surprised at my confident tone, was hurrying out when I pointed to the
saddle-bags. He nodded, grinned, and, snatching them up, left the room.
Poor old Ramona threw herself on to her knees, sobbing and pouring out
farewell blessings on her mistress, kissing her hands and hair with
sorrowful devotion.

When she left us I sat down by Demetria's side, but she would not takeher
hands from her face or speak to me, and only wept hysterically
when I addressed her. I succeeded at last in getting one of her hands
in mine, and then drew her head gently down till it rested on my
shoulder. When her sobs began to subside I said:

"Tell me, dear Demetria, have you lost faith in me that you fear to
trust yourself with me now?"

"No, no, Richard, it is not that," she faltered. "But I can never look
into your face again. If you have any compassion for me you will leave
me now."

"What, leave you, Demetria, my sister, to that man--how can you imagine
such a thing? Tell me, where is Don Hilario--is he coming back
to-night?"

"I know nothing. He may come back at any moment. Leave me, Richard;
every minute you remain here increases your danger." Then she attempted
to draw away from me, but I would not release her.

"If you fear his returning to-night, then it is time for you to come
with me," I answered.

"No, no, no, I cannot. All is changed now. It would kill me with shame
to look on your face again."

"You shall look on it again many times, Demetria. Do you think that
after coming here to rescue you out of the coils of that serpent I am
going to leave you because you are a little timid? Listen, Demetria,
I shall save you from that devil to-night, even if I have to carry you
out in my arms. Afterwards we can consider all there is to be done
about your father and your property. Perhaps when the poor Colonel is
taken out of this sad atmosphere, his health, his reason even, may
improve."

"Oh, Richard, are you deceiving me?" she exclaimed, suddenly dropping
her hands and gazing full into my face.

"No, I am not deceiving you. And now you will lose all fear, Demetria,
for you have looked into my face again and have not been changed to
stone."

She turned crimson in a moment; but did not attempt to cover her face
again, for just then a clatter of hoofs was heard approaching the
house.

"Mother of Heaven, save us!" she exclaimed in terror. "It is Don
Hilario."

I quickly blew out the one candle burning dimly in the room. "Fear
nothing," I said. "When all is quiet, after he has gone to his room,
we will make our escape."

She was trembling with apprehension and nestled close to me; while we
both listened intently and heard Don Hilario unsaddle his horse, then
going softly, whistling to himself, to his room.

"Now he has shut himself up," I said, "and in a few minutes will be
asleep. When you think of that man whose persecutions have made your
life a burden, so that you tremble when he approaches you, do you not
feel glad that I have come to take you away?"

"Richard, I could go willingly with you to-night but for one thing.
Do you think after what has passed that I could ever face your wife?"

"She will know nothing of what has passed, Demetria. It would be
dishonourable in me and a cruel injustice to you to speak to her of
it. She will welcome you as a dear sister and love you as much as I
love you. All these doubts and fears troubling you are very
unsubstantial and can be blown away like thistle-down. And now that
you have confessed so much to me, Demetria, I wish to confess also the
one thing that troubles my heart."

"What is it, Richard, tell me?" she said very gently.

"Believe me, Demetria, I never had a suspicion that you loved me. Your
manner did not show it, otherwise I should have told you long ago all
about my past. I only knew you regarded me as a friend and one you
could trust. If I have been mistaken all along, Demetria, if you have
really felt a passion in your heart, then I shall have to lament
bitterly that I have been the cause of a lasting sorrow to you. Will
you not open your heart more to me and tell me frankly how it is with
you?"

She caressed my hand in silence for a little while, and then answered,
"I think you were right, Richard. Perhaps I am not capable of passion
like some women. I felt--I knew that you were my friend. To be near
you was like sitting in the shade of a green tree in some hot, desolate
place. I thought it would be pleasant to sit there always and forget
the bitter years. But, Richard, if you will always be my friend--my
brother, I shall be more than content, and my life will seem different."

"Demetria, how happy you have made me! Come, the serpent is sleeping
now, let us steal away and leave him to his evil dreams. God grant
that I may return some day to bruise his head with my heel."

Then, wrapping the shawl about her, I led her out, treading softly,
and in a few moments we were with Santos, patiently keeping watch
beside the horses.

I gladly let him assist Demetria to her seat on the side-saddle, for
that was perhaps the last personal service he would be able to render
her. The poor old fellow was crying, I believe, his utterance was so
husky. Before leaving I gave him on a scrap of paper my address in
Montevideo, and bade him take it to Don Florentino Blanco with a request
to write me a letter in the course of the next two or three days to
inform me of Don Hilario's movements. We then trotted softly away over
the sward, and in about half an hour struck the road leading from Rocha
to Montevideo. This we followed till daylight, scarcely pausing once
from our swift gallop, and a hundred times during that dark ride over
a country utterly unknown to me I blessed the little witch Cleta; for
never was there a more steady, sure-footed beast than the ugly roan
that carried my companion, and when we drew rein in the pale morning
light he seemed fresh as when we started. We then left the highway and
rode across country in a north-westerly direction for a distance of
eight or nine miles, for I was anxious to be far away from public roads
and from the prying, prating people that use them. About eleven o'clock
that morning we had breakfast at a _rancho,_ then rode on again
till we came to a forest of scattered thorn-trees growing on the slopes
of a range of hills. It was a wild, secluded spot, with water and good
pasturage for the horses and pleasant shade for ourselves; so, after
unsaddling and turning loose our horses to feed, we sat down to rest
under a large tree with our backs against its portly trunk. From our
shady retreat we commanded a splendid view of the country over which
we had been riding all the morning, extending for many leagues behind
us, and while I smoked my cigar I talked to my companion, calling her
attention to the beauty of that wide, sunlit prospect.

"Do you know, Demetria," I said, "when the long winter evenings come,
and I have plenty of leisure, I intend writing a history of my
wanderings in the Banda Oriental, and I will call my book _The Purple
Land;_ for what more suitable name can one find for a country so
stained with the blood of her children? You will never read it, of
course, for I shall write it in English, and only for the pleasure it
will give to my own children--if I ever have any--at some distant date,
when their little moral and intellectual stomachs are prepared for
other food than milk. But you will have a very important place in my
narrative, Demetria, for during these last days we have been very much
to each other. And perhaps the very last chapter will recount this
wild ride of ours together, flying from that evil genius Hilario to
some blessed refuge far away beyond the hills and woods and the blue
line of the horizon. For when we reach the capital I believe--I think--I
know, in fact--"

I hesitated to tell her that it would probably be necessary for me to
leave the country immediately, but she did not encourage me to go on,
and, glancing round, I discovered that she was fast asleep.

Poor Demetria, she had been dreadfully nervous all night and almost
afraid to stop to rest anywhere, but now her fatigue had quite overcome
her. Her position against the tree was uncomfortable and insecure, so,
drawing her head very gently down until it rested on my shoulder, and
shading her eyes with her mantilla, I let her sleep on. Her face looked
strangely worn and pallid in that keen noonday light, and, gazing on
it while she slumbered, and remembering all the dark years of grief
and anxiety she had endured down to that last pain of which I had been
the innocent cause, I felt my eyes grow dim with compassion.

After sleeping for about two hours she woke with a start, and was
greatly distressed to learn that I had been supporting her all that
time. But after that refreshing slumber a change seemed to come over
her. Not only her great fatigue, but the tormenting apprehensions had
very nearly vanished. Out of the nettle Danger she had plucked the
flower Safety, and now she could rejoice in its possession and was
filled with new life and spirits. The unaccustomed freedom and exercise,
with constant change of scene, also had an exhilarating effect on mind
and body. A new colour came into her pale cheeks; the purple stains
telling of anxious days and sleepless nights faded away; she smiled
brightly and was full of animation, so that on that long journey,
whether resting in the noonday shade or swiftly cantering over the
green turf, I could not have had a more agreeable companion than
Demetria. This change in her often made me remember Santos' pathetic
words when he told of the ravages of grief, and said that another life
would make his mistress a "flower amongst women." It was a comfort
that her affection for me had been, indeed, nothing but affection. But
what was I to do with her in the end? for I knew that my wife was most
anxious to return without further delay to her own country; and yet
it seemed to me that it would be a hard thing to leave poor Demetria
behind amongst strangers. Finding her so improved in spirits, I at
length ventured to speak to her on the subject. At first she was
depressed, but presently, recovering courage, she begged to be allowed
to go with us to Buenos Ayres. The prospect of being left alone was
unendurable to her, for in Montevideo she had no personal friends,
while the political friends of her family were all out of the country,
or living in very close retirement. Across the water she would be with
friends and safe for a season from her dreaded enemy. This proposal
seemed a very sensible one, and relieved my mind very much, although
it only served to remove my difficulty for a time.

In the department of Camelones, about six leagues from Montevideo, I
found the house of a fellow-countryman named Barker, who had lived for
many years in the country and had a wife and children. We arrived in
the afternoon at his estancia, and, seeing that Demetria was very much
knocked up with our long journey, I asked Mr. Barker to give us shelter
for the night. Our host was very kind and pleasant with us, asking no
disagreeable questions, and after a few hours' acquaintance, which
made us quite intimate, I took him aside and told him Demetria's
history, whereupon, like the good-hearted fellow he was, he at once
offered to shelter her in his house until matters could be arranged
in Montevideo, an offer which was joyfully accepted.




CHAPTER XXVIII


I was soon back in Montevideo after that. When I bade Demetria good-bye
she appeared reluctant to part with me, retaining my hand in hers for
an unusual time. For the first time in her life, probably, she was
about to be left in the company of entire strangers, and for many days
past we had been much to each other, so that it was only natural she
should cling to me a little at parting. Once more I pressed her hand
and exhorted her to be of good courage, reminding her that in a very
few days all trouble and danger would be over; still, however, she did
not release my hand. This tender reluctance to lose me was affecting
and also flattering, but slightly inopportune, for I was anxious to
be in the saddle and away. Presently she said, glancing down at her
rusty habiliments, "Richard, if I am to remain concealed here till I
go to join you on board, then I must meet your wife in these poor
garments."

"Oh, _that_ is what you are thinking about, Demetria!" I exclaimed.

At once I called in our kind hostess, and when this serious matter was
explained to her she immediately offered to go to Montevideo to procure
the necessary outfit, a thing I had thought nothing about, but which
had evidently been preying on Demetria's mind.

When I at length reached the little suburban retreat of my aunt (by
marriage), Paquíta and I acted for some time like two demented persons,
so overjoyed were we at meeting after our long separation. I had
received no letters from her, and only two or three of the score I had
written had reached their destination, so that we had ten thousand
questions to ask and answers to make. She could never gaze enough at
me or finish admiring my bronzed skin and the respectable moustache
I had grown; while she, poor darling! looked unusually pale, yet withal
so beautiful that I marvelled at myself for having, after possessing
her, considered any other woman even passably good-looking. I gave her
a circumstantial account of my adventures, omitting only a few matters
I was in honour bound not to disclose.

Thus, when I told her the story of my sojourn at the _estancia_
Peralta, I said nothing to betray Demetria's confidence; nor did I
think it necessary to mention the episode of that wicked little sprite,
Cleta; with the result that she was pleased at the chivalrous conduct
I had displayed throughout the whole of that affair, and was ready to
take Demetria to her heart.

I had not been back twenty-four hours in Montevideo before a letter
from the Lomas de Rocha storekeeper came to justify my caution in
having left Demetria at some distance from the town. The letter informed
me that Don Hilario had quickly guessed that I had carried off his
unhappy master's daughter, and that no doubt was left in his mind when
he discovered that, on the day I left the _estancia_, a person
answering to my description in every particular had purchased a horse
and side-saddle and had ridden off towards the _estancia_ in the
evening. My correspondent warned me that Don Hilario would be in
Montevideo even before his letter, also that he had discovered something
about my connection with the late rebellion, and would be sure to place
the matter in the hands of the government, so as to have me arrested,
after which he would have little difficulty in compelling Demetria to
return to the _estancia_.

For a moment this intelligence dismayed me. Luckily, Paquíta was out
of the house when it came, and fearing that she might return and
surprise me while I was in that troubled state, I rushed out; then,
skulking through back streets and narrow lanes, peering cautiously
about in fear of encountering the minions of the law, I made my escape
out of the town. My only desire just then was to get away into some
place of safety where I would be able to think over the position
quietly, and if possible devise some plan to defeat Don Hilario, who
had been a little too quick for me. Of many schemes that suggested
themselves to my mind, while I sat in the shade of a cactus hedge about
a mile from town, I finally determined, in accordance with my old and
well-tried rule, to adopt the boldest one, which was to go straight
back to Montevideo and claim the protection of my country. The only
trouble was that on my way thither I might be caught, and then Paquíta
would be in terrible distress about me, and perhaps Demetria's escape
would be prevented. While I was occupied with these thoughts I saw a
closed carriage pass by, driven towards the town by a tipsy-looking
coachman. Coming out of my hiding-place, I managed to stop him and
offered him two dollars to drive me to the British Consulate. The
carriage was a private one, but the two dollars tempted the man, so
after securing the fare in advance, he allowed me to get in, and then
I closed the windows, leant back on the cushion, and was driven rapidly
and comfortably to the house of refuge. I introduced myself to the
Consul, and told him a story concocted for the occasion, a judicious
mixture of truth and lies, to the effect that I had been unlawfully
and forcibly seized and compelled to serve in the Blanco army, and
that, having escaped from the rebels and made my way to Montevideo,
I was amazed to hear that the government proposed arresting me. He
asked me a few questions, looked at the passport which he had sent me
a few days before, then, laughing good-humouredly, put on his hat and
invited me to accompany him to the War Office close by. The secretary,
Colonel Arocena, he informed me, was a personal friend of his, and if
we could see him it would be all right. Walking by his side I felt
quite safe and bold again, for I was, in a sense, walking with my hand
resting on the superb mane of the British Lion, whose roar was not to
be provoked with impunity. At the War Office I was introduced by the
Consul to his friend, Colonel Arocena, a genial old gentleman with a
bald head and a cigarette between his lips. He listened with some
interest and a smile, slightly incredulous I thought, to the sad story
of the ill-treatment I had been subjected to at the hands of Santa
Coloma's rebellious rascals. When I had finished he pushed over a sheet
of paper on which he had scrawled a few words to me, with the remark,
"Here, my young friend, take this, and you will be safe in Montevideo.
We have heard about your doings in Florida, also in Rocha, but we do
not propose going to war with England on your account."

At this speech we all laughed; then when I had pocketed the paper,
which bore the sacred seal of the War Office on the margin and requested
all persons to refrain from molesting the bearer in his lawful outgoings
and incomings, we thanked the pleasant old Colonel and retired. I spent
half an hour strolling about with the Consul, then we separated. I had
noticed two men in military uniform at some distance from us when we
were together, and now, returning homewards, I found that they were
following me. By and by they overtook me, and politely intimated their
intention of making me their prisoner. I smiled, and, drawing forth
my protection from the War Office, handed it to them. They looked
surprised, and gave it back, with an apology for having molested me,
then left me to pursue my way in peace.

I had, of course, been very lucky throughout all this adventure; still,
I did not wish to attribute my easy escape entirely to luck, for I
had, I thought, contributed a good deal towards it by my promptness
in acting and in inventing a plausible story on the spur of the moment.

Feeling very much elated, I strolled along the sunny streets, gaily
swinging my cane, when, turning a corner near Doña Isidora's house,
I suddenly came face to face with Don Hilario. This unexpected encounter
threw us both off our guard, he recoiling two or three paces backwardand
turning as pale as the nature of his complexion would allow. I
recovered first from the shock. So far I had been able to baffle him,
and knew, moreover, many things of which he was ignorant; still, he
was there in the town with me and had to be reckoned with, and I quickly
resolved to meet him as a friend, affecting entire ignorance of his
object in coming to Montevideo.

"Don Hilario--you here! Happy the eyes that behold you," I exclaimed,
seizing and shaking his hand, pretending to be overjoyed at the meeting.

In a moment he recovered his usual self-possessed manner, and when I
asked after Doña Demetria he answered after a moments hesitation that
she was in very good health.

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