CHAPTER XXII. DON DIEGO.

Don Melchior de la Cruz resolved to seize at any price the fortune of his father, which his sister's marriage threatened to make him hopelessly lose, had rushed headlong into politics, hoping to find amid the failures which had so long distracted his country, the occasion to satisfy his ambition and insatiable avarice by fishing largely in the troubled waters of revolutions. Endowed with an energetic character and great intelligence, a true political condottiere, passing without hesitation or remorse from one party to another, according to the advantages offered him, ever ready to serve the man who paid him best, he had contrived to render himself master of important secrets which made him feared by all, and gained him a certain degree of credit with the chiefs of parties whom he had served in turn; a well-born spy he had managed to get in everywhere, and join all the fraternities and secret societies, for he possessed in a most eminent degree the talent so envied by the most renowned diplomatists, of naturally feigning the most opposite feelings and opinions. It was thus that he became a member of the mysterious society union and Strength, by which he was eventually condemned to death, with the predetermined resolution of selling the secrets of this formidable association whenever a favourable opportunity presented itself. Don Antonio de Cacerbar was shortly after made a member of the same association. These two men were made to understand each other at the first word, and they did so. The most intimate friendship ere long united them. When, at the beginning of their connection, don Antonio de Cacerbar, owing to anonymous revelations, was convicted of treachery, condemned by the mysterious association, and obliged to defend his life against one of the members, fell beneath his adversary's sword, and was left for dead on the road, where Dominique found him, as we have previously related. Don Melchior, who had been watching this sanguinary execution from a distance, resolved, were it possible, to save this man who inspired him with such warm sympathy. After the departure of his comrades, he hurried up as soon as he dared with the intention of succouring the wounded man, but did not find him; chance, by bringing Dominique to the spot, had deprived him, to his great regret, of the opportunity he desired for rendering don Antonio his debtor. At a later date, when don Antonio, half cured, escaped from the grotto where he was being nursed, the two men met again; more fortunate this time, don Melchior had rendered his friend important services. The latter, in his turn, had been able on several occasions to let the young man profit by the occult influence which he had at his disposal. The only difference was, that if don Antonio was thoroughly aware of his partner's affairs, of the object he proposed to himself, and the means he intended to employ in attaining it, the same was not the case with don Melchior as regarded don Antonio de Cacerbar, who remained an undecipherable mystery to him. Still the young man, though he had several times tried to make his friend speak, and lead him into confessions which would have given certain prerogatives, but never succeeded, did not for all that resign the hope of discovering one day what the other appeared to have so great an interest in hiding.

The last service which don Antonio had rendered him, by making him so unexpectedly escape from the implacable justice of the members of the union and Strength society, had rendered don Melchior temporarily, at any rate, dependant on him. Don Antonio seemed to make it to some extent a point of honour not to remind don Melchior of the immense danger from which he had saved him; he continued to serve him as he had hitherto done. The first care of the young man, on returning to Puebla, had been to proceed in all haste to the convent in which he had confined his sister after carrying her off; but, as he had a secret presentiment, he found the bird flown. Don Antonio had said but a few words to him on this subject, but they had a terrible eloquence.

"Only the dead do not escape," he had remarked.

Don Melchior bowed his head, recognizing the correctness of this remark. All the young man's searches in Puebla were vain: no one could or would tell him anything; the mother superior of the convent was dumb.

"Let us go to Mexico; we shall find her there if she be not dead already," don Antonio said to him.

They set out. What means don Antonio employed to discover the retreat of do?a Dolores, we are unable to say, but so much is certain, that two days after his arrival in the capital, he was acquainted with the young lady's residence.

Let us leave for a short season these two men, whom we shall meet again but too soon, and describe how do?a Dolores had been liberated. The young lady was placed, by don Melchior's orders, in a convent of Carmelite nuns. The mother superior—whom don Melchior succeeded in winning to his interests by a large sum of money he paid her, and the promise of larger sums if she executed his orders zealously and intelligently—did not allow the young lady to receive any visitors but her brother, she was forbidden to write letters, and those that arrived for her were pitilessly intercepted. Dolores thus passed sad and monotonous days in a narrow cell, deprived of all relations with the outer world, and no longer retaining even the hope of being some day restored to liberty; her brother had made known to her his will in this respect; he insisted on her taking the veil. This was the only method don Melchior had found to force his sister to give up her fortune to him, by renouncing the world. Still don Melchior, though he had got himself named his sister's guardian, could not have taken her to a convent without a written order of the governor; but this had been easily obtained, and handed by don Diego Izaguirre—private secretary to his Excellency the Governor—to the mother superior when the young lady was taken to the convent.

At about nine o'clock on the night of the day when don Melchior had been so adroitly carried off by don Adolfo, whom he believed his prisoner, three men wrapped in thick cloaks, and mounted on handsome and powerful Spanish genets, stopped at the gate of the convent, at which they rapped. The lay sister opened a wicket in this gate, exchanged a few words in a low voice with one of the horsemen who had dismounted, and evidently satisfied with the answers she received, she set the gate on the jar to admit this late visitor. The latter threw his horse's bridle to one of his companions; while the latter awaited him outside, he went in, and the gate was closed after him. After passing along several corridors, the porteress opened the abbess' cell, and announced don Diego Izaguirre, private secretary to His Excellency the Governor. Don Diego, after exchanging a few compliments, drew a sealed letter from his dolman, and handed it to the superior, who opened and hastily read it.

"Very good, se?or," she answered, "I am ready to obey you."

"Please, madam, carefully do bear in mind the tenour of the order I have communicated to you, and which I am compelled to request back. Everybody, you understand, madam," he said, laying a marked stress on the word, "must be ignorant how do?a Dolores has left the convent: this recommendation is of the highest importance."

"I will not forget it, se?or."

"You are at liberty to say that she has escaped. Now, madam, be kind enough to warn do?a Dolores."

The superior left don Diego in her cell, and went herself to fetch do?a Dolores. So soon as he was alone, the young man tore into impalpable fragments the order he had shown the superior, and threw them into the brasero, when the fire immediately consumed them.

"I am not at all desirous," don Diego said as he watched them burning, "that the governor should perceive one day the perfection with which I imitate his signature, for it might cause him to feel jealous;" and he smiled with an air of mockery.

The superior was not absent more than a quarter of an hour.

"Here is do?a Dolores de la Cruz," said the abbess; "I have the honour of delivering her into your hands."

"Very good, madam; I hope soon to prove to you that his Excellency knows how, when the opportunity offers, worthily to reward those persons who obey him without hesitation."

The mother superior bowed humbly, and raised her eyes to Heaven.

"Are you ready, se?orita?" don Diego asked the young lady.

"Yes," she answered laconically.

"In that case be kind enough to follow me."

"Go on," she said, wrapping herself in her cloak, and taking no further leave of the abbess. They then left the cell, and guided by the superior, reached the convent gate. By some slight pretext the abbess had had the precaution to remove the porteress. She opened the gate herself, and then, when don Diego and the young lady had passed through, she gave a farewell bow to the secretary, and closed the gate again, as if anxious to be delivered from the alarm that his presence caused her.

"Se?orita," don Diego said respectfully, "be kind enough to mount this horse."

"Se?or," she said in a sad but firm voice, "I am a poor defenseless orphan: I obey you, because any resistance on my part would be madness; but—"

"Do?a Dolores," said one of the horsemen, "we are sent by don Jaime."

"Oh!" she exclaimed joyfully, "'Tis the voice of don Carlos."

"Yes, se?orita; reassure yourself, then, and be good enough to mount without further delay, as we have no time to spare."

The young lady leapt lightly on don Diego's horse.

"Now, se?ores," the young man said, "you no longer need me—good-bye; gallop your hardest, and I wish you a pleasant journey."

They dashed away like a whirlwind, and soon disappeared in the darkness.

"How they race!" the young man said laughingly; "I fancy don Melchior will have some difficulty in catching them."

And wrapping himself in his cloak, he returned on foot to the palace of the government, where he resided. The two men who accompanied the young lady were Dominique and Leo Carral. They galloped the whole night. At sunrise they reached an abandoned rancho, where several persons were awaiting them. Do?a Dolores joyfully recognized among them don Adolfo and the count. Surrounded by these devoted friends, she had nothing more to fear. She was saved. The journey was a continued maze, but her joy was immense when she arrived in Mexico, and under the escort of her brave friends entered the small house, where every preparation had been made to receive her. She fell weeping into the arms of do?a María and do?a Carmen. Don Adolfo and his friends discreetly retired, leaving the ladies to their confidences. The count, in order to watch more closely over the young lady, hired a house in the same street, and offered to share it with Dominique, who eagerly accepted it. It was arranged, in order not to arouse suspicion or attract attention to the house of the three ladies, that the young men should only pay them short visits at rather lengthened intervals. As for don Adolfo, the young lady had scarcely been installed in his house ere he recommenced his wandering life, and once more became invisible. Sometimes after nightfall he would suddenly turn up at the young men's house, of which Leo Carral had undertaken the management, declaring that as the count was going to marry his young mistress, he was his master, and he regarded himself as his majordomo; the count, not to grieve the worthy servant, had left him carte blanche in these rare appearances. The adventurer conversed for some time on indifferent topics with the two friends, and then left them, after recommending them to be vigilant.

Matters went on well for some days; do?a Dolores, under the beneficial impression of happiness, had resumed all her girlish gaiety and confidence; she and Carmen twittered like hummingbirds from morn till night in every corner of the house; do?a María herself, yielding to the influence of this frank and simple joy, seemed quite rejuvenated, and at times her earnest features were even illumined by a smile.

The count and his friend, by their visits, which, in spite of don Jaime's advice, became gradually more frequent and long, produced a variety in the calm monotonous existence of the three voluntary recluses, who never set foot in the street, and were in utter ignorance of what was taking place around them.

One evening when the count was playing a game of chess with Dominique for the sake of killing time, and the two young men who took but slight interest in the game were sitting face to face, ostensibly arranging clever schemes, but in reality thinking of other things, there was a violent knocking at the street door.

"Who the deuce can come at this hour?" they both exclaimed with a start.

"It is past midnight," Dominique said.

"If it is not Oliver," the count remarked, "I cannot think who it is."

"It is he, of course," Dominique added.

At this moment the room door was opened, and don Jaime entered.

"Good evening, gentlemen," he said; "you did not expect me at this hour, eh?"

"We always expect you, my friend."

"Thanks: with your permission," he added, and turning to the servant who showed him a light, said, "get me some supper, if you please, Master Raimbaut."

The latter bowed and left the room.

Don Jaime threw his hat on a table, and sat down on a chair, fanning himself with his handkerchief.

"Ouf!" he said; "I am dying of hunger, my friends!"