The Purple Land: Chapter 24

Chapter 24

I spent several days with the Peraltas at their desolate,
_kineless_ cattle-farm, which was known in the country round
simply as _Estancia_ or _Campos de Peralta._ Such wearisome
days they proved to me, and so anxious was I getting about Paqu�ta
away in Montevideo, that I was more than once on the point of giving
up waiting for the passport, which Don Florentino had promised to get
for me, and boldly venture forth without even that fig-leaf into the
open. Demetria's prudent counsels, however, prevailed, so that my
departure was put off from day to day. The only pleasure I experienced
in the house arose from the belief I entertained that my visit had
made an agreeable break in the sad, monotonous life of my gentle
hostess. Her tragical story had stirred my heart to a very deep pity,
and as I grew every day to know her better I began to appreciate and
esteem her for her own pure, gentle, self-sacrificing character.
Notwithstanding the dreary seclusion in which she had lived, seeing
no society, and with only those old servants, so primitive in their
ways, for company, there was not the slightest trace of rusticity in
her manner. That, however, is not saying much for Demetria, since in
most ladies--most women I might almost say--of Spanish origin thereis a
natural grace and dignity of manner one only expects to find in
women socially well placed in our own country. When we were all together
at meals, or in the kitchen sipping _mat�,_ she was invariably
silent, always with that shadow of some concealed anxiety on her face;
but when alone with me, or when only old Santos and Ramona were present,
the cloud would be gone, her eyes would lighten up and the rare smile
come more frequently to her lips. Then, at times, she would become
almost animated in conversation, listening with lively interest to all
I told her about the great world of which she was so ignorant, and
laughing, too, at her own ignorance of things known to every town-bred
child. When these pleasant conversations took place in the kitchen the
two old servants would sit gazing at the face of their mistress,
apparently absorbed in admiration. They evidently regarded her as the
most perfect being that had ever been created; and, though there was
a ludicrous side to their simple idolatry, I ceased to wonder at it
when I began to know her better. They reminded me of two faithful dogs
always watching a beloved master's face, and showing in their eyes,
glad or pathetic, how they sympathise with all his moods. As for old
Colonel Peralta, he did nothing to make me uneasy; after the first day
he never talked to me, scarcely even noticing my presence except to
salute me in a ceremonious manner when we met at table. He would spend
his day between his easy-chair in the house and the rustic bench under
the trees, where he would sit for hours at a time, leaning forward on
his stick, his preternaturally brilliant eyes watching everything
seemingly with a keen, intelligent interest. But he would not speak.
He was waiting for his son, thinking his fierce thoughts to himself.
Like a bird blown far out over a tumultuous sea and wandering lost,
his spirit was ranging over that wild and troubled past--that half a
century of fierce passions and bloody warfare in which he had acted
a conspicuous part. And perhaps it was sometimes even more in the
future than the past--that glorious future when Calixto, lying far off
in some mountain pass, or on some swampy plain with the trailing
creepers covering his bones, should come back victorious from the wars.

My conversations with Demetria were not frequent, and before long they
ceased altogether; for Don Hilario, who was not in harmony with us,
was always there, polite, subdued, watchful, but not a man that one
could take into his heart. The more I saw of him the less I liked him;
and, though I am not prejudiced about snakes, as the reader already
knows, believing as I do that ancient tradition has made us very unjust
towards these interesting children of our universal mother, I can think
of no epithet except _snaky_ to describe this man. Wherever I
happened to be about the place he had a way of coming upon me, stealing
through the weeds on his belly as it were, then suddenly appearing
unawares before me; while something in his manner suggested a subtle,
cold-blooded, venomous nature. Those swift glances of his, which
perpetually came and went with such bewildering rapidity, reminded me,
not of the immovable, stony gaze of the serpent's lidless eyes, but
of the flickering little forked tongue, that flickers, flickers,
vanishes and flickers again, and is never for one moment at rest. Who
was this man, and what did he there? Why was he, though manifestly not
loved by anyone, absolute master of the _estancia_? He never asked
me a question about myself, for it was not in his nature to ask
questions, but he had evidently formed some disagreeable suspicions
about me that made him look on me as a possible enemy. After I had
been a few days in the house he ceased going out, and wherever I went
he was always ready to accompany me, or when I met Demetria and began
conversing with her, there he would be to take part in our conversation.

At length the piece of paper so long waited for came from the Lomas
de Rocha, and with that sacred document, testifying that I was a subject
of Her Britannic Majesty, Queen Victoria, all fears and hesitation
were dismissed from my mind and I prepared to depart for Montevideo.

The instant Don Hilario heard that I was about to leave the
_estancia_ his manner toward me changed; he became, in a moment,
excessively friendly, pressing me to prolong my visit, also to accept
a horse from him as a gift, and saying many kind things about the
agreeable moments he had spent in my company. He completely reversed
the old saying about welcome the coming, speed the parting, guest; but
I knew very well that he was anxious enough to see the last of me.

After supper on the eve of my departure he saddled his horse and rode
off to attend a dance or gathering of some kind at a neighbouring
_estancia_, for now that he had recovered from his suspicions he
was very eager to resume the social pleasures my presence had interfered
with.

I went out to smoke a cigar amongst the trees, it being a very lovely
autumnal evening, with the light of an unclouded new moon to temper
the darkness. I was walking up and down in a narrow path amongst the
weeds, thinking of my approaching meeting with Paqu�ta, when old Santos
came out to me and mysteriously informed me that Do�a Demetria wished
to see me. He led me through the large room where we always had our
meals, then through a narrow, dimly lighted passage into another room
I had not entered before. Though the rest of the house was now in
darkness, the old colonel having already retired to bed, it was very
light here, there being about half a dozen candles placed about the
room. In the centre of the floor, with her old face beaming with
delighted admiration, stood Ramona, gazing on another person seated
on the sofa. And on this individual I also gazed silently for some
time; for, though I recognised Demetria in her, she was so changed
that astonishment prevented me from speaking. The rusty grub had come
forth as a splendid green and gold butterfly. She had on a grass-green
silk dress, made in a fashion I had never seen before; extremely high
in the waist, puffed out on the shoulders, and with enormous bell-shaped
sleeves reaching to the elbows, the whole garment being plentifully
trimmed with very fine cream-coloured lace. Her long, thick hair, which
had hitherto always been worn in heavy plaits on her back, was now
piled up in great coils on her head and surmounted by a tortoiseshell
comb a foot high at least, and about fifteen inches broad at the top,
looking like an immense crest on her head. In her ears were curious
gold filigree pendants reaching to her bare shoulders; she also wore
a necklet of half-doubloons linked together in a chain, and heavy gold
bracelets on her arms. It was extremely quaint. Possibly this finery
had belonged to her grandmother a hundred years ago; and I daresay
that bright green was not the proper tint for Demetria's pallid
complexion; still, I must confess, at the risk of being set down as
a barbarian in matters of taste, that it gave me a shock of pleasure
to see her. She saw that I was very much surprised, and a blush of
confusion overspread her face; then, recovering her usual quiet,
self-possessed manner, she invited me to sit on the sofa by her. I
took her hand and complimented her on her appearance. She laughed a
little shy laugh, then said that, as I was going to leave her next
day, she did not wish me to remember her only as a woman in rusty
black. I replied that I would always remember her not for the colour
and fashion of her garments, but for her great, unmerited misfortunes,
her virtuous heart, and for the kindness she had shown to me. My words
evidently pleased her, and while we sat together conversing pleasantly,
before us were Ramona and Santos, one standing, the other seated, both
feasting their eyes on their mistress in her brilliant attire. Their
delight was quite open and childlike, and gave an additional zest to
the pleasure I felt. Demetria seemed pleased to think she looked well,
and was more light-hearted than I had seen her before. That antique
finery, which would have been laughable on another woman, somehow or
other seemed appropriate to her; possibly because the strange simplicity
and ignorance of the world displayed in her conversation, and that
gentle dignity of manner natural to her, would have prevented her from
appearing ridiculous in any costume.

At length, after we had partaken of _mat�_ served by Ramona, the
old servants retired from the room, not without many longing, lingering
glances at their metamorphosed mistress. Then somehow or other our
conversation began to languish, Demetria becoming constrained in manner,
while that anxious shadow I had grown so familiar with came again like
a cloud over her face. Thinking that it was time to leave her, I rose
to go, and thanked her for the pleasant evening I had spent, and
expressed a wish that her future would be brighter than her past had
been.

"Thank you, Richard," she returned, her eyes cast down, and allowing
her hand to rest in mine. "But must you leave me so soon?--there is
so much I wish to say to you."

"I will gladly remain and hear it," I said, sitting down again by her
side.

"My past has been very sad, as you say, Richard, but you do not know
all," and here she put her handkerchief to her eyes. There were, I
noticed, several beautiful rings on her fingers, and the handkerchief
she held to her eyes was a dainty little embroidered thing with a lace
border; for everything in her make-up was complete and in keeping that
evening. Even the quaint little shoes she wore were embroidered with
silver thread and had large rosettes on them. After removing the
handkerchief from her face, she continued silent and with eyes cast
down, looking very pale and troubled.

"Demetria," I said, "tell me how I can serve you? I cannot guess the
nature of the trouble you speak of, but if it is one I can help you
out of, speak to me without reserve."

"Perhaps you can help me, Richard. It was of this matter I wished to
speak this evening. But now--how can I speak of it?"

"Not to one who is your friend, Demetria? I wish you could think that
the spirit of your lost brother Calixto was here in me, for I am as
ready to help you as he would have been; and I know, Demetria, that
you were very dear to him."

Her face flushed, and for a moment her eyes met mine; then, casting
them down again, she replied sadly, "It is impossible! I can say no
more to you now. My heart oppresses me so that my lips refuse to speak.
To-morrow, perhaps."

"To-morrow morning I leave you, and there will be no opportunity of
speaking," I said. "Don Hilario will be here watching you, and, though
he is so much in the house, I cannot believe that you trust him."

She started at the name of Don Hilario, and cried a little in silence;
then suddenly she rose and gave me her hand to bid good night. "You
shall know everything to-morrow, Richard," she said. "Then you will
know how much I trust you and how little I trust him. I cannot speak
myself, but I can trust Santos, who knows everything, and he shall
tell you all."

There was a sad, wistful look in her eyes when we parted that haunted
me for hours afterwards. Coming into the kitchen, I disturbed Ramona
and Santos deep in a whispered consultation. They started up, looking
somewhat confused; then, when I had lit a cigar and turned to go out,
they got up and went back to their mistress.

While I smoked I pondered over the strange evening I had passed,
wondering very much what Demetria's secret trouble could be. "The
mystery of the green butterfly," I called it; but it was really all
too sad even for a mental joke, though a little timely laughter is
often the best weapon to meet trouble with, sometimes having an effect
like that of a gay sunshade suddenly opened in the face of an angry
bull. Unable to solve the riddle, I retired to my room to sleep my
last sleep under Peralta's dreary roof.

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