The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 30 November 1911, Page 2395

The Storyteller

ANTONIA’S LOVER The olive buds were putting forth their sheaths of tender green under the darker background of their shining leaves; rows upon rows of tall Easter lilies were swaying gently in the afternoon breeze. Two girls, young and pretty, Antonia Barcas and her friend Victoria Vidal, sat under the sweet-scented locust trees in the old California garden. Each had a bit of embroidery in her hand, but they were not sewing. Something far more interesting was engrossing them. Who told you of it?’ asked Antonia, toying with her gold thimble as she gazed absently into the orchard. But this apparent unconcern was assumed to conceal the interest she felt in the announcement Victoria had just made. ‘lt was Gregorio Nunez,’ replied Victoria. ‘He came down from the city the day before yesterday, and stopped at our place for supper. Alfredo will be here to-night. ’ But I thought he was not coming here again until the winter—so he wrote, at least,’ said Antonia. He writes to you, Antonia!’ exclaimed the other, in a tone of astonishment and well-feigned disapprobai ion. I would not have thought it of you— receive letters from a young man, Antonia!’ Nor have I,’ rejoined the other calmly. ‘lt was to my father he sent the word—with some" other business. ‘To ask for your hand, maybe,’ said the other laughingly. ~ Id ? n , ot think so,’ replied Antonia, holding herself well in hand. For she long had divined that Victoria Vidal had more than a passing interest in the handsome young rancher from Monterey. , ‘Antonia,’ resumed Victoria bluntly, ‘are you fond of Velasquez?’ y ‘ A strange question to ask me Victoria,’ replied Antonia her olive cheek growing a shade more crimson Should any young girl allow herself to become ii * f f ny ™ an untll she knows whether she is agreeable to him? 6 <TW P - 00ll! m J ? in i ed V ! ctoria > capping her fingers. 1 That is an old-fashioned way, and our Mexican way, hut the Americans are different.’ J . ‘ are Mexicans,’ said Antonia. ‘And our way is a good way.’ J ‘I will tell you something,’ continued Victoria. You may let a fine chance pass, with your pride and mousy little ways. I believe, Antonia, that Alfredo Velasquez is coming this time to look for a wife and that you may have him for the taking. He is the finest and the richest of all the rancheros of the North that my father has said often. I would not hesitate fhe wanted me. Shall it be a race between us?’ she continued laughingly. said Antonia shrank back in surprise. ‘ Victoria/ she skters -f W : had not , been 80 lon S neighbors, and almost siste lL your heart were not so kind I could almost not like you; you shock me—often. But ’ coo ‘But,’ repeated Victoria, rising to her feet ‘you seem so indifferent. This is war—not love. It would be a shame to let so good a man slip from our hands—when he is so willing. If you want him he is yours to take, I admit. But if you are so slow in the taking do not blame me if I put out my hand to pluck the fruit within my reach—for so it shall be should you despise it He likes me very well, Antonia ’ 7 wen,^tS:^is^ SiTar" smiling ’ in his fin?ers * pink Well met, senoritas !’ he exclaimed, bowing courteously to both girls, though his eyes sought those of Antonia, and it was in her hand that he softly dropped the rosebud, as he gently pressed the slender fingers Her eyes drooped under his gaze, while the dark orbs of Victoria grew darker, emitting a flash it was not pleasant to see; But the others. did not observe it Victoria was the first to speak. *

‘ This is a surprise, Senor Velasquez,’ she said airily. We did not expect you till the winter rains.’ ‘ There were some cattle to be bought,’ replied Velasquez. ‘ My father sent me. We are to divide our property and build a new house.’ ‘ Ah !’ rejoined Victoria. ‘ That, then, means a wedding and glancing at Antonia. But her gaze did not meet his own, as he had hoped. Disappointed, he turned to Victoria, who was regarding him archly. ‘ She is a very pretty girl!’ thought the ranchero. ‘ These two are the lily and the rose.’ ‘ I must be going, Antonia,’ said Victoria. ‘lt is not late,’ answered her friend. ‘ No-—but you will have things to talk about, you two, and I do not wish to interrupt.’ ‘ Senor Velasquez and I have nothing to say to each other that all the world- may not hear,’ rejoined Antonia in a tone of vexation. Victoria was really too bad— Antonia had caught Ihe look of admiration in the eyes of Velasquez as he made the unspoken comparison between the lily and the rose. Her tone irritated the man who had come to lay his heart at her feet. ‘ Allow me to accompany you to your home, Senorita Vidal,’ he said with courteous gravity, turning quickly to Victoria. The temptation to improve her slight advantage was too great for Victoria to resist, and the passivity of Antonia annoyed her. With pleasure, Senor,’ she replied, throwing her lace mantilla over her head. ‘ Hasta luego, Tonia,’ she cried gaily. ‘ I will see you again, Senorita,’ said Velasquez, bowing gravely and low over Antonia’s hand. The pair wended their way slowly through the garden, Antonia watching them as they passed through the orchard and across the family cemetery of the Barcas on their way to Victoria’s home. ‘How slowly they walk,’ she murmured, regarding them. ‘ How merry they are,’ as she heard Victoria’s gay laughter. She still held the rosebud in her hand. ‘ Ah, why do I feel so melancholy!’ she thought. ‘Can it oh—can it be that — ?’ Hurriedly entering the house, she placed the rose in a tiny Bohemian glass in front of the Blessed Mother’s statue. Then she knelt and buried her face in her hands. It was at that moment she realised for the first time how dear to her heart was Alfredo Velasquez. He did not come into the garden where she sat with her mother that evening, though she heard him talking with her father in the office not far away. Nor did he make his appearance next morning. It was not until five in the afternoon that he arrived. With him came Victoria, brilliant and beautiful as Antonia never before had seen her. , • We have had a great day,’ she exclaimed, as she kissed her friend on both cheeks, a salutation from which Antonia, surprised at her own emotion, shrank involuntarily, an action not lost upon Victoria, inwardly triumphant and smilincr. ‘Where have you been?’ asked Antonia, as indifferently as she could. ‘ This morning father and I were to ride—to Las Crucesand we met Senor Velasques—on his way to see you, no doubt.’ Here she smiled significantly. However, we persuaded him to come with us. He was charmed with Las Cruces, were you not, Senor?’ ‘ Greatly,’ replied Velasquez. ‘ I had never before seen it. You will have a fine dowry, Senorita Victoria. ‘ Yes,’ replied Victoria demurely. * I did not know till this mornings Antonia, that it was to be my dowry, but so father said — to-day.’ And she laughed merrily. Antonia’s soul sickened within her. Had things gone so far, then? If so, it was indelicate, almost brutal, in Victoria thus to proclaim the situation. . Unconsciously her manner stiffened; her small, proud head was thrown back, her dark eyes became still, unfathomable pools, that no persistent gaze of

Velasquez could change or agitate, her beautiful lips a straight line, which might have been carved in marble. But Victoria, nothing daunted, went on: ‘We are to have a ball to-night, Antonia. We thought of it on the way home, and all along the road we stopped at the neighbors and invited them. There will be a great crowd. You must come early, querida mia.’ . Antonia’s eyes grew more inscrutable, her face a shade paler. It had gone very far, then, that day, she thought. What if to-night the betrothal would be announced to the assembled , neighbors ? Victoria, nothing daunted, went on: ‘Be sure to come early,’ she repeated. ‘ And your father and mother, of course.’ ‘ Senor Vidal has been kind enough to invite me to stay to-night at his house,’ said Velasquez, .addressing Antonia, ‘ but if the Senorita Antonia will permit I shall be glad to call for her this evening.’ ‘Thank you, Senor,’ she replied frigidly. ‘lt is not necessary. My father and mother are sufficient protection for me. Besides, whatever may be the custom in the north, it is not ours here, for young girls to go from home at night in the company of strangers.’ Velasquez crimsoned and frowned. ‘I thought the Senorita Antonia understood that I meant in the company of her parents also —and I am sorry to hear that in the house where I have been so much at home, I am considered a stranger.’ Antonia bit her lip ; she had gone farther than she had intended—perhaps shown Velasquez the jealousy that was consuming her soul. But she need not have feared that he was offended or hurt. He interpreted her manner to his own disadvantage, and turning in self-defence and perhaps some bravado, to Victoria, he said gaily: ‘ Queen of the ball and my hostess, before you are overwhelmed by the other caballeros, may I claim the first, the last, and four other danzas?’ ‘ You are greedy, Senor,’ answered Victoria merrily. ‘ The caballeros may not be as numerous or devoted as you think, and lest I should be left a wallflower I accept. The danzas are yours, Gracias, Senor.’ Little more was said. The elders appeared, a few friendly words were exchanged, and presently Victoria went gaily homeward, leaning on the arm of her now devoted attendant. But she had not failed to observe the white cheeks of Antonia, and her heart smote her. For she really loved her life-long friend and neighbor. Antonia, pleading a headache, did not dance at all that evening, though she was constantly besieged by suitors. Velasquez and Victoria were so much together as to excite considerable remark and speculation throughout the company, while Antonia’s ears were on the qui vive for the expected announcement of the betrothal. She observed, however, that Velasquez had lost the exuberant manner which he had worn the previous afternoon. His expression was grave, even to severity. Once or twice she lifted her eyes to meet his gaze fixed upon her, but he immediately turned away, and did not approach her. ~ There was no announcement. The evening seemed very long, but at length it was over. After her guests had departed Victoria tossed nervously on her pillow. Hers was an astute mind, and before the fiesta broke up she had begun to realise that the heart of Velasquez was really Antonia’s, that her own hold upon his affections was extremely slight; that he was unhappy. But from the first she had found him very attractive and lovable. Why, if Antonia would have none of him, should she not catch him, if possible, on the rebound? She would make him as fond and capable a wife as Antonia, her family was as good, her dowry perhaps greater, so she reasoned to her own satisfaction. ‘ No, I shall not let him go,’ she whispered to herself, and soon dropped contentedly asleep. Three days passed without any interchange of visits between the whilom friends. Once more in the late afternoon Antonia sat embroidering in the garden. Lifting her head she saw Victoria lightly advancing across the grada, her guitar in her hand.

‘ Is Senor Velasquez here, Antonia?’ she inquired in the same cheerful, friendly tone as of old. No—why should you ask that, Victoria?’ answered Antonia coldly. It is but an hour since that I saw you crossing the cemetery together with your music.’ ‘ I know, but he suddenly disappeared from the orchard where a few of us were enjoying ourselves, and I thought he would be here.’ ‘ Senor Velasquez has finished his business with my father,’ rejoined Antonia. ’ ‘ With your father, yes, perhaps, Antonia —but what about yourself?’ ‘ I do not understand you, Victoria,’ answered Antonia. ‘ Very well do you know that there is nothing between the Senor Velasquez and me.’ ‘ Very well did I know that there was,’ replied Victoria. I We have always been friends, Antonia — more than sisters. But I say to-day as I said before, that it is your fault if there is nothing, and I say, moreover, that all is fair in love and war. You have had your chance, querida, and you have not taken it. Now I will take mine.’ For a moment Antonia’s feelings overmastered her. ‘You will take it ‘now,’ Victoria?’ she replied. ‘ It is not now that you are beginning, but ever since that day Recollecting herself, she suddenly paused, and the next instant was on her feet. ‘ Go,’ she cried. ‘Do not speak to me again on that odious subject. Do not speak to me at all, Victoria!’ Then she turned and went into the house. ‘Ay de mi!’ cried Victoria, a bright spot burning on either cheek, as she flew down the garden path on wings of anger. ‘We shall see, Miss, if you will not be sorry!’ But Velasquez did not again make his appearance that day, and Victoria sulked for the remainder of the evening.

About half-past nine that night Antonia was roused from her first sleep by a noise outside her window. Heavily barred as it was she had no fear, but presently she heard her pet toitoise-shell cat, which generally slept on the window-sill, scampering through the grass outside, and decided that it had jumped through the bars from the broad sill, and the noise had awakened her. But again she thought she heard footsteps, and once from the distant corner of the large chamber where she lay, almost believed she could detect the figure of a man walking up and down the garden. But she soon fell asleep once more, for though her heart was heavy it was not yet broken. The next morning she saw Velasquez enter her father’s office, where he remained for a long time. When the two men came out they were talking earnestly, and she half feared, half hoped Velasquez would be asked to dinner. But in a short time her father returned without him and re-entered his office. At the table he looked directly at her as he remarked: ‘ Alfredo returns north to-morrow. He is coming to-night, Antonia.’ ‘ That is very well, father,’ she rejoined, quite able to control her feelings, though she was sure her father meant that Velasquez was coming for a purpose. And suddenly all the scales that had obscured her vision during the past few days seemed to fall away and she began to accuse herself for being responsible for all that had occurred. She had treated him coolly, and even unkindly—it was but natural that he should have resented it. . Her heart once more began to beat with joy and expectation. She felt assured that he could have but one motive in coming to-night—of that her father’s manner was sufficient assurance. Victoria Vidal had been a mischief maker, that could be glossed over—but she could let it all pass if everything turned out as her heart wished and expected.

Victoria, glooming over her own frustrated hopes, was really craving the society and interrupted friendship of Antonia. Throwing her scarf over her head, she crossed the orchard which divided the two ranches, and was soon seated beside Antonia, whom she was surprised to find in excellent spirits, wearing her prettiest white embroidered gown, and setting dainty stitches in a magnificent lunch cloth of Mexican drawn work. Antonia, on her part, received Victoria graciously, almost with affection. For a few moments they conversed on everyday matters, till Victoria, unable to restrain herself any longer, began to communicate the news, ‘ Velasquez goes to-morrow,’ she said. ‘So my father told me.’ ‘ls he staying at your house?’ asked Antonia innocently. Victoria tossed her head. At our house? Indeed no/ she said. ‘He has not been there since the day before yesterday.’ ‘ I believe he has bought much cattle,’ said Antonia. ‘ He is a hypocrite, that Velasquez,’ said Victoria spitefully. ‘ Why, Victoria ?’ ‘ To pretend one thing and ’ ‘ He has pretended nothing—to me at least,’ interrupted Antonia, promptly and a little scornfully. ‘To me either, I must confess. But to you—l thought — was sure at one time, Antonia —’ ‘No more —no more. It is enough!’ cried Antonia, gathering up her embroidery. ‘ Yonder he comes with my father. Will you stay, Victoria?’ Not I —to have him say that I followed him. Adios, till to-morrow, when he has gone forever.’ She fled with the swiftness of a deer before the men had caught sight of her. It was what Antonia would have wished. She received the visitor graciously, though her cheeks were pink with concealed emotion, and her

dark eyes smouldered. Velasquez could not read them, but their light was not promising; gone was all the softness, ever shyness, of their first acquaintance that had made their depths so delightful to explore. All went well at supper — afterwards the family sat together in the patio, chatting agreeably and without restraint. After a time Senor Barca excused himself, having, he said, some letters to write which his guest was to cany with him next day. The Senora, pleading household duties, followed her husband. i Then Velasquez drew his chair close to that of Antonia s and, taking her hand in his, he said, with the air of a man who knows his mind: I Senorita, this is my hour. I love you. Your father has given me permission to address-you. What have you to say | or one short moment she allowed her hand to rest in his. Then she withdrew it. | ( I have to say, Senor/ she replied indignantly, I ‘ that it is worse than falsehood for a man to address- ; one girl when he loves another. I had not dreamed : you capable of such conduct, Senor Velasquez.’ j . lie looked astounded. ‘ What do you mean, SenoI rita V he asked. ‘What misunderstanding is it that I has caused you to treat me so strangely since I came. i Formerly it was not so; you cannot deny it ’ ' She looked at him contemptuously. ‘ You are even I worse than I thought/ she cried. ‘ Oh, what have I done that you should so insult me!’ Insult you ! he exclaimed. ‘ Are you losing - your senses, Senorita?’ 8 J | ‘ 1 am recovering them,’ she said, proudly. * Senor i Velasquez, how can you, how dare you, whom we I thought the soul of honor, ask me to become your 1 ! wife, when this very morning you were seen to draw j a tiny slipper from your pocket and kiss it—passionately i kiss it!’ . J (To be concluded.)