Perhaps it may please ME to distribute largess to these cattle yonder, I do not say no.More she does not ask.But YOU, Don Marco, of whom are you advocate? You abandon your client's mistress for the wife, is it so?""What I may do you will learn hereafter," said Poindexter, who had regained his composure, suddenly reining up his horse."As our paths seem likely to diverge, they had better begin now.Good morning.""Patience, my friend, patience! Ah, blessed St.Anthony, what these Americans are! Listen.For what YOU shall do, I do not inquire.The question is to me what I"--he emphasized the pronoun by tapping himself on the breast--"I, Jose Santierra, will do.
Well, I shall tell you.To-day, nothing.To-morrow, nothing.For a week, for a month, nothing! After, we shall see."Poindexter paused thoughtfully."Will you give your word, Don Jose, that you will not press the claim for a month?""Truly, on one condition.Observe! I do not ask you for an equal promise, that you will not take this time to defend yourself." He shrugged his shoulders."No! It is only this.You shall promise that during that time the Senora Tucker shall remain ignorant of this document."Poindexter hesitated a moment."I promise," he said at last.
"Good.Adios, Don Marco."
"Adios, Don Jose."
The Spaniard put spurs to his mustang and galloped off in the direction of Los Gatos.The lawyer remained for a moment gazing on his retreating but victorious figure.For the first time the old look of humorous toleration with which Mr.Poindexter was in the habit of regarding all human infirmity gave way to something like bitterness."I might have guessed it," he said, with a slight rise of color."He's an old fool; and she--well, perhaps it's all the better for her!" He glanced backwards almost tenderly in the direction of Los Cuervos, and then turned his head towards the embarcadero.
As the afternoon wore on, a creaking, antiquated ox-cart arrived at Los Cuervos, bearing several articles of furniture, and some tasteful ornaments from Los Gatos, at the same time that a young Mexican girl mysteriously appeared in the kitchen, as a temporary assistant to the decrepit Concha.These were both clearly attributable to Don Jose, whose visit was not so remote but that these delicate attentions might have been already projected before Mrs.Tucker had declined them, and she could not, without marked discourtesy, return them now.She did not wish to seem discourteous; she would like to have been more civil to this old gentleman, who still retained the evidences of a picturesque and decorous past, and a repose so different from the life that was perplexing her.Reflecting that if he bought the estate these things would be ready to his hand, and with a woman's instinct recognizing their value in setting off the house to other purchasers' eyes, she took a pleasure in tastefully arranging them, and even found herself speculating how she might have enjoyed them herself had she been able to keep possession of the property.
After all, it would not have been so lonely if refined and gentle neighbors, like this old man, would have sympathized with her; she had an instinctive feeling that, in their own hopeless decay and hereditary unfitness for this new civilization, they would have been more tolerant of her husband's failure than his own kind.She could not believe that Don Jose really hated her husband for buying of the successful claimant, as there was no other legal title.
Allowing herself to become interested in the guileless gossip of the new handmaiden, proud of her broken English, she was drawn into a sympathy with the grave simplicity of Don Jose's character, a relic of that true nobility which placed this descendant of the Castilians and the daughter of a free people on the same level.
In this way the second day of her occupancy of Los Cuervos closed, with dumb clouds along the gray horizon, and the paroxysms of hysterical wind growing fainter and fainter outside the walls; with the moon rising after nightfall, and losing itself in silent and mysterious confidences with drifting scud.She went to bed early, but woke past midnight, hearing, as she thought, her own name called.The impression was so strong upon her that she rose, and, hastily enwrapping herself, went to the dark embrasures of the oven-shaped windows, and looked out.The dwarfed oak beside the window was still dropping from a past shower, but the level waste of marsh and meadow beyond seemed to advance and recede with the coming and going of the moon.Again she heard her name called, and this time in accents so strangely familiar that with a slight cry she ran into the corridor, crossed the patio, and reached the open gate.The darkness that had, even in this brief interval, again fallen upon the prospect she tried in vain to pierce with eye and voice.A blank silence followed.Then the veil was suddenly withdrawn; the vast plain, stretching from the mountain to the sea, shone as clearly as in the light of day; the moving current of the channel glittered like black pearls, the stagnant pools like molten lead; but not a sign of life nor motion broke the monotony of the broad expanse.She must have surely dreamed it.A chill wind drove her back to the house again; she entered her bedroom, and in half an hour she was in a peaceful sleep.
