"Unhappily, I am but too certain of it. During the two years which have elapsed since the Spaniards have treacherously seized him, no one knows what has become of him. Shall I add that no one is certain that he is still alive, and has not been strangled in his dungeon by the Viceroy's orders?"

"Do you remember this person's name, señores?" Don Aurelio asked in a loud voice.

"Don Pelagio," the company, shouted unanimously.

"No one has forgotten it; his name is inscribed on our hearts."

"If he were to reappear, what would you do?" Don Aníbal asked.

"It is impossible," the old man said, "he will not reappear; when the Spanish lion holds a victim beneath its powerful paw, it does not let him go, but rends him asunder."

"But tell me," Don Aníbal continued pressingly, "if Father Sandoval reappeared, what would you do? Answer me!"

"Since you insist on an answer," the old man said with an accent of supreme majesty, "I will give it you clearly and categorically, in the name of all present, for I am persuaded that no one will dream of contradicting me. If Father Pelagio were to appear suddenly in the midst of us, we would immediately take an oath to conquer or die with him."

"Do you swear it?" Don Aurelio asked again.

"Yes, we swear it!" all present exclaimed proudly.

Don Aníbal took a step forward, and approaching Viscachu, who had hitherto remained modestly concealed behind Don Aurelio, he bowed to him with marks of the deepest respect, and taking his hand, said – "Father, your Excellency can throw off your incognito without fear; there are none but true Mexicans here."

CHAPTER VI.
GENERAL FRAY PELAGIO

It is impossible to describe the enthusiasm which broke out among the patriots at this revelation which burst upon them like a thunderclap. In truth, it was really Father Pelagio Sandoval. The result obtained by this surprise, which was so thoroughly to the Mexican taste, was immense. For a moment the worthy priest literally ran a risk of being stifled, so lovingly did his partizans press round him; everyone wished to get near him, clasp his hand; or kiss some part of his garments. For more than a quarter of an hour there was an indescribable tumult and disorder in the hall; everybody spoke at once; each exalted the remarkable qualities of the chief who had been so long lost, and who reappeared, as if by a miracle, at the moment when they least hoped to see him.

The two Canadians were dumb with surprise; the effervescence, however, gradually calmed, and silence was re-established. Before aught else, Father Pelagio was obliged to explain to his followers in what way he had succeeded, after two years of captivity, comparable with the Neapolitan carcere duro, in leaving his dungeon by the aid of a faithful friend, in spite of the vigilant watch and constant espionage the Spaniards had established around him. So soon as he had satisfied their curiosity to the best of his ability, Father Sandoval, understanding the value of time well employed, and not wishing to let the enthusiasm of his adherents cool, asked leave to speak.

A deep silence at once fell, as if by enchantment, upon the crowd a moment previously so turbulent and disorderly; each with body bent forward, and an attentive ear, prepared to listen to the words which a mouth, they had fancied closed for ever, was about to utter. Father Pelagio still retained the calm, benign, and intellectual appearance which illumined his face the first time when we introduced him to the reader; a few wrinkles more, furrowed by the terrible struggle he had carried on for so many years, marked his pale forehead; his eyes had acquired a greater magnetic force, and his face, pale and thinned by suffering, had assumed that appearance of asceticism which Zurbaran has so well depicted on immortal canvas.

In spite of his common dress, so soon as the priest had thrown far from him the broad-brimmed hat which partly covered his features, and, under the influence of the feelings that agitated him at the moment, drew himself up to his full height, his face changed so thoroughly, his demeanour all at once became so majestic, that all the spectators, when gazing on him, felt themselves filled with a respect for which they did not even attempt to account.

"Listen to me, brothers and friends," he said in that melodious and sympathetic voice which gained him all hearts, "Don Aníbal said to you, only a moment ago, the time is ripe for our beloved country, the hour of liberty has struck for Mexico. If we really wish to break the yoke which has so long weighed on us, the moment for the final struggle has arrived; the salvation of our country depends on you, and all is prepared for the grand act which it is our mission to accomplish. Pay the greatest attention to my words, for the news you are about to hear is serious. You are ignorant, I suppose, of the name of the man who opened the door of the dungeon in which I was buried alive, without hope of ever leaving it; this man is Don Agustín de Iturbide, the same man who shot Matamoros, that stoical martyr of our liberty – Iturbide, that ferocious colonel of militia, who has hitherto proved himself the most obstinate enemy of the Mexican insurgents. Don Agustín de Iturbide, that skilful, active, enterprising, and ambitious chief, who learnt the art of war in the ranks of our enemies, has all at once left the false path on which he has hitherto marched in order to become one of our most zealous defenders. Great changes effected in the mother country by Riego's pronunciamiento, have led to the establishment of the Cortés, and the abolition of the Inquisition throughout the Spanish possessions. As you see, the times are changed, the sun is beginning to shine for us through the clouds, our most obstinate adversaries are becoming our warmest partizans. Lastly, the Count del Venadito has been recalled by the Spanish government and is no longer Viceroy, his place being taken by O'Donojú. Let us take advantage of this interregnum, let us make our last heroic effort, and if we like we shall be free; our fate depends on ourselves, is in our hands. Shall we hesitate to rend our fetters?"

At those words, warmly pronounced with a cheering accent and inspired face, the audience felt electrified; an indescribable enthusiasm seized on them, and, drawing their sabres and swords, which they brandished over their heads, they shouted, in a voice of thunder, "Liberty! Liberty!" The priest waited a few minutes, until the generous effervescence caused by his speech had slightly calmed; then, commanding silence by a gesture full of majesty, he continued —

"Iturbide is only waiting for our signal to declare himself for independence, and overthrow the metropolitan government; the southern provinces are already in a flame. Shall we remain behindhand? You are all witnesses of what took place here this very morning; the Spaniards, advised by their spies of the meeting which was to take place at this hacienda, and having no plausible excuse to break it up, assumed the Indian garb to attack us, in order to deceive us, and be able, in the case of a check, to disavow all participation in this unjustifiable act. Their ostensible motive, it is true, señores, was to break up our meeting; but their real motive, the important object they had in view, was to carry me off, and thus paralyze your attempts at insurrection. Caballeros, brothers, and countrymen, one last word, which contains our thought, and traces our duty for us – 'To arms! Liberty or death!'"

The effect of these words, pronounced with feverish energy, was immense.

"To arms! Liberty or death!" all his hearers shouted.

At this moment the door opened, and a young man appeared; it was Don Melchior, the lad saved by Don Aníbal some fourteen years back, and brought up by him as his son. Don Aurelio had spoken the truth; Melchior was really a charming cavalier, tall and gracefully built, with regular, noble features, and soft black eyes. His dress, without being rich, was extremely neat, and held a middle place between that of the conspirators and of the desert hunters; a straight sabre, called a machete, unsheathed, and passed through an iron ring, hung from his left side, and the butts of two long pistols peered out of the faja, or red China crape girdle, fastened round his hips. Don Melchior, after looking curiously around him, glided through the groups and made his way up to Father Pelagio, in whose ear he whispered a few words; the priest started, and his face was slightly flushed, but, recovering himself immediately, he said, raising his voice so as to command attention —

"Señores, I have just heard something which neither you nor I anticipated. Count de Melgosa has just arrived at the hacienda, and insists on being shown in to you, as he says that he has matters of the utmost importance to communicate to us."

This news produced all the effect which the chief of the insurgents expected. All frowned angrily, and a menacing expression of dull irritation appeared on every face.

"What do you propose doing?" Don Aurelio asked. "If our friends give their consent," Fray Pelagio replied, "I will receive him at once. What good is it any longer hiding ourselves? We have sufficient force to hold head against an enemy more dangerous than the count can be. Let us burn our vessels bravely, and make head against the storm. What matter whether our enemies learn two hours sooner or later, that we are recommencing the struggle?"

"Viva Dios, you are right," Don Aníbal exclaimed impetuously; "let us confront the storm."

"Let us show," the old man supported him, who had already taken part in the discussion several times; "let us show these haughty Spaniards that we are not afraid of them."

"That is talking like a man of heart," Father Pelagio said with a smile. "Melchior, my child," he added, as he turned to the young man, "be kind enough to introduce El Señor Conde de Melgosa. So great a person must not be kept waiting any longer in the anteroom of a poor Creole."

The last words were uttered with an accent of pure raillery, which brought a smile to the lips of several of the hearers. Don Melchior, without replying, bowed to the priest and left the room. Father Pelagio then drew Don Aníbal and Don Aurelio on one side, and began an earnest conversation with them in a low voice. The door ere long again opened and Melchior appeared preceding another person, whom he introduced as Count de Melgosa. At the time when we bring him on the stage the count was about fifty-five years of age, although he seemed scarce forty, so greatly had his powerful constitution hitherto preserved him against the assaults of old age.

He was a tall and well proportioned man, with a cold and ceremonious manner. His angular features were stern and haughty, and the expression of his face ironical. His eyes, deep set beneath his brows, flashed a gloomy and concentrated fire. There was about his whole person something stiff and constrained, which prevented sympathy. He was dressed in a rich military uniform, and wore the insignia of a colonel in the Spanish army.

A profound silence greeted his entrance into the hall. Not appearing at all affected by this cold and significant reception he lightly raised his hand to his hat without deigning to uncover, and walked with a firm and deliberate step up to Don Aníbal de Saldibar, who, at a sign from Father Pelagio, came to meet him, moving aside the persons in his way so as to offer a free passage to a visitor who was so little desired. When the two men were opposite each other they bowed ceremoniously, and Don Aníbal, as master of the house, spoke first.

"What fortunate accident, my lord," he said, "procures me the honour of the unexpected visit which you deign to pay me?"

The count smiled bitterly, and, looking ironically round the company, whose eyes were fixed on him with an ill restrained expression of hatred and anger, said —

"An unexpected visit, I can believe, caballero; and, doubtless, very little desired."

"Why so?" Señor Conde, the hacendero continued with the most exquisite politeness; "Be assured that I shall be always highly honoured when you, the alcade mayor of the province, deign to visit my humble residence."

"Are you speaking seriously, Señor Don Aníbal, and can I credit the words which it pleases you to address to me at this moment?"

"Why should it not be so, Señor Conde?" the hacendero said, with an almost imperceptible tinge of sarcasm.

"Why?" the count remarked with considerable vehemence; but at once checking himself he continued in that cold and lightly mocking tone natural to him, "A truce, if you please, to compliments and protestations in which neither of us believes, and let us come to facts."

"Be it so, Señor Conde," Don Aníbal replied, still obsequious. "Let us come to facts, I desire nothing more."

There was a silence for two or three moments. At length the count continued —

"Caballero, I have come to visit you, not as alcade mayor of the province, a title I do not possess, and to which I have no claim, but merely as alcade of the town of Leona Vicario, in the territory of which your property is partly included, and from the jurisdiction of which you naturally append."

"Naturally!" the hacendero repeated. "Ah! I depend from the jurisdiction of Leona Vicario. I thank you for the information, Señor Conde. I confess to you that I was completely ignorant of the fact, having, whether rightly or wrongly, a habit of recognizing no jurisdiction but my own in matters that occur on my estates."

"As you see, caballero, you are wrong."

"Be it so; but in my turn, Señor Conde, I will say, with your permission, enough of this. For I suppose that it is not with the purpose of giving me this most important information, for which I thank you, that you have ridden such a distance, and taken the trouble to come hither."

"You are right, caballero, I had another motive in coming here."

"And may I hope that you will deign to let me know it?"

"Without further delay, señor."

"I am waiting with the most lively impatience, Señor Conde."

"I have come, caballero," the alcade mayor continued with a tinge of threatening hauteur, "to ask you by what right you have assembled at your hacienda so large a number of individuals who have all been long known as haters of the king's government?"

Don Aníbal was preparing to answer this question in a manner at least quite as haughty as that in which it was asked, but Father Pelagio, who had hitherto seemed to attach but slight importance to the conversation, suddenly drew himself up, and seizing Don Aníbal by the arm gently thrust him on one side, and coldly said to the count —

"It is my place to answer this, Señor Alcade."

At this interpellation, which he was far from expecting, the count looked with surprise at the man who was addressing him, and noticing his shabby clothes said disdainfully —

"Who are you, my good fellow, and by what right do you take the liberty of addressing me?"

"Ah, ah, it appears that my disguise is good, Señor Conde," the priest said mockingly, "since you, to whom my features are so familiar, do not recognize me."

"Can it be possible?" the count exclaimed in surprise, after examining the speaker more attentively. "What, you here! Oh, I am no longer astonished at the ferments of revolt which are springing up again in all parts of the province. It is you, unworthy minister of a God of peace, who, forgetting your holy mission, are spreading discord and preaching insurrection to the masses."

"You are mistaken, count," the priest answered, "I preach a holy war: but, believe me, caballero, threats or insults are unadvisable between us; it would be neither prudent nor courteous on your part to offer them to me, and I warn you that I will not put up with them. You want to know what we are doing here? I will tell you. We are conspiring the overthrow of the government you serve, and at the moment when you arrived we were taking an oath to conquer or die in regaining our liberty. Is there anything else you desire to know? Speak, and I am ready to satisfy you."

The count smiled sorrowfully.

"No," he answered, "poor madmen, I have nothing more to learn. What can you tell me that I do not already know? Was not the long struggle you have sustained up to this day sufficient to prove to you the inutility of a mad resistance against a power too strongly established for your obstinate efforts to succeed even in shaking it? Listen to what I am instructed to say to you in the name of his Excellency the Viceroy."

"Speak," Fray Pelagio said, coldly, "and speak loud, Señor Conde, so that we may clearly hear the propositions you have to make to us."

"Propositions?" he replied haughtily. "I have none to make to you. I have orders to intimate, nothing else."

"Orders? That is very haughty language. Have you forgotten where you are, and who are the men surrounding you?"

"I have forgotten nothing I ought to remember, caballero, believe me. Renounce an impossible contest; withdraw peacefully, all of you, to your houses; and possibly the government, taking pity on you, will consent to close its eyes upon this insensate and purposeless attempt."

A frightful outburst of yells and threats greeted this contemptuous summons. The count, with a smile on his lips, a calm brow, and head aloft, remained unmoved by this general indignation.

"Silence," the Father shouted; "and you, Señor Conde," he added, addressing the alcade mayor, "how many lives have you to risk when you dare offer us such an insult? Do you think yourself in perfect safety? In your turn listen to our reply – it will be brief."

"I am listening," he said.

"The weapons we take up today we shall not lay down till the last Spaniard has quitted the soil of Mexico."

Frenzied applause and shouts of joy arose from all sides at these words.

"Be it so, señores," the count replied; "the blood shed will be on your own heads. In the name of the king I declare you infamous traitors, and, as such, outlaws. Farewell!"

And without condescending to bow to the company, the count, after looking defiantly around him, turned and left the hall with the same calm and measured step as when he entered it. Father Pelagio then bent down to Don Aníbal's ear.

"Follow him," he said in a low voice, "and do not let him quit the hacienda till you know his instructions and the repressive measures the government intend to employ against us."

"That will be difficult," the hacendero observed.

"Not so much so as you suppose. The count is an old friend of yours. Take advantage of the late hour to oblige him to accept your hospitality, and remain here till tomorrow. In our present position, twenty-four hours gained may ensure the success of our plans. I reckon on your skill to decide him."

"I will try," Don Aníbal answered, shaking his head doubtfully; "but I am afraid I shall fail in this delicate mission."

"Try impossibilities, my friend," Fray Pelagio pressed him.

Don Aníbal bowed and left the hall.

CHAPTER VII.
A CONVERSATION

Among the persons present at the meeting, was one to whom we have not alluded, although he is destined to play an important part in this story, and who perhaps listened with more interest than anyone else to what was said. This person, to whom we have now to turn our attention, was Sotavento, the Indian majordomo, so liked by Don Aníbal de Saldibar, and whose gloomy outline was described in our earlier chapters.

Sotavento had not altered; nearly a dozen years had passed over his head without leaving the slightest trace; his hair was still as black, his face as cold, and his person as upright. Indians have this peculiarity, that, whatever their age may be, they always seem young, and do not really begin to display any signs of decrepitude until they reach the last limits of old age.

We several times came across redskins who mentioned to us facts that occurred sixty years back, and yet they did not themselves look more than five and thirty. Moreover, it is impossible to fix with any certainty an Indian's age, even when his features bear the stamp of senility, for the simple reason that the savages do not try by any ceremony to fix in their minds the precise date of their children's birth, and limit themselves to recording, by the name they give them, at what spot, in what season, and under what physical or moral influence they are born; hence the names of plants, animals, rivers, mountains, etc., which nearly all the redskins bear.

Sotavento, during the twelve years that had elapsed, had not left his master. He had continued to serve him with such fidelity and devotion that the latter, in spite of his indomitable Castilian pride, had almost come to regard his majordomo more as a friend than a servant, and to treat him accordingly. The conduct of this man, although still stamped with a certain mystery, had constantly been loyal, apparently at least, and under two critical circumstances he had bravely exposed his life to save his master's.

Still, in spite of the proofs of devotion which could not be disputed, this man inspired all those with whom chance brought him into contact (always excepting Don Aníbal) with a repugnance and antipathy which nothing could overcome; and, singular to say, the better he was known and the longer, the less people liked him, and the more they tried to avoid having anything to do with him. Still, his manners were gentle, polite, even affable; he liked to do services, and eagerly seized every opportunity to be agreeable, even to persons who must be quite indifferent to him.

Whence came this general repulsion for this man? No one could have said: it was instinctive; when people were near him they felt an emotion like that caused by the sight of a reptile. Don Aníbal alone shrugged his shoulders with a smile of contempt when any doubts or fears were expressed in his presence about the character of the man whom he had made his confidant. Was he wrong or right? The conclusion will probably show.

The majordomo stepped unnoticed out of the hall after his master, and leaving the latter to go in search of Count de Melgosa, who had already reached the patio, and was about giving his servants the necessary orders for departure, he quietly entered the inner apartments, went through several rooms, and reached an octagonal parlour of small size, whose windows looked out on the huerta, which at that moment was filled with horses and armed men who had formed a temporary bivouac there. On reaching it the Indian looked searchingly around him, then, going to the door, bent his body forward, and seemed to be listening.

"They are coming," he said to himself, almost immediately after.

With one bound he reached the other end of the room, opened, with a key that hung from his neck by a thin steel chain, a door carefully concealed in the wall, took a final glance of singular meaning at the door of the room, and then disappeared, closing the panel, which moved noiselessly in a groove, at the very moment when Don Aníbal entered the room, accompanied by the count.

"Here," the hacendero said, pointing to a butaca, "we can converse at our ease, without fear of being disturbed by intruders."

"I assure you that I have nothing to say to you; still, if you desire to exchange a few words with me while my servants are saddling the horses, it will afford me great pleasure."

While saying this, the count seated himself.

"Oh, oh!" the hacendero remarked, with a smile, "Is that your tone? I cannot believe that you really intend to go away so speedily; it cannot be so, for the honour of my house. My dear count, old friends as we are must separate with mutual satisfaction, and when all the duties of hospitality have been strictly fulfilled."

"My dear Don Aníbal, at the present day," the count said with reserve, "the duties of hospitality have become, I fear, very weak ties, and are not strong enough to retain anybody."

"Do not believe that," Don Aníbal exclaimed warmly; "friendship has its undeniable rights, and if fate has cast us into two opposite parties, we ought only to esteem each other the more for having followed our convictions."

"Unfortunately, Don Aníbal, but few friendships resist political hatreds. However great the affection may be we feel for a man, however powerful the sympathy we may have with him, when a community of thought no longer exists, when everything separates you, indifference inevitably succeeds friendship, and, as you know, from indifference to hatred is only a step."

"Which, I trust, you have not yet taken, my dear count, for our friendship is one of those which nothing can weaken, as it rests on too solid a basis – an oath of vengeance which we took together – and which we have as yet been unable to accomplish, in spite of all our efforts."

The count's brow was contracted by a painful thought.

"Yes," he murmured, "you are right, Don Aníbal; there is a vengeance we have sworn to take. Oh, whatever may happen, I will keep my oath."

"Perhaps," the hacendero continued, "the hour is nearer at hand than you suppose."

"Is that the truth, Don Aníbal?" he exclaimed, suddenly starting up. "Shall we at length reach the object for which we have so long been striving?"

"I hope so, Señor Conde; as I am more at liberty than you, and better situated to obtain information, I believe that I am at last on the track."

"Speak, speak! What do you know, my friend?"

"Speaking today would perhaps be imprudent. I do not wish to leave anything to chance; give me a few more days, and then – "

"But," the count interrupted him passionately, "the insult I have to avenge is more serious than yours; my murdered brother, my boy carried off, perhaps killed, whose blood is incessantly crying out after their cowardly and barbarous murderers."

"And I have my wife, my well-beloved wife, who was rendered mad by terror, and my daughter, who escaped by a miracle from the frightful sting of a snake. Oh, believe me, count, I suffer as much as you, for all my happiness has been for ever destroyed."

There was a moment of painful silence. The two gentlemen, lying back in their butacas, with their heads buried in their hands, remained plunged in gloomy and sorrowful thoughts. At length the hacendero spoke.

"Still," he said, "on reflection, I think that it will be better both for you and me to come to a thorough understanding about the steps we mean to take, and arrange so that failure cannot be possible. But the conversation will be a long one; I have much information to impart to you, and so, my dear count, whether you like it or not, you must defer your departure till tomorrow, and consent to pass the night beneath my roof."

"I am in a very exceptional position here, Don Aníbal. The persons assembled in the hacienda at this moment have a right to regard me as an enemy, perhaps a spy. I should not like – "

"That concerns me, my dear count. Thank heaven, the well-known honour of your character places you above all suspicion; and who knows, perhaps your stay here, however short it may be, will not prove useless to the cause you serve."

"What do you mean? Pray explain yourself, my friend, for I do not understand you."

"You will soon do so; but for the present I shall feel obliged by your not pressing the point."

"Very good; I will await a more propitious moment to obtain from you the double explanation you promise me."

At this moment the door opened, and Don Melchior appeared. He bowed.

"Well, Don Melchior, what good wind has brought you here?" Don Aníbal asked with a smile.

"The Señor Conde's horses are ready, father," he replied; "his people are only awaiting his pleasure."

"Be good enough, my dear boy," the hacendero remarked, "to tell the criados to take his Excellency's horses back to the stable, and to unload the mules. The count does not start tonight, but deigns to spend it under our humble roof."

"Still – " the count objected.

"You have promised me," Don Aníbal said quickly.

"Well, be it so," said the count, with his eyes fixed on the young man, who was standing respectfully in the doorway.

At a sign from the hacendero, Melchior bowed, and left the room. The count remained pensive for some moments, and then turned to his host.

"Have you not your old majordomo?" he asked him.

"Certainly. Why do you ask the question?"

"I fancied that young man had taken his place."

"Oh, no! That young man is not even one of my servants."

"Ah!"

"He is an orphan I have brought up."

"It is strange that I should have never seen him before."

"I presume you never noticed him before now."

"That is possible," the count said, suppressing a sigh, "still, it seems to me, I know not why, that had I seen him before, his face would not have passed out of my memory; there is something about it which struck me. Have you had him long?"

"He was six years old, I believe, when Sotavento brought him to me. Since that time he has constantly been with me; he is, I think, of Indian origin, although his features are more marked than those of the redskins, and his complexion whiter; but that means nothing on the border, where crossings of breed are so frequent."

"That is true," the count murmured, as he passed his hand over his forehead, as if to drive away a painful thought; "forgive me, my friend, I do not know where my head was; the questions I asked you must have appeared to you most indiscreet."

"Not at all; I am greatly attached to this young man, who deserves in every respect all that I have done for him. Hence I can only feel flattered when others beside myself take an interest in him, for it proves that I was not deceived with respect to him. Now, that it is arranged you will not start till tomorrow – "

"At sunrise," the count interrupted.

"Very good," the hacendero continued; "permit me to discharge a mission I have undertaken toward you."

"A mission!" the count said with surprise.

"The word is perhaps very ambitious, but the matter is this – Father Pelagio wishes you to give him an interview for a few minutes in this room."

"Did I not see him just now, and did we not have a conversation?"