"It sounds very ungracious, madam, but I am already in your debt, and one is naturally shy about asking favours of that kind from women. I almost think there are special reasons why it should be so in my case."

"That, presumably, means somebody has used you badly? Still, it really isn't wise to generalise too freely, and you were once good enough to promise that you would consider me as a friend of yours."

"I could scarcely have fancied you were particularly friendly a little while ago."

The little lady smiled again. "I offer you my sincere apologies, Mr.

Austin. And now a question. Did you tell Jacinta what you have told us?"

"I certainly did not. To be candid, I hadn't the slightest encouragement. Miss Brown made it quite clear to me that she hadn't a trace of interest in any of my doings. In fact, she was kind enough to suggest it was rather a pity I escaped the fever, and hadn't come back upon my shield."

"For which she will probably be distinctly annoyed with herself by and by. I presume you must catch the Spanish steamer, Mr. Austin?"

"Of course. After all, I shall be glad to get back. People are not so very exacting in Africa, you see."

Mrs. Hatherly nodded, though there was a twinkle in her eyes. "Well,"

she said, "we will talk of something else in the meanwhile. I am alone just now, and you cannot decently leave me."

They discussed a good many things, and it seemed to Austin that his companion meant to keep him there, and was anxious to gain time. Still, he could see no reason for it, and failed to understand her remark about Jacinta, and he sat still with an effort until Muriel came back again.

She appeared a trifle vexed about something.

"I don't know what has happened to Jacinta, but she wasn't in the least sympathetic," she said. "She wouldn't even listen when I wanted to talk about Harry and the _c.u.mbria_."

"Where is she now?" asked Mrs. Hatherly.

"With the Senora Anasona. They are going back to Laguna directly, though she had, as you know, practically promised to stay with us to-night. The senora, it seems, wants to drive her across to her finca at Orotava to-morrow. It is very provoking."

Mrs. Hatherly changed the subject, and it was a minute or two later when she turned to Austin again.

"I suppose it is really necessary that you should cross to Las Palmas to-morrow," she said casually. "Couldn't you get there in the _Estremedura_ before the West-coast boat sailed?"

"There are several things I have to do which can't well be arranged here."

"You would insist on getting them all done, even if you knew it would cost you something?"

"I really think I should. You see, Jefferson and the others are practically depending on me, and I daren't omit anything I want, whatever trouble it might cause me, although, as a matter of fact, I don't antic.i.p.ate any, and it will be rather a relief to get away."

"Ah!" said Mrs. Hatherly. "Well, I suppose that is only what one would expect from you. Muriel, will you tell Jacinta that she has not shown me the lace she mentioned, and as I think I'll get the woman at Laguna to make me some, I want to see it before she goes away. I shall have to keep you another few minutes, Mr. Austin."

Muriel disappeared into the crowd, and it was a little time before she came back again.

"Jacinta has just driven off with the senora," she said. "I can't quite understand why she didn't come to say good-bye."

Austin smiled drily. "I think I could guess her reason."

Mrs. Hatherly rose and held out her hand. "If you can come and see us to-morrow, please do so," she said. "If not, you will remember now that whatever happens I am one of your friends."

"I shall be glad to do so, madam," and Austin made her a little inclination. "Good friends are scarce, and there are apparently not many people who believe in me."

CHAPTER XX

JACINTA MAKES NO EXCUSE

It was in the heat of the afternoon Mrs. Hatherly and Muriel drove into old-world Laguna, which stands high upon the hill slopes above Santa Cruz. It was built four hundred years ago, and remains but little changed, for its early prosperity ebbed away with the trade in the once famous vintages of Canary, so that it stood until a few years ago with the gra.s.s in its streets, a place of drowsy stillness, picturesque in its decay, cool, and by no means over clean. Beneath it the hillside drops, dusty and sun-scorched, to the sea; but on the plateau behind it are fields of tall sugar-cane, walnuts, eucalyptus, and vines, beyond which again the shoulders of the great peak are seamed by straggling pines. Still, when Mrs. Hatherly drove into it, Laguna was once more awakening, for the British tourist had arrived, with his wife and daughters, in blue veils and inartistic raiment that roused the peasants' wonder, besides cameras, and baggage by the carriage load; and when the tourist comes, quietness and the dignified simplicity of olden Spain melt before him.

The Senora Anasona, with whom Jacinta was then residing, however, belonged to the ancient order, and she had also placed herself and all her possessions at Mrs. Hatherly's disposal. The latter had already discovered that to be a friend of Jacinta's counted for a good deal in those islands. It secured one consideration in unexpected places, and opened doors at which the tweed-clad tourists' wives might knock in vain. The Castilian is somewhat behind the times, and, perhaps because he is seldom troubled with much of it, attaches rather less importance than some other people do to the possession of money. Muriel, however, was not certain why her aunt had undertaken that hot and dusty drive, although she had informed her that if there was a comfortable hotel in Laguna she might stay there a day or two, because she was not sure that Santa Cruz suited her, and she had been troubled with certain premonitory twinges in one shoulder.

In any case, she faced the scorching sun uncomplainingly, and arriving at last before an iron-bound door in a blank white wall, was led through an ill-kept garden, where flowers rioted, a chaos of blazing colour, at their will, into a big, cool house, which seemed filled with slumbrous quietness. She was received by a very reposeful lady of middle age in inconveniently tight-fitting black silk, with the powder thick upon her pallid face. The Senora Anasona was, as is usual with Spanish women who have pa.s.sed their third decade, somnolent in expression, and portly; but though they could only muster a very little indifferent French between them, she promptly set her guests at ease.

"This poor house and all there is in it are yours," she said. "The friends of the Senorita Jacinta are also mine. Since you have known this for some time, why have you stayed away so long?"

It was the usual conventional formula in Spain, but there was a certain stately graciousness in her gesture which Mrs. Hatherly had never seen quite equalled before. The latter attempted an appropriate reply in French, and then inquired for Jacinta, whereupon her hostess smiled.

"She is in the patio, and, perhaps, asleep," she said. "If not, it is likely that she will come in. I do not know. One does what one pleases always in this house of mine, and here one usually sleeps by the afternoon. What would you? It is a custom of the country, and there is nothing else to do. One can dream of the times when it was different with us and Spain."

"One could fancy in this island that those days have not altogether pa.s.sed away, or, at least, that they had left something behind," said Mrs. Hatherly. "One sees it in even your peons' courtesy, and the modesty of the women."

"You did not feel that in Las Palmas?"

"No," said Mrs. Hatherly. "I don't think I did."

The senora laughed. "Las Palmas is not Spanish now, my friend. They have coal wharves and harbour works, and heap up the pesetas there. There are, however, things we others would not exchange for silver. This house, for example. An Englishman would buy it and make it an hotel."

"Of course, you would not sell it him?"

The senora shook her head. "It is not mine," she said. "It belongs to the Anasonas who are dead. One of them built it four hundred years ago, and one of them has lived here always, until my husband, Colonel of Cazadores, died in Cuba. Now I live alone, and remember, until by and by my nephew comes here after me. The past is all we have in Spain, but one feels that, after all, it may be worth more than the present--when one goes to Las Palmas."

Then a maid brought in a basket of grapes and a little wine, and it was some time later when the senora turned to Muriel.

"It seems that Jacinta is not coming in," she said. "Perhaps she would sooner see you alone in the patio. I do not know. Jacinta does not care about the conventions. She does what pleases her, and it is also very often the right thing. One descends from the veranda outside that window."

Muriel smiled as she went out, for she was acquainted with Jacinta's habits, and was beginning to comprehend the customs of the land she lived in, where time is not considered, and it is always drowsy afternoon. Then, though she was not an imaginative person, she trod softly as she went down the steps to the patio, for the influence of the place laid hold on her. The little white town lay silent under the cloudless heavens, and had there been any movement of busy life there, which very seldom happened, the high white walls of the garden would have shut out the sound. The house was also built round the patio in a hollow square, and interposed a double barrier between the outer world and that s.p.a.ce of flowers.

Over it hung bronze-railed balconies, and quaint verandas with old carved pillars and rich trellises smothered in purple bougainvilla, while there were oleanders and heavy scented heliotrope in the little square below. A fountain twinkled in the midst of it, and fat goldfish from Palma swam slowly round its marble basin; but all was old, artistic, ill cared for, and steeped in a silence which seemed filled with the reminiscences of bygone years. Even Jacinta, who lay in a big cane chair near the fountain, appeared in keeping with the atmosphere of the place, for she was dressed in gauzy Castilian black, which added a suggestion of old-fashioned stateliness to her somewhat slender figure, and an ebony fan of a kind not made nowadays lay across an open book she had apparently been reading. She looked up with a little smile when she saw Muriel, and languidly pointed to the canvas lounge beside her.

"It's comfortable, and I think it's strong," she said. "Any way, the senora regularly goes to sleep in it. I brought the lounges with me, because they don't have such things in Spain. I shall probably leave them here, and if they break down with the senora it is quite certain n.o.body will ever think of mending them. One folds one's hands and says that it doesn't matter at Laguna. You will begin to understand it if you stay here."

Muriel laughed. "It's often a little hard to tell what you mean," she said. "You have been reading?"

"Mr. Prescott's history of the Spanish occupation of Mexico--you will, no doubt, be astonished at that?"

"I am. Still, I have read it, too."

Jacinta smiled as she unfolded her fan. "I have my moments of relaxation, and can be sentimental now and then. Sentiment, you see, is in the atmosphere here. One feels mediaeval, as if all the old things of the olden days had come back again, miracles, and crowned virgins that fell from the clouds, valour and knightliness, and man's faith in woman.

No doubt there were more, but I don't remember them. They have, of course, gone out of fashion long ago."