Where the main garden-walk meets the one going along the bottom, is another open s.p.a.ce, smaller than that around the fountain, still sufficient to let in the light of the moon. Here also have been seats and statues; the latter lying shattered, as if hashed to the earth by the hand of some ruthless iconoclast. Just opposite, is a breach in the wall; the mud bricks, crumbled into clods forming a _talus_ on each face of it.

Arriving at this, the _mestizo_ makes stop. Only for an instant, long enough to give a last glance up the garden.

Apparently satisfied, that he is not followed nor observed, he scrambles up the slope and down on the opposite side, where he is lost to the view of the sisters; who both stand wondering--the younger sensibly trembling.

"What on earth is the fellow after?" asks Helen, whose speech comes first.

"What, indeed?" echoes Jessie.

"A question, sister, you should be better able to answer than I. He is the trusted servant of M. Dupre; and he, I take it, has told you all about him."

"Not a word has he. He knows that I don't like the man, and never did from the first. I've intimated as much to him more than once."

"That ought to have got Master Fernand his discharge. Your Luis will surely not keep him, if he knows it's disagreeable to you?"

"Well, perhaps he wouldn't if I were to put it in that way. I haven't done so yet. I only hinted that the man wasn't altogether to my liking; especially made so much of as Luis makes of him. You must know, dear Helen, my future lord and master is of a very trusting nature; far too much, I fear, for some of the people now around him. He has been brought up like all Creoles, without thought for the morrow. A sprinkling of Yankee cuteness wouldn't do him any harm. As for this fellow, he has insinuated himself into Luis's confidence in some way that appears quite mysterious. It even puzzles our father; though he's said nothing much about it. So far he appears satisfied, because the man has proved capable, and, I believe, very useful to them in their affairs. For my part I've been mystified by him all along, and not less now. I wonder what he can be after. Can you not give a guess?"

"Not the slightest; unless it be theft. Do you think it's that?"

"I declare I don't know."

"Is there anything he could be carrying off from the house, with the intention of secreting it outside? Some of your Luis's gold for instance, or the pretty jewels he has given you?"

"My jewels! No; they are safe in their case; locked up in my room, of which I've the key with me. As for Luis's gold, he hasn't much of that.

All the money he possesses--quite fifty thousand dollars, I believe--is in silver. I wondered at his bringing it out here in that heavy shape, for it made a whole waggon-load of itself. He's told me the reason, however; which is, that among Indians and others out here on the frontier, gold is not thought so much of as silver."

"It can't be silver Fernand is stealing--if theft it be. He would look more loaded, and couldn't have gone so lightly over that wall."

"Indeed, as you say, he went skipping over it like a gra.s.shopper."

"Rather say gliding like a snake. I never saw a man whose movements more resembled the Devil in serpent shape--except one."

The thought of this one, who is Richard Darke, causes Helen Armstrong to suspend speech; at the same time evoking a sigh to the memory of another one--Charles Clancy.

"Shall we return into the house?" asks Jessie, after a pause.

"For what purpose?"

"To tell Luis of what we've seen; to warn him about Fernand."

"If we did the warning would be unheeded. I fear Monsieur Dupre will remain unconvinced of any intended treachery in his trusted servant, until something unpleasant occur; it may be something disastrous. After all, you and I, Jess, have only our suspicions, and may be wronging the fellow. Suppose we stay a little longer, and see what comes of it. No doubt, he'll soon return from his mysterious promenade, and by remaining, we may find out what he's been after. Shall we wait for him?

You're not afraid, are you?"

"A little, I confess. Do you know, Helen, this Fernand gives me the same sort of feeling I had at meeting that big fellow in the streets of Natchitoches. At times he glares at me just in the same way. And yet the two are so different."

"Well, since no harm came of your Nachitoches bogie, it's to be hoped there won't any from this one. If you have any fear to stay, let us go in. Only my curiosity is greatly excited by what we've seen, and I'd like to know the end of it. If we don't discover anything, it can do no harm. And if we do--say; shall we go, or try?"

"I'm not afraid now. You make me brave, sister. Besides, we may find out something Luis ought to know."

"Then let us stay."

Having resolved to await the coming back of the half-blood, and watch his further movements, the sisters bethink them of seeking a safer place for observation; one where there will be less danger of being themselves seen.

It is to Helen the idea occurs.

"On his return," she says, "he might stray along this way, and not go up the centre walk. Therefore we had better conceal ourselves more effectually. I wonder he didn't see us while pa.s.sing out. No doubt he would have done so, but for looking so anxiously behind, and going at such a rapid rate. Coming back he may not be so hurried; and should he sight us, then an end to our chance of finding out what he's up to.

Where's the best place to play spy on him?"

The two look in different directions, in search of an appropriate spot.

There can be no difficulty in finding such. The shrubbery, long unpruned, grows luxuriantly everywhere, screening the _facade_ of the wall along its whole length.

Near by is an arbour of evergreens, thickly overgrown with a trellis of trailing plants.

They know of this shady retreat; have been in it before that night.

Now, although the moon is shining brightly, its interior, arcaded over by dense foliage, is in dark shadow--dark as a cavern. Once inside it, eye cannot see them from without.

"The very place," whispers Helen; and they commence moving towards it.

To reach the arbour it is necessary for them to return to the main walk, and pa.s.s the place where the bottom wall is broken down; a ruin evidently caused by rude intruders, doubtless the same savages who made the mission desolate. The talus extending to the path, with its fringe of further scattered clods, requires them to step carefully so as to avoid stumbling.

They go hand in hand, mutually supporting one another.

Their white gossamer dresses, floating lightly around them as they glide silently along, give them a resemblance to sylphs, or wood-nymphs, all the more as they emerge into the moonlight.

To complete the sylvan picture, it seems necessary there should be satyrs, or wood-demons, as well.

And such in reality there are, not a great way off. These, or something closely resembling them. No satyrs could show in more grotesque guise than the forms at that moment moving up to the wall, on its opposite side.

Gliding on, the sisters have arrived before the gap. Some instinct, perhaps curiosity, tempts them to take a look through it, into the shadowy forest beyond; and for some time, as under a spell of fascination, they stand gazing into its dark, mysterious depths.

They see nought save the sparkle of fire-flies; and hear nothing but the usual noises of the Southern night, to which they have been from infancy accustomed.

But as they are about moving on again, a sound salutes their ear-- distinguishable as a footstep. Irregular and scrambling, as of one stepping among the broken bricks. Simultaneously a man is seen making his way over the wall.

"Fernand!"

No use for them now to attempt concealment; no good can come of it. He has seen them.

Nor does he any longer seem desirous of shunning observation. On the contrary, leaping down from the rampart, he comes straight towards them; in an instant presenting himself face to face, not with the nimble air of a servant, but the demeanour of one who feels himself master, and intend to play tyrant. With the moon shining full upon his tawny face, they can distinguish the play of its features. No look of humility, nor sign of subservience there. Instead, a bold, bullying expression, eyes emitting a lurid light, lips set in a satanic smile, between them teeth gleaming like a tiger's! He does not speak a word. Indeed, he has not time; for Helen Armstrong antic.i.p.ates him. The proud girl, indignant at what she sees, too fearless to be frightened, at once commences chiding him.

In words bold and brave, so much that, if alone, the scoundrel might quail under their castigation. But he is not alone, nor does he allow her to continue.

Instead, he cries out, interrupting, his speech not addressed to her, but some one behind:--

"Bring hither the serapes! Quick, or--"

He himself is not permitted to finish what he intended saying; or, if so, his last words are unheard; drowned by a confused noise of rushing and rumbling, while the gap in the garden wall is suddenly closed, as if by enchantment. It is at first filled by a dark ma.s.s, seemingly compact, but soon separating into distinct forms.