-Xxvii- · II

I am terribly afraid,” she repeated, shuddering.

Julián chafed at his own dullness. What would he not give to be eloquent! And nothing occurred to him, nothing at all. The mystical consolations he had prepared and treasured up, the theory of embracing the cross... all had vanished before that wilful, throbbing, overflowing grief.

“Ever since I arrived... this house so vast and ancient...” Nucha continued, “chilled my back... Only now... they are no silly fancies of a spoiled girl, no... They are going to kill the little one... You will see! As soon as I leave her with the nurse, I am upon thorns... Let us make an end quickly... This must be resolved this very hour. I turn to you, because I can trust no one else... You love my child.”

“As for loving her...” stammered Julián, almost voiceless with tenderness.

“I am alone, utterly alone...” repeated Nucha, passing her hand over her cheeks. Her voice sounded broken by tears she restrained. “I thought of confessing to you, but... God grant me a good confession... I would not obey if you ordered me to stay here... I know well it is my duty: a wife should not part from her husband. My resolve, when I married, was...”

She stopped suddenly, and facing Julián, asked him:

“Does it not seem to you, as to me, that this marriage was bound to turn out ill? My sister Rita was already almost my cousin’s betrothed when he asked for my hand... Through no fault of mine, Rita and I have been estranged ever since... I know not how it came about; God knows I did nothing on my part to make Pedro notice me. Papa advised me, in any case, to marry my cousin... I followed his advice... I resolved to be good, to love him dearly, to obey him, to care for my children... Tell me, Julián, have I failed in anything?”

Julián folded his hands. His knees bent under him, and he was on the point of dropping them to the earth. He uttered with enthusiasm:

“You are an angel, Señorita Marcelina.”

“No...” she replied, “no angel, yet I do not remember having harmed anyone. I took great care of my little brother Gabriel, who was delicate in health and had no mother...”

At these words the wave overflowed and tears coursed at last; Nucha breathed more easily, as though those memories of childhood calmed her nerves and weeping brought relief.

“And indeed I grew so fond of him that I thought to myself: ‘If I ever have children of my own, I cannot possibly love them more than my brother.’ Since then I have seen that this was folly; one loves one’s children far more still.”

The sky was slowly clouding over, and the chapel grew dark. The young lady spoke with melancholy calmness.

“When my brother went to the artillery academy, I thought only of pleasing Papa, and of making poor Mama’s absence little felt... My sisters preferred to go out walking, for, being pretty, they were fond of amusements. Me they called plain and cross-eyed, assuring me I should never find a husband.”

“Would to God!” exclaimed Julián, unable to restrain himself.

“I only laughed. Why did I need to marry? I had Papa and Gabriel to live with always. If they died, I could enter a convent: that of the Carmelites, where Aunt Dolores is, pleased me greatly. In short, I was in no way to blame for Rita’s displeasure. When Papa informed me of my cousin’s intentions, I told him I did not wish to take away my sister’s suitor, and then Papa... kissed me repeatedly on the cheeks, as when I was small, and... I fancy I hear him still... he answered me thus: ‘Rita is a fool... hold your tongue.’ But whatever Papa might say... my cousin still liked Rita better!...”

She continued after a few seconds of silence:

“You see my sister had little cause to envy me... How much gall have I swallowed, Julián! When I think of it a knot forms here...”

The chaplain was able at last to express something of his feelings.

“I do not wonder that knot forms in your throat... I feel it myself... Day and night I brood upon your sorrows, señorita... When I saw that mark... the bruise upon your wrist...”

For the first time during the conversation Nucha’s pale face flushed, and her eyes were veiled by the drooping of her eyelashes. She made no direct reply.

“You see,” she murmured with the ghost of a bitter smile, “that misfortunes always befall me through things for which I am not to blame... Pedro insisted that I should claim Mama’s lawful portion from Papa, because Papa refused him money he needed for the elections. He was also deeply displeased because Aunt Marcelina, who intended to make me her heir, is going, I believe, to leave the property to Rita... I have nothing to do with any of that... Why do they kill me? I know well that I am poor: there is no need to repeat it to me... Well, that is the least of it... It pained me far more that my husband should tell me that through me the house of Moscoso is left without succession... Without succession! And my little girl? Angel of my soul!”

The unhappy lady wept, slowly, without sobbing. Her eyelids already wore the reddish tinge that painters give to those of Our Lady of Sorrows.

“As for my own troubles,” she added, “they do not matter to me. My own lot I would endure to the last breath. That they should... treat me in one way... or another, that... that the maidservant... should... take my place... well... well, patience, it would be a matter of having patience, of suffering, of letting myself die... But the child stands in the way... there is another boy, another child, a bastard... The girl is in their path... They will kill her!...”

She repeated solemnly and very slowly:

“They will kill her. Do not look at me so. I am not mad, only overwrought. I am resolved to go away and live with my father. It seems to me this is no sin, nor is taking the little one with me. And if I sin, do not tell me of it, Julianciño!... It is an irrevocable resolution. You shall come with me, for alone I could never carry out my plan. Will you accompany me?”

Julián would have objected something; what? He knew not himself. The affectionate diminutive used by the young lady, the feverish resolution with which she spoke, overcame him. Refuse to help the unhappy woman? Impossible. Consider the strangeness, the impropriety of the scheme? It never crossed his mind for a moment. Like the simple soul he was, so absurd an escape seemed to him almost easy. Oppose her departure? He too had felt and felt at every instant fear, mortal dread, not only for the child but for the mother: had it not occurred to him a thousand times that the lives of both were in imminent peril? Moreover, what on earth would he not attempt to dry those pure eyes, to calm that throbbing bosom, to see the young lady once more safe, honoured, respected, surrounded with tender care in her father’s house?

He pictured the scene of the flight. It would be at daybreak. Nucha would be wrapped in many cloaks. He would carry the little girl, fast asleep and bundled up warmly too. In case of need he would have in his pocket a jar of warm milk. Walking briskly they would reach Cebre in barely three hours. There bread-and-milk could be made. The baby would not suffer hunger. In the coach they would take the coupé, the most comfortable place. Each turn of the wheel would bear them farther from the gloomy Pazos...

Very softly, as in the confessional, they began to discuss and settle these details. Another sunbeam parted the clouds, and the saints in their niches seemed to smile benevolently upon the group by the bench. Neither the Immaculate Virgin with her flowing ringlets and robe of white and blue, nor Saint Anthony caressing a chubby Infant Jesus, nor Saint Peter with tiara and keys, nor even the Archangel Saint Michael, the knight of the fiery sword, ever ready to cleave and strike down Satan, betrayed in their newly-painted countenances the slightest anger against the chaplain, occupied in arranging the preliminaries of an abduction in all due form, snatching a daughter from her father and a wife from her lawful lord.