HELENA, watching at her window as day grew faint on the hills, saw a small cavalcade arrive at the turn of the road beyond the olive lane, bringing Gabriel Henderson a prisoner to the ranch. One rider came before him, one on either hand, and Roberto himself, with pistols in his belt, closed the road behind. Henderson's hands were bound at his back.
Helena had only a brief sight of the prisoner as the dusty riders came sweeping at a lively trot down the road and turned into the lane. She knew the torture of the long ride with hands bound behind him must have been a great trial on the sailor's endurance, but he seemed fresh and strong, and sat as erect in his saddle as Roberto himself. She knew well that his unbroken spirit still looked bravely out of his laughing eyes.
"The servant will bring our supper to these rooms; that is the direction of Don Abrahan," Doña Carlota opened the door to announce.
"You may have my share of Don Abrahan's bounty, Aunt Carlota," Helena said, her white face close to the window bars, the sash open to admit the cool, scented evening wind.
"You must eat, my child. How long? Why, it has been since yesterday that you have not eaten! You will die famished—it is a mortal sin to starve one's self to death."
"I have no heart for food, Aunt Carlota," Helena sighed.
"Three days is as long as any Christian being can live without eating, and it is now more than one. You must eat, my little dove."
"I have a banquet of bitter herbs tonight. I shall not die of hunger."
"You should not be bitter in your heart toward Don Abrahan, my sweet pigeon. What Don Abrahan proposes is only a subterfuge to save your property; in the end he will give it back to you again. Don Abrahan has told me this with his own mouth."
"Don Abrahan has been more generous to you than he has been to me."
"He is a good man, Helena; a kind and gentle man. 'Pray for me, Doña Carlota,' he requested me not an hour ago."
"Eat your supper first, then, Auntie Carlota. You will need great strength and endurance for that task."
"You must not scoff at prayers," Doña Carlota rebuked her.
"Not I."
Helena was standing before the window, the long leaves of which opened into the room. Her hands were white on the bars where she grasped them as if to draw herself to the window-ledge. Doña Carlota leaned forward to study her sharply in the fast-falling gloom.
"You will not eat?" she asked.
"No. Please close the door when you begin. I only want to be alone."
"You would not run away?"
"Yes, if I could. If I had an ax I'd break down these bars. Yes. Perhaps you'd better tell that to Don Abrahan."
"I tell Don Abrahan? Don Abrahan hears nothing from me!"
"While you are praying, Aunt Carlota, say several for yourself."
"He hears only what is for your good," Doña Carlota amended for the benefit of her own conscience, mumbling it as she closed the door. She closed it noisily, to show her displeasure, then opened it softly wide enough to admit a feather or a sound.
Doña Carlota fell asleep after her heavy supper, a tall, fresh candle on the table at her side, her feet short of the floor as she lay back in the great armchair which Don Abrahan had provided for her comfort. But she had locked the door leading into the patio, and was sitting on the key. Helena knew her habit in the way of keys. As well try to beat down the door of two-inch oak with her bare hands as to remove Doña Carlota from the key without waking her, sluggish as her slumber was, raucous as her snore.
Helena returned to her own dark room from a hopeless little hope that Doña Carlota might have forgotten the key, to close her window against the chill of night. Her own name came to her, pronounced in questioning accent of appeal, little louder than a sigh.
"Who calls?" she asked, her face close to the bars.
"It is I, Roberto."
"Oh, Roberto," she said, the strong leap of her heart falling low, the quick fire of a great new hope sinking again in despair. Roberto! Who but Roberto would be free to come, indeed!
"Come close, Helena; my words are for your ear alone."
"I am near, Roberto."
But she had drawn away at the sound of his name, unconsciously, perhaps, with the recession of her hope. Who was there but Roberto to come, indeed?
"Doña Carlota must not hear, Helena."
"She is asleep; the door is closed between us. Why do you come in this secret manner, Roberto? What do you want to tell me?"
She heard his breath near, and the soft exploration of his hands upon the bars. The great pepper tree was dark behind him, the moon was not yet up. She could see him dimly, head and shoulders above the window-sill.
"There, I am up," Roberto panted. "I am standing on Don Felipe's stool out of his office."
"And whose ambassador are you now?" she asked, prepared for some new piece of subtlety and deceit.
"My own. I have heard of your refusal to sign away your estate, Helena. I applaud your resolution. But you cannot stand before the forces that will be brought against you tomorrow, Helena. You must either yield to my father's desire in the matter, or suffer a thing that my dread will not let me name."
"And you have come to counsel me to sign away all that is mine to save you from the thought of this terrible word, Roberto?"
"I have come to offer you freedom," Roberto whispered, his words hot in their eagerness, it seemed, his face pressed close to the bars. She felt his breath on her hand.
"What is your price, then, Roberto?"
There was not even sarcasm in her tone; only the low note of one who had spent her illusions, and had no more interest in man's devices of lure and deceit.
"Price? It is I who will pay the price, it is I who will fling everything away for you! Do you not know the voice of love, Helena?"
"I have heard it so seldom, Roberto," she replied softly, in sorrow. She touched his hand, seen dimly white on the window-bar. "Forgive me, Roberto. I did not know."
"They will have your property whether you go or stay, Helena, my father and General Verdugo, between them. There is only a little time—quick! The bars are not so strong, the wood can be broken, the adobe can be torn out beneath the sill on this side."
"But what, Roberto, what then?" she asked, bewildered by his impetuosity, his apparent sincerity in whatever it was he devised.
"To the priest and be married, and then—what God wills!"
"There have been so many deceits," she said, turning many considerations in her thoughts, but not among them that of paying Roberto's price for the doubtful liberty that he offered.
"There is no deceit, Helena. I will fling everything away, I will"
"What is there for you to throw away, Roberto?" she asked, impatient of what seemed a hollow protestation.
"My father's friendship, my inheritance—all!"
"No; that is too much, Roberto."
"It is nothing."
"You might be sorry tomorrow, getting so little for so much."
"I have loved you long," he said, with such simple sincerity that touched her heart. "I have come to you now to redeem all that is past. I ask you to believe me—only that."
"But tomorrow, and the days after? Roberto, you know that I am called a traitor. I am under the shadow of death."
"My love absolves you."
"But you could not save me if they determined to have my life."
"We will go to the north, Helena, among your friends. In Sonoma the Americans have already raised a flag—do you know of this?"
"A flag? the American"
"Of the Republic of California."
"That will not do," she said, disappointed in the news. "California cannot stand as a republic."
"But the Americans will come; I am not deceived as my father is, Helena. I know they will come."
"Yes, they will come, Roberto."
"And all men may look for justice with good reason then. Your lands will be returned to you; mine, perhaps. Who knows?"
"Who knows?" she echoed.
"Doña Carlota wakes?" he whispered, straining against the bars, something in her tone that startled him.
"She sleeps on."
"We must hasten. You will come?"
"If I knew, if I knew, Roberto!"
"If you knew, my desired?"
"That you loved me—oh, Roberto! so much better than enough!"
"I'll prove to you by the devotion of my life"
"But now," she insisted, "but now. How am I to know this moment if you love me even well enough?"
"I would kill a man to prove how well I love you!"
"Roberto, but would you give one life?"
"A thousand lives if they were in my power."
"Just one, and I will do all that you desire. Roberto"—her hand found his again, she nestled on the deep window-sill close to him—"if you will let Gabriel Henderson go free, if you will see that he reaches Monterey in safety, that is all I ask."
"You ask this of me?" Roberto spoke quickly, eagerly, she thought.
"I ask it of you, Roberto. He will find a way from Monterey to go back to his people, his home."
"And if this is granted?"
"The moment he sends me word that he is safe among friends in Monterey, I swear I will do all that you desire."
"So—yes—your hand, your hand!"
Roberto spoke quickly, in the incoherence of a strong and sudden resolution, the excitement of it thrilling in his tone. She felt his hand groping between the bars, caught his wrist, laid her own hand in the grasp of his ardent fingers.
"You love him too much!" said Roberto, drawing her suddenly against the bars. "By the sacred blood, you die!"
Helena struggled hard against him, knowing his purpose was to draw her down within his dagger's reach.
"Roberto! I will alarm the house!"
"By the sacred blood!"
Helena's free hand grasped a bar as Roberto's dagger clashed on the iron. She threw herself back, breaking free from his vengeful embrace. His weapon struck the floor with a sharp clatter as he clutched to save himself a fall.
"Who is it?" Doña Carlota demanded, her voice thick with sleep, shaken in terrific fright.
"I am closing the window, Aunt Carlota," Helena answered, in calm, assuring tone.