Kitabı oku: «Roland Cashel, Volume I (of II)», sayfa 2

CHAPTER II. A CHALLENGE – AND HOW IT ENDED

La Diche viene quando no se aguarda.

– Spanish Proverb.

(Good lack comes when it is not looked for.)

Roland looked for some minutes in the direction by which Maritaña had gone, and then, with a sudden start, as if of some newly taken resolve, took the path towards the villa. He had not gone far when, at the turn of the way, he came in front of Enrique, who, with hasty steps, was advancing towards him.

“Lost, everything lost!” exclaimed the latter, with a mournful gesture of his hands.

“All gone!” cried Roland.

“Every crown in the world!”

“Be it so; there is an end of gambling, at least!”

“You bear your losses nobly, senhor!” said Enrique, sneeringly; “and, before a fitting audience, might claim the merit of an accomplished gamester. I am, however, most unworthy to witness such fine philosophy. I recognize in beggary nothing but disgrace!”

“Bear it, then, and the whole load, too!” said Roland, sneeringly. “To your solicitations only I yielded in taking my place at that accursed table. I had neither a passion for play, nor the lust for money-getting; you thought to teach me both, and, peradventure, you have made me despise them more than ever.”

“What a moralist!” cried Enrique, laughing insolently, “who discovers that he has cared neither for his mistress nor his money till he has lost both.”

“What do you mean?” said Roland, trembling with passion.

“I never speak in riddles,” was the cool reply.

“This, then, is meant as insult,” said Roland, approaching closer, and speaking in a still lower voice; “or is it merely the passion of a disappointed gambler?”

“And if it were, amigo mio,” retorted the other, “what more fitting stake to set against the anger of a rejected lover?”

“Be it so!” cried Roland, fiercely; “you never caught up a man more disposed to indulge your humor. Shall it be now?”

“Could not so much courage keep warm till daylight?” said Enrique, calmly. “Below the fountains there is a very quiet spot.”

“At sunrise?”

“At sunrise,” echoed Enrique, bowing with affected courtesy, till the streamers from his hat touched the ground.

“Now for my worthy father-in-law elect,” said Roland; “and to see him before he may hear of this business, or I may find it difficult to obtain my divorce.” When the youth arrived at the villa, the party were assembled at supper. The great saloon, crowded with guests and hurrying menials, was a scene of joyous but reckless conviviality, the loud laughter and the louder voices of the company striking on Roland’s ear with a grating discordance he had never experienced before. The sounds of that festivity he had been wont to recognize as the pleasant evidence of free and high-souled enjoyment, now jarred heavily on his senses, and he wondered within himself how long he had lived in such companionship.

Well knowing that the supper-party would not remain long at table, while high play continued to have its hold upon the guests, he strolled into one of the shady alleys, watching from time to time for the breaking up of the entertainment At last some two or three arose, and, preceded by servants with lighted flambeaux, took the way towards the gaming-table. They were speedily followed by others, so that in a brief space – except by the usual group of hard-drinking souls, who ventured upon no stake save that of health – the room was deserted.

He looked eagerly for Don Pedro, but could not see him, as it was occasionally his practice to retire to his library long before his guests sought their repose. Roland made a circuit of the villa, and soon came to the door of this apartment, which led into a small flower-garden. Tapping gently here, he received a summons to enter, and found himself before Don Pedro, who, seated before a table, appeared deeply immersed in matters of business.

Roland did not need the cold and almost stern reception of his host to make him feel his intrusion very painfully; and he hastened to express his extreme regret that he should be compelled by any circumstances to trespass on leisure so evidently destined for privacy. “But a few moments’ patient hearing,” continued he, “will show that, to me at least, the object of this visit did not admit of delay.”

“Be seated, senhor; and, if I may ask it without incivility, be brief, for I have weighty matters before me.”

“I will endeavor to be so,” said Roland, civilly, and resumed: “This evening, Don Pedro, has seen the last of twenty-eight thousand Spanish dollars, which, five weeks since, I carried here along with me. They were my share, as commander of the ‘Esmeralda,’ when she captured a Mexican bark, in May last. They were won with hard blows and some danger; they were squandered in disgrace at the gaming-table.”

“Forgive me,” said Don Pedro: “you can scarcely adhere to your pledge of brevity if you permit yourself to be led away by moralizing; just say how this event concerns me, and wherefore the present visit.”

Roland became red with anger and shame, and when he resumed it was in a voice tremulous with ill-suppressed passion. “I did not come here for your sympathy, senhor. If the circumstance I have mentioned had no relation to yourself, you had not seen me here. I say that I have now lost all that I was possessed of in the world.”

“Again I must interrupt you, Senhor Roland, by saying that these are details for Geizheimer, not for me. He, as you well know, transacts all matters of money, and if you desire a loan, or are in want of any immediate assistance, I ‘m sure you ‘ll find him in every way disposed to meet your wishes.”

“Thanks, senhor, but I am not inclined for such aid. I will neither mortgage my blood nor my courage, nor promise three hundred per cent for the means of a night at the gambling-table.”

“Then pray, sir, how am I to understand your visit? Is it intended for the sake of retailing to me your want of fortune at play, and charging me with the results of your want of skill or luck?”

“Far from it, senhor. It is simply to make known that I am ruined; that I have nothing left me in the world; and that, as one whose fortune has deserted him, I have come to ask back that bond by which I accepted your daughter’s hand in betrothal.”

A burst of laughter from Don Pedro here stopped the speaker, who, with flushed cheek and glaring eyeballs, stared at this sudden outbreak. “Do you know for what you ask me, senhor?” said Rica, smiling insolently.

“Yes, I ask for what you never could think to enforce, – to make me, a beggar, the husband of your daughter.”

“Most true; I never thought of such an alliance. I believe you were told that Columbian law gives these contracts the force of a legal claim, in the event of survivorship; and you flattered yourself, perhaps too hastily, that other ties more binding still might grow from it. If Fortune was as fickle with you here as at the card-table, the fault is not in me.”

“But of what avail is it now?” said Roland, passionately. “If I died to-morrow, there is not sufficient substance left to buy a suit of mourning for my poor widow.”

“She could, perhaps, dispense with outward grief,” said Pedro, sneeringly.

“I say again,” cried Roland, with increased agitation, “this bond is not worth the paper it is written on. I leave the service; I sail into another latitude, and it is invalid, – a mere mockery!”

“Not so fast, sir,” said Pedro, slowly: “there is a redeeming clause, by which you, on paying seventy thousand doubloons, are released of your contract, with my concurrence. Mark that well, – with my concurrence it must be. Now, I have the opinion of learned counsel, in countries where mayhap your adventurous fancy has already carried you, that this clause embraces the option which side of the contract I should desire to enforce.”

“Such may be your law here; I can have little doubt that any infamy may pass for justice in this favored region,” said Roland; “but I ‘ll never believe that so base a judgment could be uttered where civilization prevails. At all events, I ‘ll try the case. I now tell you frankly, that, tomorrow, I mean to resign my rank and commission in this service; I mean to quit this country, with no intention ever to revisit it. If you still choose to retain a contract whose illegality needs no stronger proof than that it affects to bind one party only, I ‘ll not waste further time by thinking of it.”

“I will keep it, senhor,” interrupted Pedro, calmly. “I knew a youth, once, who had as humble an opinion of his fortunes as you have now; and yet he died, – not in this service, indeed, but in these seas, – and his fortune well requited the trouble of its claimant.”

“I have no right to trespass longer on you, sir,” said Roland, bowing. “I wish I could thank you for all your hospitality to me with a more fitting courtesy; I must confess myself your debtor without hope of repayment.”

“Have you signified to Don Gomez Noronja your intention to resign?”

“I shall do it within half an hour.”

“You forget that your resignation must be accepted by the Minister; that no peremptory permission can be accorded by a captain in commission, save under a guarantee of ten thousand crowns for a captain, and seven for a lieutenant, the sum to be estreated if the individual quit the service without leave. This, at least, is law you cannot dispute.”

Roland hung down his head, thunderstruck by an announcement which, at one swoop, dashed away all his hopes. As he stood silent and overwhelmed, Don Pedro continued, “You see, sir, that the service knows how to value its officers, even when they set little store by the service. Knowing that young men are fickle and fanciful, with caprices that carry them faster than sound judgment, they have made the enactment I speak of. And, even were you to give the preliminary notice, where will you be when the time expires? In what parallel south of Cape Horn? Among the islands of the Southern Pacific; perhaps upon the coast of Africa? No, no; take my advice: do not abandon your career; it is one in which you have already won distinction. Losses at play are easily repaired in these seas. Our navy – ”

“Is nothing better than a system of piracy!” broke in Roland, savagely. “So long as, in ignorance of its real character, I walked beneath your flag, the heaviest crime which could be imputed to me was but the folly of a rash-brained boy. I feel that I know better now; I’ll serve under it no more.”

“Dangerous words, these, senhor, if reported in the quarter where they would be noticed.”

Roland turned an indignant glance at him as he uttered this threat, and with an expression so full of passion that Rica, for a few seconds, seemed to feel that he had gone too far. “I did but suggest caution, senhor,” said he, timidly.

“Take care that you practise as well as preach the habit,” muttered Roland, “or you’ll find that you have exploded your own mine.”

This, which he uttered as he left the room, was in reality nothing more than a vague menace; but it was understood in a very different sense by Pedro, who stood pale and trembling with agitation, gazing at the door by which the youth departed. At last he moved forward, and opening it, called out, “Senhor Roland! Roland, come back! Let me speak to you again.” But already he was far beyond hearing, as with all his speed he hastened down the alley.

Don Pedro’s resolves were soon formed; he rang his bell at once, and, summoning a servant, asked if Don Gomez Noronja was still at table?

“He has retired to his room, senhor,” was the reply.

A few momenta after, Rica entered the chamber of his guest, where he remained in close conversation till nigh daybreak. As he reached his own apartment the sound of horses’ feet and carriage wheels was heard upon the gravel, and, throwing up the window, Rica called out, —

“Is that Don Enrique?”

“Yes, senhor, taking French leave, as you would call it. A bad return for a Spanish welcome; but duty leaves no alternative.”

“Are you for the coast, then?”

“With all speed. Our captain received important despatches in the night We shall be afloat before forty hours. Adios!”

The farewell was cordially re-echoed by Rica, who closed the window, muttering to himself, “So! all will go well at last.”

While Enrique was making all the speed towards the seashore a light calèche and four horses could accomplish, Roland was pacing with impatient steps the little plot of grass where so soon he expected to find himself in deadly conflict with his enemy.

Never was a man’s mind more suited to the purpose for which he waited. Dejected, insulted, and ruined in one night, he had little to live for, and felt far less eager to be revenged of his adversary, than to rid himself of a hated existence. It was to no purpose that he could say, and say truly, that he had never cared for any of these things, of which he now saw himself stripped. His liking for Maritaña had never gone beyond great admiration for her beauty, and a certain spiteful pleasure in exciting those bursts of passion over which she exercised not the slightest control. It was caprice, not love; the delight of a schoolboy in the power to torment, without the wish to retain. His self-love, then, it was, was wounded on finding that she, with whose temper he had sported, could turn so terribly upon himself. The same feeling was outraged by Enrique, who seemed to know and exult over his defeat. These sources of bitterness, being all aggravated by the insulting manner of Don Pedro, made up a mass of indignant and angry feelings which warred and goaded him almost to madness.

The long-expected dawn broke slowly, and although, a few moments after sunrise, the whole sky became of a rich rose color, these few moments seemed like an age to the impatient thoughts of him who thirsted for his vengeance.

He walked hastily up and down the space, waiting now and again to listen, and then, disappointed, resumed his path, with some gesture of impatience. At last he heard footsteps approaching. They came nearer and nearer; and now he could hear the branches of the trees bend and crack, as some one forced a passage through them. A swelling feeling about the heart bespoke the anxiety with which he listened, when a figure appeared which even at a glance he knew to be not Enrique’s. As the man approached be took off his hat respectfully and presented a letter.

“From Don Enrique?” said Roland, and then, tearing open the paper, he read, —

Amigo Mio, – Not mine the fault that I do not stand before you now instead of these few lines; but Noronja has received news of these Chilian fellows, and sent me to get the craft ready for sea at once. We shall meet, then, in a few hours; and, if so, let it be as comrades. The service and our own rules forbid a duel so long as we are afloat and on duty. Whatever be your humor when next we touch shore again, rely upon finding me ready to meet it, either as an enemy or as

Your friend,

Enrique da Cordova.

A single exclamation of disappointment broke from Roland, but the moment after all former anger was gone. The old spirit of comrade-affection began to seek its accustomed channels, and he left the spot, happy to think how different had been his feeling than if he were quitting it with the blood of his shipmate on his hands.

Although he now saw that his continuance in the service for the present was inevitable, he had fully made up his mind to leave it, and, with it, habits of life whose low excesses had now become intolerable. So long as the spirit of adventure and daring sustained him, so long the respite of a few months’ shore life was a season of pleasure and delight; but as by degrees the real character of his associates became clearer, and he saw in them men who cared for enterprise no further than for its gain, and calculated each hazardous exploit by its profit, he felt that he was now following the career of a bravo who hires out his arm and sells his courage. This revolted every sentiment of his mind, and, come what would, he resolved to abandon it. In these day-dreams of a new existence the memory of two years passed in the Pampas constantly mingled, and he could not help contrasting the happy and healthful contentment of the simple hunter with the voluptuous but cankered pleasures of the wealthy buccaneer. Once more beneath the wooded shades of the tall banana, he thought how free and peaceful his days would glide by, free from the rude conflicts he now witnessed, and the miserable jealousies of these ill-assorted companionships. For some hours he wandered, revolving thoughts like these; and at length turned his steps towards the villa, determined, so long as his captain remained, that he would take up his quarters at Barcelonetta, nor in future accept of the hospitality of Don Rica’s house. With this intention he was returning to arrange for the removal of his luggage, when his attention was excited by the loud cracking of whips, and the shrill cries that accompanied the sounds of “The post! the post!”

In a moment every window of the villa was thrown open, and beads, in every species of night-gear, and every stage of sleepy astonishment, thrust out; for the post, be it observed, was but a monthly phenomenon, and the arrival of letters was very often the signal for a total break-up of the whole household.

The long wagon, drawn by four black mules, and driven by a fellow whose wide-tasselled sombrero and long moustaches seemed to savor more of the character of a melodrama than real life, stopped before the chief entrance of the villa, and was immediately surrounded by the guests, whose hurried wardrobe could only be excused in so mild a climate.

“Anything for me, Truxillo?” cried one, holding up a dollar temptingly between finger and thumb.

“Where are my cigarettes?”

“And my mantle?”

“And my gun?”

“And the senhora’s embroidered slippers?” cried a maid, as she ransacked every corner where the packages lay.

The driver, however, paid little attention to these various demands, but, loosening the bridles of his beasts, he proceeded to wash their mouths with some water fetched from the fountain, coolly telling the applicants that they might help themselves, only to spare something for the people of Barcelonetta, for he knew there was a letter or two for that place.

“What have we here?” cried one of the guests, as a mass of something enveloped in a horse-sheet lay rolled up in the foot of the calèche, where the driver sat.

“Ah, par Dios!” cried the man, laughing, “I had nearly forgotten that fellow. He is asleep, poor devil! He nearly died of cold in the night!”

“Who is he – what is he?”

“A traveller from beyond San Luis in search of Don Pedro.”

“Of me?” said Don Pedro, whose agitation became, in spite of all his efforts, visible to every one; at the same instant that, pulling back the cloak rudely, he gazed at the sleeping stranger, – “I never saw him before.”

“Come, awake – stir up, senhor!” said the driver, poking the passenger very unceremoniously with his whip. “We are arrived; this is the Villa de las Noches Entretenidas; here is Don Pedro himself!”

“The Lord be praised!” said a short, round-faced little man, who, with a nightcap drawn over his ears, and a huge cravat enveloping his chin, now struggled to look around him. “At last!” sighed he; “I ‘m sure I almost gave up all hope of it.” These words were spoken in English; but even that evidence was not necessary to show that the little plump figure in drab gaiters and shorts was not a Spaniard.

“Are you Don Peter, sir, – are you really Don Peter?” said he, rubbing his eyes, and looking hurriedly around to assure himself he was not dreaming.

“What is your business with me – or have you any?” said Rica, in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Have I! – Did I come six thousand miles in search of you? Oh, dear! oh, dear! I can scarcely think it all over, even now. But still there may be nothing done if he isn’t here.”

“What do you mean?” said Rica, impatiently.

“Mr. Roland Cashel; Roland Cashel, Esq., I should call him now, sir.”

“That ‘s my name!” said the youth, forcing his way through the crowd, and standing in front of the traveller.

The little man put his hand into a breast-pocket, and drew out a little book, opening which he began to read, comparing the detail, as he went on, with the object before him: —

“Six foot and an inch in height, at least, olive-brown complexion, dark eyes and hair, straight nose, short upper lip, frowns slightly when he speaks; – just talk a little, will you?”

Cashel could not help smiling at the request; when the other added, “Shows his teeth greatly when he laughs.”

“Am I a runaway negro from New Orleans that you have taken my portrait so accurately, sir?”

“Got that at Demerara,” said the little man, putting up the book, “and must say it was very near indeed!”

“I have been at Demerara,” said Cashel, hoping by the admission to obtain some further insight into the traveller’s intentions.

“I know that,” said the little man. “I tracked you thence to St Kitts, then to Antigua. I lost you there, but I got up the scent again in Honduras, but only for a short time, and had to try Demerara again; then I dodged down the coast by Pernambuco, but lost you entirely in June, – some damned Indian expedition, I believe. But I met a fellow at New Orleans who had seen you at St. Louis, and so I tracked away south – ”

“And, in one word, having found me, what was the cause of so much solicitude, sir?” said Cashel, who felt by no means comfortable at such a hot and unwearied pursuit.

“This can all be better said in the house,” interposed Don Rica, who, relieved of any uneasiness on his own account, had suddenly resumed his habitual quiet demeanor.

“So I ‘m thinking too!” said the traveller; “but let me first land my portmanteau; all the papers are there. I have not lost sight of it since I started.”

The parcels were carefully removed under his own inspection, and, accompanied by Don Pedro Rica and Roland, the little man entered the villa.

There could be no greater contrast than that between the calm and placid bearing Don Pedro had now assumed, and the agitated and anxious appearance which Cashel exhibited. The very last interview he had sustained in that same spot still dwelt upon his mind; and when he declined Don Pedro’s polite request to be seated, and stood with folded arms before the table, which the traveller had now covered with his papers, a prisoner awaiting the words of his judgment could not have endured a more intense feeling of anxiety.

“‘Roland Cashel, born in York, a. d. 18 – , son of Godfrey Cashel and Sarah, his wife,’” read the little man; then murmured to himself, “Certificate of baptism, signed by Joshua Gorgeous, Prebendary of the Cathedral; all right, so far. Now we come to the wanderings. Your father was quartered at Port-au-Prince, in the year 18 – , I believe?”

“He was. I was then nine years old,” said Cashel.

“Quite correct; he died there, I understand?”

Cashel assented by a nod.

“Upon which event you joined, or was supposed to join, the ‘Brown Peg,’ a sloop in the African trade, wrecked off Fernando Po same winter?”

“Yes; she was scuttled by the second mate, in a mutiny. But what has all this secret history of me to mean? Did you come here, sir, to glean particulars to write my life and adventures?”

“I crave your pardon most humbly, Mr. Cashel,” said the little man, in a perfect agony of humiliation. “I was only recapitulating a few collateral circumstances, by way of proof. I was, so to say, testing – that is, I was – ”

“Satisfying yourself as to this gentleman’s identity,” added Don Pedro.

“Exactly so, sir; the very words upon the tip of my tongue, – satisfying myself that you were the individual alluded to here” – as he spoke, he drew forth a copy of the “Times” newspaper, whose well-worn and much-thumbed edges bespoke frequent reference – “in this advertisement,” said he, handing the paper to Don Pedro, who at once read aloud, —

“Reward of £500. – Any person giving such information as may lead to the discovery of a young gentleman named Roland Cashel, who served for some years on board of various merchant vessels in the Levant, the African, and the West India trade, and was seen in New Orleans in the autumn of 18 – , will receive the above reward. He was last heard of in Mexico, but it is believed that he has since entered the Chilian or Columbian service. He is well known in the Spanish Main, and in many of the cities on the coast, as the Caballero.”

Cashel’s face was one burning surface of scarlet as he heard the words of an advertisement which, in his ideas, at once associated him with runaway negroes and escaped felons; and it was with something like suffocation that he restrained his temper as he asked why, and by whose authority, he was thus described?

The little man looked amazed and confounded at a question which, it would seem, he believed his information had long since anticipated.

“Mr. Cashel wishes to know the object of this inquiry, – who sent you hither, in fact,” said Don Rica, beginning himself to lose patience at the slowness of the stranger’s apprehension.

“Mr. Kennyfeck, of Dublin, the law agent, sent me.”

“Upon what grounds, – with what purpose?”

“To tell him that the suit is gained; that he is now the rightful owner of the whole of the Godfrey and Godfrey Browne estates, and lands of Ben Currig, Tulough Callaghan, Knock Swinery, Kildallooran, Tullimeoran, Ballycanderigan, with all the manorial rights, privileges, and perquisites appertaining to, – in a word, sir, for I see your impatience, to something, a mere trifle, under seventeen thousand per annum, not to speak of a sum, at present not exactly known, in bank, besides foreign bonds and securities to a large amount.”

While Mr. Simms recited this, with the practised volubility of one who had often gone over the same catalogue before, Cashel stood amazed, and almost stupefied, unable to grasp in his mind the full extent of his good fortune, but catching, here and there, glimpses of the truth, in the few circumstances of family history alluded to. Not so, Don Rica; neither confusion nor hesitation troubled the free working of his acute faculties, but he sat still, patiently watching the effect of this intelligence on the youth before him. At length, perceiving that he did not speak, he himself turned towards the stranger, and said, —

“You are, doubtless, a man of the world, sir, and need no apologies for my remarking that good news demands a scrutiny not less searching than its opposite. As the friend of Senhor Cashel,” – here he turned a glance beneath his heavy brows at the youth, who, however, seemed not to notice the word, – “as his friend, I repeat, deeply interested in whatever affects him, I may, perhaps, be permitted to ask the details of this very remarkable event.”

“If you mean the trial, sir, – or rather the trials, for there were three at bar, not to mention a suit in equity and a bill of discovery – ”

“No, I should be sorry to trespass so far upon you,” interrupted Rica. “What I meant was something in the shape of an assurance, – something like satisfactory proof that this narrative, so agreeable to believe, should have all the foundation we wish it.”

“Nothing easier,” said Mr. Simms, producing an enormous black leather pocket-book from the breast of his coat, and opening it leisurely on the table before him. “Here are, I fancy, documents quite sufficient to answer all your inquiries. This is the memorandum of the verdict taken at Bath, with the note of the Attorney-General, and the point reserved, in which motion for a new trial was made.”

“What is this?” asked Cashel, now speaking for the first time, as he took up a small book of strange shape, and looked curiously at it.

“Check-book of the bank of Fordyce and Grange, Lombard Street,” replied Simms; “and here, the authority by which you are at liberty to draw on the firm for the balance already in their hands, amounting to – let me see “ – here he rapidly set down certain figures on the corner of a piece of paper, and with the speed of lightning performed a sum in arithmetic – “the sum of one hundred and twenty-three thousand pounds seven and elevenpence, errors excepted.”

“This sum is mine!” cried Cashel, as his eyes flashed fire, and his dark cheek grew darker with excitement.

“It is only a moiety of your funded property,” said Simms. “Castellan and Biggen, the notaries, certify to a much larger amount in the Three per Cents.”

“And I am at liberty to draw at once for whatever amount I require?”

“Within that sum, certainly. Though, if you desire more, I ‘m sure they ‘ll not refuse your order.”

“Leave us for a moment, sir,” said Cashel, in an accent whose trembling eagerness bespoke the agitation he labored under. “I have something of importance to tell this gentleman.”

“If you will step this way, sir,” said Don Rica, politely. “I have ordered some refreshment in this room, and I believe you will find it awaiting you.”

Mr. Simms gladly accepted the offered hospitality, and retired. The door was not well closed, when Don Rica Advanced with extended hands towards Cashel, and said:

“With all my heart I give you joy; such good fortune as this may, indeed, obliterate every little cloud that has passed between us, and make us once more the friends we have ever been.”

Cashel crossed his arms on his breast, and coldly replied, “I thank you. But a few hours back, and one-half as much kindness would have made a child of me in feeling. Now it serves only to arouse my indignation and my Anger.”

“Are you indeed so unjust, so ungenerous as this!” exclaimed Rica, in a tone whose anguish seemed wrung from the very heart.

“Unjust, – ungenerous! how?” cried Cashel, passionately.

“Both, sir,” said Rica, in a voice of almost commanding severity. “Unjust to suppose that in thwarting your last resolve to leave a service in which you have already won fame and honor, I was not your best and truest friend; that in offering every opposition in my power to such a hot-headed resolution, I was not consulting your best interests; ungenerous to imagine that I could feel any other sentiment than delight at your altered fortunes, I, who gave you all that was dearest and nearest to me on earth, my child, – my Maritaña.”