BRITISH MYSTERIES - Fergus Hume Collection: 21 Thriller Novels in One Volume. Fergus Hume

said Miguel, politely; “my daughter, niece, and sister are also coming.”

      “The more the merrier! It will be quite a party, Señor.”

      “It is a serious position we are in,” said Maraquando, gravely; “and I trust the word of his Excellency will show the Tlatonacians that there is nothing to be feared from Don Hypolito.”

      At this moment Doña Serafina, who had swooped down on her charges, appeared to say good night. Both Dolores and Eulalia were unwilling to retire so early, but their aunt was adamant, and they knew that nothing could change her resolution, particularly as she had grown weary of fraternising with Peter.

      “Bueno noche tenga, Vm,” said Doña Serafina, politely, and her salutation was echoed by the young ladies in her wake.

      “Con dios va usted, Señora,” replied Tim, kissing the old lady’s extended hand, after which they withdrew. Dolores managed to flash a tender glance at Jack as they descended into the patio, and Philip, leaning over the balustrade of the azotea caught a significant wave of Eulalia’s fan, which meant a good deal. Cassim knew all those minute but eloquent signs of love.

      Shortly afterwards they also took their leave after refusing Maraquando’s hospitable offer of pulque.

      “No, sir,” said Tim, as they went off to their own mansion; “not while there is good whisky to be had.”

      “But pulque isn’t bad,” protested Jack, more for the sake of saying something than because he thought so.

      “Well, drink it yourself, Jack, and leave us the crather!”

      “Talking about ‘crathers,’” said Philip, mimicking Tim’s brogue, “what do you think of Doña Serafina, Peter?”

      “A nice old lady, but not beautiful. I would rather be with Doña Eulalia.”

      “Would you, indeed?” retorted Cassim, indignantly. “As if she would understand those idiotic signs you make.”

      “They are quite intelligible to——”

      “Be quiet, boys!” said Tim, as they stopped at the door of Jack’s house, “you’ll get plenty of fighting without starting it now. There’s going to be a Home Rule meeting to-morrow.”

      “Where, Tim?”

      “In the alameda, no less. His Excellency the Lord Lieutenant is to speak to the crowd.”

      “He’ll tell a lot of lies, I expect,” said Jack, sagely. “Well, he can say what he jolly well pleases. I’ll lay any odds that before the week’s out war will be proclaimed.”

      He was a truer prophet than he thought.

      Chapter VIII.

       Viva El Republica

       Table of Contents

      No king have we with golden crown,

       To tread the sovereign people down;

       All men are equal in our sight—

       The ruler ranks but with the clown.

      Our symbol is the opal bright,

       Which darts its rays of rainbow light,

       All men are equal in our sight—

       Prophetic of all coming things,

       Of blessing, war, disaster, blight.

      Red glow abroad the opal flings,

       To us the curse of war it brings;

       All men are equal in our sight—

       And evil days there soon shall be,

       Beneath the war-god’s dreaded wings.

      Yet knowing what we soon shall see,

       We’ll boldly face this misery,

       All men are equal in our sight—

       And fight, though dark our fortunes frown,

       For life, and home, and liberty.

      Padre Ignatius always said that his flock were true and devout Catholics, who believed in what they ought to believe. Strictly speaking, the flock of Padre Ignatius was limited to the congregation of a little adobe church on the outskirts of the town, but his large heart included the whole population of Tlatonac in that ecclesiastical appellation. Everyone knew the Padre and everyone loved him, Jesuit though he was. For fifty years had he laboured in the vineyard of Tlatonac, but when his fellow-labourers were banished, the Government had not the heart to bid him go. So he stayed on, the only representative of his order in all Cholacaca, and prayed and preached and did charitable works, as had been his custom these many years past. With his thin, worn face, rusty cassock, slouch hat, and kindly smile, Padre Ignatius, wonderfully straight considering his seventy years, attended to the spiritual wants of his people, and said they were devout Catholics. He always over-estimated human nature, did the Padre.

      So far as the Padre saw, this might have been the case, and nobody having the heart to undeceive him, he grew to believe that these half-civilised savages were Christians to the bone; but there was no doubt that nine out of every ten in his flock were very black sheep indeed. They would kneel before the gaudy shrine of the adobe chapel, and say an Ave for every bead of the rosary, but at one time or another every worshipper was missing, each in his or her turn. They had been to the forest for this thing, for that thing; they had been working on the railway fifty miles inland, or fishing some distance up the coast. Such were the excuses they gave, and Padre Ignatius, simple-hearted soul, believed them, never dreaming that they had been assisting in the worship of the Chalchuih Tlatonac in the hidden temple of Huitzilopochtli.

      The belief in the devil stone was universal throughout Cholacaca. Not only did the immediate flock of Padre Ignatius revere it as a symbol of the war-god, but every person in the Republic who had Indian blood in his or her veins firmly believed that the shining precious stone exercised a power over the lives and fortunes of all. Nor was such veneration to be wondered at, considering how closely the history of the great gem was interwoven with that of the country. The shrine of the opal had stood where now arose the cathedral; the Indian appellation of the jewel had given its name to the town; and the picture representation of the gem itself was displayed on the yellow standard of the Republic. Hardly any event since the foundation of the city could be mentioned with which the harlequin opal was not connected in some way. It was still adored in the forest temple by thousands of worshippers, and, unknown as it was to the padres, there were few peons, leperos, or mestizos who had not seen the gem flash on the altar of the god. Cholacacans of pure Spanish blood, alone refrained from actual worship of the devil stone, and even these were more or less tinctured with the superstition. It is impossible to escape the influence of an all-prevailing idea, particularly in a country not quite veneered by civilisation.

      On this special evening, when President Gomez was to address the populace, and assure them that there would be no war, the alameda presented an unusually lively appearance. It had been duly notified that His Excellency would make a speech on the forthcoming crisis, hence the alameda was crowded with people anxious to hear the official opinion of the affair. The worst of it was, had Gomez but known it, that the public mind was already made up. There was to be war, and that speedily, for a rumour had gone forth from the sanctuary of the opal that the gem was burning redly as a beacon fire. Everyone believed that this foreboded war, and Gomez, hoping to assure the Tlatonacians of peace, might as well have held his tongue. They would not believe him as the opal stone had prophesied a contrary opinion. But beyond an idle whisper or so, Gomez did not know this thing, therefore he came to the alameda and spoke encouragingly to the people.

      From all quarters of the town came the inhabitants to the alameda, and the vast promenade presented a singularly gay appearance. The national costumes of Spanish America were wonderfully picturesque, and what with the background of green trees, sparkling fountains, brilliant flower-beds,