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Read Ebook: Miss Fairfax of Virginia: A Romance of Love and Adventure Under the Palmettos by Rathborne St George
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Ebook has 2541 lines and 75518 words, and 51 pages
Miss Fairfax of Virginia
PERHAPS LOVERS ONCE, STRANGERS NOW.
The genial summer sun had long since dropped behind the Irish hills, and the glowing lights of old Dublin were set like rare jewels upon the dark bosom of mother earth when Roderic Owen, with a fragrant cigar between his teeth, walked to and fro under the shadow of Nelson's column in historic Sackville street, now better known among loyal citizens under the name of O'Connell.
Owen only arrived from Liverpool on the Holyhead steamer that very day and had passed some hours upon various tramcars, surveying those portions of the famous city they traversed.
It may have given him a thrill of satisfaction to realize that he once more stood on his native heath, which land the exile had not seen since, a child of tender years, he left it in company with his heart broken parents; but two decades in the atmosphere of free America had made a full-fledged Yankee out of him, and his heart was wholly pledged to the interests of America.
Business had more to do with his flying visit across the Irish sea than a desire to look upon the scenes of childhood--these tender recollections might be all very good in their way, but when his country was at war with one of the old world powers, young Owen's heart and soul were wrapped up in the interests he represented, and the state mission that had taken him over the Atlantic.
The public will never learn more than a small portion of the unwritten history of the Hispano-American war, since these memoirs are snugly reposing in the archives at Washington, where they will rest until dusty with age.
Roderic Owen, being peculiarly gifted by nature with rare abilities in the line of diplomacy, had been remarkably useful in Berlin, Paris and Vienna, and was now suddenly transferred to another famous capital because it appeared as though Dublin might be the theatre of a little gathering where matters of intense moment were to be discussed.
It was evident from his manner that he had made the Nelson column a rendezvous. His eyes followed each tramcar that passed, and never a jaunting-car jogged by that he did not survey with growing interest. A hot blooded Spanish lover awaiting the coming of the black-eyed senorita with whom he had made a tryst could hardly have appeared more anxious.
He had just tossed away the remnant of his weed and was feeling for his cigar case to draw out another when the expected happened.
"At last!" he muttered, with a sigh of relief.
Still he made no abrupt forward movement--caution had been one of the fruits of long diplomatic service. "Everything comes to him who waits--and works," is the leading maxim of their craft.
A woman dismounted from a Rathmines car that had just arrived at the terminus of its journey. She was garbed in the sombre black habiliments of a religious recluse belonging to one of the many orders in Dublin. These nuns, serving often in the capacity of Sisters of Charity, come and go with the utmost freedom, respected by the humble classes to whom they are often angelic messengers in times of distress or sickness.
Just as he expected the sombre robed passenger came slowly toward him as though endeavoring to make sure of his identity ere accosting him.
Then came a low voice breathing his name, and somehow it had never before sounded just the same to him, nor had he known there was music in its bare utterance.
"I have waited about half an hour for you," remarked the American, complacently.
"Ah! senor, I am sorry. It was not my fault I assure you," she exclaimed, eagerly.
"I am certain of that, lady. Besides, I have no right to complain when one whom I do not even know goes to this great trouble in order to do me a service."
She moved uneasily at his words, and as if fearful lest his ardent gaze might penetrate beneath the veil she wore, one little white hand crept out from the folds of her sable robe to rearrange the crepe.
Owen smiled, for this act of caution had revealed much to him--upon those plump fingers shone rings set with flashing gems, such as no member of a holy order would dare wear.
More than this, the unconscious desire to make sure that her face was concealed gave him the impression that they must have met before. As yet her voice had only sounded in low, whispered cadence, but it was rich and musical, and somehow seemed to arouse dim, uncertain memories which in good time after much groping, he would doubtless be able to place.
She looked around with some concern, for the locality being central was never quiet, upon which he said:
"Let us walk toward O'Connell bridge, and you can explain more fully the meaning of your note, as you promised. I assure you the interest taken in my welfare is appreciated, and if I can return the favor you have only to speak."
"You mistake, senor--I do not seek a reward. Chancing to know that you were the object of a base plot, I thought it only my duty to warn you."
"Because your vows constrained you?"
She appeared somewhat annoyed.
"Because heaven inspires every honest heart to desire the confusion of evil schemes."
"Pardon--I was foolish for an instant to believe my personality could have anything to do with it. Undoubtedly your love of fair play must have impelled you to do the same for any poor devil."
"Senor, you have no right to question my motives."
"I am a brute--you are an angel come to my assistance. Let us then proceed to business. From whence does this threatening danger come--in which quarter am I to guard against secret foes?"
"You do not seem to be alarmed?"
"Does that surprise you, lady? Surely then you are not well acquainted with Anglo-Saxon blood. We who sup with danger, learn to despise it. I say this deliberately and without boasting."
"Pardon the curiosity--but are you not Spanish?" he asked, steadily--it was of considerable importance that he should know this fact, for the most able diplomat may well look to his laurels when pitted against a female Richelieu.
She answered frankly, almost eagerly.
How proudly she declared it.
"A daughter of Porto Rico--I am pleased to know it, for that lovely island will soon rest beneath the starry banner. A grand future awaits her under the new dispensation. I have been in San Juan myself, and shall never cease to remember that quaint city."
Perhaps the evening breeze brought with it a breath of chilly fog from off old Dublin bay--at any rate the wearer of the sombre nun's garb shivered a little and seemed to shrink back from the American.
"Now," continued Owen, cheerily, as though his quick eye had not noted with considerable surprise this peculiar action on her part, "we have reached the bridge. Tell me whence comes this danger?"
"There is one whom you have believed a friend, Senor Owen. Trust him not, for he has sworn to work your downfall."
"Which is very interesting, to say the least. Am I to be arrested as a Fenian suspect, come over the big pond to duplicate the Burke and Cavendish tragedy of Phoenix park? Or is this sly schemer a Spanish sympathizer in the pay of Sagasta?"
"You have said it, senor--the last is the truth. But there is more--another reason why he hates you."
"Perhaps you wouldn't mind mentioning it?"
"His name first--it is Jerome Wellington."
Owen seemed startled.
"It is on her account--the dashing Senorita Cleo," came the muffled answer, and again Owen knew the eyes back of the veil were fastened intently upon him as though to read his secret.
Thereupon he pursed up his mustached lip and emitted a low, incredulous whistle.
"Cleo Fairfax, my independent cousin, the daughter of ten millions, what has she to do with the case? Is Jerome jealous--does he seek her hand--well, let him sail in and win. I shall not stand in the way, for it has never occurred to me to fall in love with my cousin."
"Ah! senor, that is very well, but this man who is as handsome as an Adonis hates you because he knows the American senorita loves you."
"What! Cleo loves me--incredible--impossible."
"More, she adores you."
"Senorita, you surely jest or dream."
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