HOW THE VIRTUOUS RUSSELL FINDS A FRIEND IN NEED

It is necessary here to go back for a brief interval in order to take up the fortunes of one who some time ago disappeared from these pages.

The virtuous Russell was alone.  He had passed a night which, considering his situation, had not been altogether uncomfortable.  He had slept a refreshing sleep, and in the land of dreams had been able to forget the ills of life.  Morning came, however, and with his waking thoughts there returned the recollection of the past, and the full consciousness of his present position.  He was a captive in a prison from which he could not hope to escape; at the mercy of a powerful and cunning enemy, who knew his secret, and would use every effort to get his money.  If he refrained for the present from exerting violence, it was only too probable that this forbearance was but temporary, and that at the last the prisoner must yield.

These were gloomy thoughts, and the good Russell was well-nigh overwhelmed.

But the greatest calamities are often alleviated by comparative trifles; and so it was a trifle which, on this occasion, served to soothe the sorrows of our suffering friend ­such a trifle, in fact, as a mere costume.  Whether it was that, being a tailor, he was more affected than others by his raiment; or whether it was that a man’s dress has, as is claimed, a potent influence which always affects the wearer, need not be discussed; certain it is that just now it was his novel attire which chiefly engaged the thoughts of Russell, and made him less sensible of his misfortunes.

As a dress it was certainly magnificent.  The cloth was of the finest quality.  Gold was lavished freely upon it ­gleaming in the numerous buttons; shining in the profuse lace which glittered over the breast and round the cuffs and round the collar in a flood of glory; sparkling in the hatband; flowing down the skirts like the oil from Aaron’s beard.  Many a time had his own fancy designed and his own hands fashioned such an array as this for others; but now, as it infolded his own ample person, it shone with new lustre, and threw something of its own lustre around the wearer.

And now, as the actor, when arrayed in the robes of majesty, assumes a kingly port and struts about the stage, so our Russell.  He took to himself the part which the uniform suggested.  He felt like the general of an army.  He threw out his chest, stood erect, strutted, admired his figure and his gait, waved in his hand an imaginary sword, and guided invisible armies to the field of battle.

In the midst of all this he was suddenly roused by a slight noise behind him.

Turning hastily, he saw a woman, who had entered bearing some articles of food for his morning’s repast.  In a moment Russell descended from the lofty heights of imagination to the dull realities of a cold world, and, in plain language, began to feel rather sheepish at being discovered in such a frame of mind.  Nay, this very frame of mind, this new sense of personal dignity as general, made his chagrin all the greater.

The woman was attired in a picturesque costume, such as is worn by the lower orders in the North of Spain, with the addition, however, of a bright-colored turban.  Her face was decidedly handsome, though rather too sharp in outline and expression, while at the same time decidedly the worse for wear.  A pair of fine bold black eyes were fixed upon Russell with an expression of undisguised admiration as she stood looking at him.  The moment he turned she looked down, and then, dropping a courtesy, said: 

“Breakfast, senor.”

Upon this she deposited her tray upon a heavy oak table, and then stood looking at him with the same expression as before.  There was something in all this which was flattering to the vanity of Russell; arid he stood regarding the woman with very much complaisance.  And as he looked at her, he thought to himself that she was a very pretty woman.

The woman then said, still looking at him: 

“Beaut’ful!  Oh, lovela!”

She spoke in broken English; and Russell, while flattered by her admiration, was delighted at hearing his own language.

“Do you speak English, my dear?” he said, in a tone of affectionate familiarity, drawing nearer to her.

“Oh yes ­me speek Inglees ­me in Cuba ­learn speek Inglees ­vara mooch.”

“Oh! so you’ve been in Cuba, have you, my dear?  Well, Cuba’s a very pretty country, and you’re a very pretty woman.”

The woman smiled, showing rows of splendid teeth.

“Senor mus’ be a gran’ nobile ­a generale.”

Russell smiled a lofty smile, and laid his hand patronizingly, yet tenderly, upon the woman’s shoulder.

“You are a very sensible woman,” said he, “and as pretty as you are sensible.  What is your name?”

“Rita,” said the woman.

“Well, Rita, I dare say you and I shall be great friends.”

“Friends! oh, senor is too much magnifico ­”

“Oh, I ain’t proud, my dear ­not a bit, not a mite.  I’ve got plenty of money, Rita, and can help my friends; but I ain’t proud, not me.  And what may be your particular duties in this establishment?”

“Senor?”

“I say, what do you do here?  Are you house-keeper?”

“Senor, I am maid ­to the lady prisoners ­an’ other things ­to servar and attendar.”

“Prisoners, eh?  Do they have many of them here?”

“Oh ­sometime,” said Rita, with a laugh; “ladies and gen’l’ms.”

Russell looked at her with a benignant smile.

“Well, Rita, all that I can say is, it’s a pity that such a pretty woman as you cannot have some better fortune than this.”

Rita laughed.

“Ah, senor, you a flattera!”

“Oh no.  I’m a plain, blunt, bluff, honest John Bull.  But the fact is, you are very pretty, Rita, my dear!”

Rita laughed again at this, and her large black eyes fixed themselves with bolder admiration upon the benignant face and splendid dress of the gallant tailor.

Here a happy thought occurred to Russell’s mind.

It was evident that this woman was already an admiring friend.  Could he not, in some way, work upon her so as to attract her to his interests?  Her help would be invaluable.  She might, if she chose, do much; she might even help him to escape.  It was worth trying.  To win her over to his side, there was nothing which he would not try.  But how could he get her help?  By bribery?  Of course, to a certain extent; but it would be well to be cautious, and not offer too much.  Other means might be used.

By gaining her good-will, she would be more accessible to a bribe, and would be less exacting.

Now, Russell was sharp at a bargain, and by no means anxious to pay more than he could help.  Even where his own liberty, even where his life was concerned, he paused to consider the expense.  He resolved to bribe this woman, but to name no price, to let it be undecided, to agree in a general way; and afterward, should he succeed in gaining his liberty, to cut the amount down as low as possible.  He also resolved to put money out of the question as far as he could, and work upon her good-will and her affections, rather than her avarice.  The woman’s open, undisguised admiration seemed to promise an easy conquest.  To him she appeared to have a frank, guileless, impetuous disposition, all of which was a great help to the furtherance of his designs.

Russell looked all around.

“Oh,” said Rita, “do not fear ­all away.”

“Come, my dear,” said Russell; “sit down here by my side; I want to talk with you.”

Russell seated himself on an oaken bench, and Rita promptly seated herself by his side.  She sat by him, and looked at him with a smile, and with the same fervid admiration.

“The pretty child!” thought Russell, as he caught the glance of her glowing eyes.  “How she does admire me!”

“So you are an attendant here, are you, Rita, my dear?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“But it isn’t good enough for such a pretty woman as you are!” he continued.

“Ah, senor, what do you mean?” said Rita.  “What can I do better?”

“But you ought to be something better ­far better.  Would you not like to ­”

“Like what?” asked Rita, who was full of excitement.

“Well,” said Russell, “to have plenty of money, to have beautiful clothes, to live in a beautiful house, to have jewels, to have amusements, and so forth?”

Rita’s dark eyes flashed fire with eager covetousness at this alluring speech.

“Oh, senor,” she said, “it is impossible.”

“Rita!” said Russell, in a solemn voice.

“Senor!”

“Look at me.”

“Si, senor.”

Rita had been looking at him all along fixedly enough, but at this invitation she threw additional earnestness into the deep glance of her bold, dark eyes.

“You see what I am, Rita, my dear.  I am a prisoner ­in grief, in despair.  Now, if any one would help me, I could do very much for that one.”

“You are a gran’ nobile?” said Rita, in an inquiring tone.

“Oh yes,” said Russell, in his large way; “and, what’s more, I can make you happy for the rest of your life.  I like you, Rita.  I’m quite fond of you.  You’re an uncommonly pretty woman.”

Saying this, Russell took Rita’s hand and pressed it with much emphasis.  Now, the interpretation which Rita put upon these words and this action was very different from what Russell intended.  The benignant Russell merely wished to impress upon Rita’s mind that he had very friendly feelings toward her, and that, if she would help him, he was in a position to reward her handsomely.  He didn’t want to name any sum.  He wished, for obvious reasons, to leave the amount unsettled.  But Rita understood it differently.  Being of a sentimental turn, she regarded this as a sort of declaration of love ­in fact, almost an offer of marriage ­and, if not so altogether, at least an approach to it.  Still, she was a shrewd woman, and waited until Russell had explained himself further.

Russell observed her silence, and was quite satisfied.  It showed proper caution, and caution was an excellent quality in one whom he wished to have for a helper in his need.  So he went on in the same way, still holding Rita’s hand.

“You are so pretty, Rita, my dear, I swear I never before saw such a pretty woman.  This isn’t the place for you.  You must get out of this; and if you will only go away with me, why, there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do for you.  When I like a person, I’m ready to do anything for them.  And the first moment I saw you, I said to myself, ’There’s the woman for you!’”

“Am I really the woman for you?” asked Rita, full of excited hopes, and still continuing to misinterpret his words.

“The very one!” said Russell.  “The one of all others!  Heaven has sent you to me.  Rita, my dear, do what I ask!”

Rita was deeply moved.  This brilliant, wealthy stranger seemed to love her.  He wanted her to fly with him.  But, oh, if he should prove false!

“Ah, senor, you not earnest ­you not true!” said Rita, clasping his hand in both of hers.

“True! earnest!” cried Russell.  “I swear, Rita, my dear, I will be true to what I say ­always, always!  Can’t you trust me, Rita, my dear?”

“Oh, senor,” sighed Rita, deeply moved, “you persuade me too easy.  And think on the danger ­the life is risk ­the death will come if we are captura.”

“Rita, my dear,” said Russell, “let us not talk of danger.  Let us fly together.  I will always remember your devotion.  I will never forget you as long as life lasts.  I am noted for my truth and fidelity.  I’ve got a warm and throbbing heart.  And now, Rita, my dear, if you want one who will always be yours truly ­if you want one who will love you and care for you ­why, I’m your man!”

Upon these words Rita put, as usual, her own interpretation.  The last words especially ­“I’m your man” ­seemed to her to be the most direct offer yet.

“My man?” she said ­“and will you be my man, senor?”

“Of course ­of course,” said Russell, not comprehending her drift.

Upon this Rita flung her arms around the neck of the astonished Russell.

“Oh, senor ­then ­I helpa you.  I yours ­I do all.  We fly ­you be true ­to your Rita.”

Russell was so astonished that for some time he said nothing; but feeling how important it was to retain her friendship, he did not dare to disabuse her of her false idea; nay, he even felt that it would be better for her to entertain it since she had it.  So he put his arm around her and kissed her.

Suddenly Rita started up.

“I mus’ go,” she said.  “I will soon return.”

And with these words she hurriedly retreated, leaving Russell to his breakfast and his meditations.

Russell had been very successful in his attempt to win over Rita to his interests; in fact, too successful.  His success caused him at first not a little perplexity.  Rita, he perceived, had misunderstood him; but then, in making friendly advances to a woman who was not very well up in the English language, it was next to impossible to preserve those nice and delicate shades of meaning which he had intended.  Upon the whole, however, after mature consideration, he concluded that it had all turned out for the best.

It was evident that this woman had formed a very strong attachment for him.  Very well.  She would be all the more devoted to his interests, and turn all her thoughts and energies toward securing his escape.  Things could not have turned out better.  He had not intended it, but if Rita chose to misunderstand him, why should he try to undeceive her?  The more she cared for him, the better it would be for him.  And thus Russell, out of his selfish desires for his own safety, allowed himself to trifle with the heart’s best affections, and beguile poor Rita, and allure her with hopes that could never be realized.

After all, however, there were grave obstacles in his way.  Could he desert his wife and leave her in such peril?  Or, worse, could he leave those precious bonds, which he had so carefully hidden?  If he did, he might never see them again.

Was it possible to get them before leaving?  Would it be safe to tell Rita, and direct her to get them for him?  This thought occupied him for some time, and he almost made up his mind to do so.  But the risk was too great.  After all, Rita might be a spy in the interests of “His Majesty,” and sent to worm his secret out of him.

No, it would not be safe.  It would be safer to leave the bonds where they were.  If he escaped, he might hope to obtain assistance from the Government, in which case he might be able to come back with them, to show them the way, and then, when the castle was recaptured, he might be able to regain his treasure.  And so he decided finally upon this course.

At midday Rita returned, bringing his dinner, a savory olla podrida.  She set it down, and then threw her arms around the embarrassed Russell, who was seated on the bench, murmuring words of endearment in unintelligible Spanish.  He bore it well, however, and, remembering his necessities, he tried to exhibit those feelings which might be expected from him.

Rita this time had a bundle with her, which she gave to Russell, directing him to hide it under the bench for the present.

“You mus’ disguisar,” she said; “this is a woman dress ­”

“A woman’s dress?”

“Oh, no difficoltà.  You wait till avenin’, then you put him on, ofer your militar coat ­just as you stands.  Alla right; then you disguisado, and commalong me.  I be alla ready.  You waita forra mi.  But not you put him on till avenin’, or mighta be discovaire, you know.  Ha, senor?”