There was not much siesta that day. The Senora, Isabel and Jack sat together; the Senora dozed a little, but not enough to lose consciousness of Jack's presence and Jack's voice.
The father, happy, and yet acutely anxious, went to and fro between his children and his study. Antonia and Dare were in the myrtle walk or under the fig-tree. This hour was the blossoming time of their lives. And it was not the less sweet and tender because of the dark shadows on the edge of the sunshine. Nor were they afraid to face the shadows, to inquire of them, and thus to taste the deeper rapture of love when love is gemmed with tears.
It was understood that the young men were going away in the morning very early; so early that their adieus must be said with their good-nights. It was at this hour that the Senora found courage to ask:
"My Juan, where do you go?
"To Gonzales, mi madre."
"But why? Oh, Juan, do not desert your madre, and your country!
"Desert you, madre! I am your boy to my last breath! My country I love with my whole soul. That is why I have come back to you and to her! She is in trouble and her sons must stand by her."
"Do not talk with two meanings. Oh, Juan! why do you go to Gonzales?"
"We have heard that Colonel Ugartchea is to be there soon, and to take away the arms of the Americans. That is not to be endured. If you yourself were a man, you would have been away ere this to help them, I am sure."
"ME!! The Blessed Virgin knows I would cut off my hands and feet first. Juan, listen to me dear one! You are a Mexican."
"My heart is Mexican, for it is yours. But I must stand with my father and with my brother, and with my American compatriots. Are we slaves, that we must give up our arms?
No, but if we gave them up we should deserve to be slaves."
"God and the saints!" she answered, passionately. "What a trouble about a few guns! One would think the Mexicans wanted the wives and children, the homes and lands of the Americans.
They cry out from one end of Texas to the other."
"They cry out in old England and in New England, in New York, in New Orleans, and all down the Mississippi. And men are crying back to them: `Stand to your rifles and we will come and help you!' The idea of disarming ten thousand Americans!"
Jack laughed with scornful amusement at the notion. "What a game it will be! Mother, you can't tell how a man gets to love his rifle. He that takes our purse takes trash; but our rifles! By George Washington, that's a different story!"
Juan, my darling, you are my last hope. Your brother was born with an American heart. He has even become a heretic. Fray Ignatius says he went into the Colorado and was what they call immersed; he that was baptized with holy water by the thrice holy bishop of Durango. My beloved one, go and see Fray Ignatius; late as it is, he will rise and counsel you.
"My heart, my conscience, my country, my father, my brother, Santa Anna's despotism, have already counselled me."
"Speak no more. I see that you also are a rebel and a heretic. Mother of sorrows, give me thy compassion!" Then, turning to Juan, she cried out: "May God pardon me for having brought into this world such ingrates! Go from me! You have broken my heart!
He fell at her feet, and, in spite of her reluctance, took her hands--"Sweetest mother, wait but a little while. You will see that we are right. Do not be cross with Juan. I am going away.
Kiss me, mother. Kiss me, and give me your blessing."
"No, I will not bless you. I will not kiss you. You want what is impossible, what is wicked."
"I want *******."
"And to get ******* you tread upon your mother's heart.
Let loose my hands. I am weary to death of this everlasting talk of *******. I think indeed that the Americans know but two words: ******* and dollars. Ring for Rachela. She, at least, is faithful to me."
"Not till you kiss me, mother. Do not send me away unblessed and unloved. That is to doom me to misfortune. Mi madre, I beg this favor from you." He had risen, but he still held her hands, and he was weeping as innocent young men are not ashamed to weep.
If she had looked at him! Oh, if she had but once looked at his face, she could not have resisted its beauty, its sorrow, its imploration! But she would not look. She drew her hands angrily away from him. She turned her back upon her suppliant son and imperiously summoned Rachela.
"Good-by, mi madre."
"Good-by, mi madre!"
She would not turn to him, or answer him a word.
"Mi madre, here comes Rachela! Say `God bless you, Juan.' It is my last word, sweet mother!"
She neither moved nor spoke. The next moment Rachela entered, and the wretched woman abandoned herself to her care with vehement sobs and complainings.
Jack was inexpressibly sorrowful. He went into the garden, hoping in its silence and solitude to find some relief. He loved his mother with his strongest affection. Every one of her sobs wrung his heart. Was it right to wound and disobey her for the sake of--*******? Mother was a certain good; ******* only a glorious promise. Mother was a living fact; ******* an intangible idea.
Ah, but men have always fought more passionately for ideas than for facts! Tyrants are safe while they touch only silver and gold; but when they try to bind a man's ideals--the ******* of his citizenship--the purity of his faith--he will die to preserve them in their integrity.
Besides, ******* for every generation has but her hour. If that hour is not seized, no other may come for the men who have suffered it to pass. But mother would grow more loving as the days went by. And this was ever the end of Jack's reasoning; for no man knows how deep the roots of his nature strike into his native land, until he sees her in the grasp of a tyrant, and hears her crying to him for deliverance.
