Freeman's emotions had undergone several variations during the course of the mighty professor's harangue. But he had ended by admitting the force of the argument; and the reminiscences of college lecturings aroused by the incident had tickled his sense of humor and quenched his anger. He looked at the professor with a sparkle of laughter in his eyes.
"I have done very wrong, sir," he said, "and I'm very sorry for it. If you won't give me any bad marks this time, I'll promise to be good in future."
"Ah! very smooth! To begin with, suppose you ask pardon of Senor Don Miguel de Mendoza for the affront you have put upon him."
To a soul really fearless, even an apology has no terrors. Moreover, Freeman's night ride with Don Miguel, though brief in time, had sufficed to give him the measure of the Mexican's character; and he respected it so little that he could no longer take the man seriously, or be sincerely angry with him.
The professor's assurance as to Don Miguel's inoffensiveness had also its weight; and it was therefore with a quite royal gesture of amicable condescension that Freeman turned upon his late antagonist and held out his hand.
"Senor Don Miguel de Mendoza," said he, "I humbly tender you my apologies and crave your pardon. My conduct has been inexcusable; I beg you to excuse it.
I deserve your reprobation; I entreat the favor of your friendship. Senor, between men of honor, a misunderstanding is a misunderstanding, and an apology is an apology. I lament the existence of the first; the professor, here, is witness that I lay the second at your feet. May I hope to receive your hand as a pledge that you restore me to the privilege of your good will?"
Now, Don Miguel's soul had been grievously exercised that night: he had been insulted, he had shivered beneath the shadow of death, he had been a prey to superstitious terrors, and he had been utterly perplexed by the professor's eloquent address, whereof (as it was delivered in good American, and with a rapidity of utterance born of strong feeling) he had comprehended not a word, and the unexpected effect of which upon his late adversary he was at a loss to understand. Although, therefore, he had no stomach for battle, he was oppressed by a misgiving lest the whole transaction had been in some way planned to expose him to ridicule; and for this reason he was disposed to treat Freeman's peaceful overtures with suspicion. His heart did not respond to those overtures, but neither was it stout enough to enable him to reject them explicitly. Accordingly, he adopted that middle course which, in spite of the proverb, is not seldom the least expedient.
He disregarded the proffered hand, bowed very stiffly, and, saying, "Senor, I am satisfied," stalked off with all the rigidity of one in whose veins flows the sangre azul of Old Castile. Freeman smiled superior upon his retreat, and then, producing a cigar-case, proceeded to light up with the professor. In this fragrant and friendly cloud we will leave them, and return for a few minutes to the house of General Trednoke.
It will be remembered that something was said of Grace being privy to the nocturnal advances of Senor de Mendoza. We are not to suppose that this implies in her anything worse than an aptness to indulge in romantic adventure: the young lady enjoyed the mystery of romance, and knew that serenades, and whisperings over star-lit balconies, were proper to this latitude. It may be open to question whether she really was much interested in De Mendoza, save as he was a type of the adoring Spaniard.
That the scene required: she could imagine him (for the time-being) to be the Cid of ancient legend, and she herself would enact a role of corresponding elevation. Grace would doubtless have prospered better had she been content with one adorer at a time; but, while turning to a new love, she was by no means disposed to loosen the chains of a former one; and, though herself as jealous as is a tiger-cat of her young, she could never recognize the propriety of a similar passion on the part of her victims. She had been indignant at Freeman's apparent infidelity with Miriam; but when she had (as she imagined) discovered her mistake, she had listened with a heart at ease to the protestations of Don Miguel. She had parted from him that evening with a half expressed understanding that he was to reappear beneath her window before day- light; and she had pictured to herself a charming balcony-scene, such as she had beheld in Italian opera. Accordingly, she had attired herself in a becoming negligee, and had spent the fore part of the night somewhat restlessly, occasionally emerging on the veranda and gazing down into the perfumed gloom of the garden. At length she fancied that she heard footsteps. Whose could they be, unless Don Miguel's? Grace retreated within her window to await developments. Don Miguel did not appear; but presently she descried a phantom-like figure ascending the flight of steps to the veranda. Could that be he? If so, he was bolder in his wooing than Grace had been prepared for. But surely that was a strange costume that he wore; nor did the unconscious harmony of the gait at all resemble the senor's self-conscious strut. And whither was he going?
It was but too evident that he was going straight to the room occupied by Miriam!
This was too much for Grace's equanimity.
