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Page 9
CHAPTER V.
* * * "He was a man
Who stole the livery of the court of heaven
To serve the devil in; in Virtue's guise,
Devoured the widow's house and orphan's bread;
In holy phrase, transacted villanies
That common sinners durst not meddle with."
POLLOK.
In years, he could not have exceeded twenty-five, yet the countenance
was that of one well versed in intrigue. The cast was Italian--the
crisp black hair, swarthy complexion, and never-to-be-mistaken eyes.
A large amount of Jesuit determination was expressed in his iris,
blended with cunning, malignity, and fierceness. The features were
prominent particularly the nose; the lips finely cut, but thin; the
teeth beautiful and regular. In stature he was low, and habited in the
dress of his order, a long black coat or gown, buttoned to the throat,
and reaching nearly to the feet.
Glancing at his watch as the sound of the last step died away,
he paced round and round the altar, neglecting now the many
genuflections, bows, and crossings with which he had honored the
images in the presence of his flock. His brows were knit, as if in
deep thought, and doubtless he revolved the result of some deep-laid
plan, when the door was hurriedly opened, and a man, bowing low before
the images, approached him. The dress of the stranger declared him a
ranchero: he wore no jacket but his pantaloons were of buckskin, and
his broad sombrero was tucked beneath his arm.
"Benedicit, Juan!"
"Bue�o noche, Padre."
"What tidings do you bring me?" said Father Mazzolin.
The Mexican handed him a letter, and then, as if much fatigued, leaned
heavily against the wall, and wiped his brow with a large blue cotton
handkerchief. As the priest turned away and perused his letter, a
smile of triumphant joy irradiated his face, and a momentary flush
tinged his dark cheek. Again he read it, then thrusting it into his
bosom, addressed the bearer:
"May the blessing of the church rest upon you, who have so faithfully
served your Padre;" and he extended his hand. Warmly it was grasped by
Juan, with a look of grateful surprise.
"Este bue�o?" inquired Juan.
"Si mui bue�o. Juan, do you read American writing?"
"Chiquito," was answered, with a slight shrug.
"What is the news in the el-grand Ciudad?"
"They have a strong ox to pull the ropes, now Santa Anna is at the
head. Bravura!" and the ranchero tossed his hat, regardless of the
place.
It was, however, no part of Mazzolin's policy to allow him for one
moment to forget the reverence due the marble images that looked so
calmly down from their niches, and with a stern glance he pointed to
them, crossing himself as he did so. Juan went down on his knees,
and with an "Ave Maria," and a Mexican dollar (which he laid on the
altar), quieted his conscience.
"Se�or Austin is in the Calaboose," he said, after a pause.
Mazzolin started, and looked keenly at him, as if striving to read his
inmost thoughts.
"You must be mistaken. Juan; there is no mention of it in my letter?"
he said, in a tone of one fearing to believe good news.
"Not at all, Padre. We started together--there were fifteen of us--and
after we had come a long way, so far as Saltillo, some of Santa Anna's
cavaleros overtook us, and carried Se�or Americano back with them, and
said they had orders to do it, for he was no friend to our nation. I
know, for I heard for myself."
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