Rainbows End | Page 5

bitterly against his wife. Her curiosity he sullenly
resented, and he unblushingly denied his possession of any
considerable wealth. In fact, he tried with malicious ingenuity to make
her believe him a poor man. But Isabel was not of the sort to be readily
deceived. Finding her arts and coquetries of no avail, she flew into a
rage, and a furious quarrel ensued--the first of many. For the lady could
not rest without knowing all there was to know about the treasure.
Avaricious to her finger-tips, she itched to weigh those bags of precious
metal and yearned to see those jewels burning upon her bosom. Her
mercenary mind magnified their value many times, and her anger at
Don Esteban's obstinacy deepened to a smoldering hatred.
She searched the quinta, of course, whenever she had a chance, but she
discovered nothing--with the result that the mystery began to engross
her whole thought. She pried into the obscurest corners, she questioned
the slaves, she lay awake at night listening to Esteban's breathing, in the
hope of surprising his secret from his dreams. Naturally such a life was
trying to the husband, but as his wife's obsession grew his
determination to foil her only strengthened. Outwardly, of course, the
pair maintained a show of harmony, for they were proud and they
occupied a position of some consequence in the community. But their
private relations went from bad to worse. At length a time came when
they lived in frank enmity; when Isabel never spoke to Esteban except
in reproach or anger, and when Esteban unlocked his lips only to taunt
his wife with the fact that she had been thwarted despite her cunning.
In most quarters, as time went on, the story of the Varona treasure was
forgotten, or at least put down as legendary. Only Isabel, who, in spite
of her husband's secretiveness, learned much, and Pancho Cueto, who

kept his own account of the annual income from the business, held the
matter in serious remembrance. The overseer was a patient man; he
watched with interest the growing discord at the quinta and planned to
profit by it, should occasion offer.
It was only natural under such conditions that Dona Isabel should learn
to dislike her stepchildren--Esteban had told her frankly that they
would inherit whatever fortune he possessed. The thought that, after all,
she might never share in the treasure for which she had sacrificed her
youth and beauty was like to drive the woman mad, and, as may be
imagined, she found ways to vent her spite upon the twins. She
widened her hatred so as to include old Sebastian and his daughter, and
even went so far as to persecute Evangelina's sweetheart, a slave named
Asensio.
It had not taken Dona Isabel long to guess the reason of Sebastian's
many privileges, and one of her first efforts had been to win the old
man's confidence. It was in vain, however, that she flattered and cajoled,
or stormed and threatened; Sebastian withstood her as a towering ceiba
withstands the summer heat and the winter hurricane.
His firmness made her vindictive, and so in time she laid a scheme to
estrange him from his master.
Dona Isabel was crafty. She began to complain about Evangelina, but it
was only after many months that she ventured to suggest to her
husband that he sell the girl. Esteban, of course, refused point-blank; he
was too fond of Sebastian's daughter, he declared, to think of such a
thing.
"So, that is it," sneered Dona Isabel. "Well, she is young and shapely
and handsome, as wenches go. I rather suspected you were fond of
her--"
With difficulty Esteban restrained an oath. "You mistake my meaning,"
he said, stiffly. "Sebastian has served me faithfully, and Evangelina
plays with my children. She is good to them; she is more of a mother to
them than you have ever been."

"Is that why you dress her like a lady? Bah! A likely story!" Isabel
tossed her fine, dark head. "I'm not blind; I see what goes on about me.
This will make a pretty scandal among your friends-- she as black as
the pit, and you--"
"WOMAN!" shouted the planter, "you have a sting like a scorpion."
"I won't have that wench in my house," Isabel flared out at him.
Goaded to fury by his wife's senseless accusation, Esteban cried:
"YOUR house? By what license do you call it yours?"
"Am I not married to you?"
"Damnation! Yes--as a leech is married to its victim. You suck my
blood."
"Your blood!" The woman laughed shrilly. "You have no blood; your
veins run vinegar. You are a miser."
"Miser! Miser! I grow sick of the word. It is all you find to taunt me
with. Confess that you married me for