"On which side?" she asked quickly, with a strange eagerness in her
voice.
"Ah, senora," I returned, "why do you ask me, only a poor traveller
who comes for a night's shelter, such a question--"
"Why? Perhaps for your good, senor. Remember, women are not like
men--implacable. A shelter you shall have, senor; but it is best that
I should know."
"You are right," I returned, "forgive me for not answering you at once.
I was with Santa Coloma--the rebel."
She held out her hand to me, but, before I could take it, withdrew it
and, covering her face, began to cry. Presently recovering herself and
turning towards the house, she asked me to follow.
Her gestures and tears had told me eloquently enough that she too
belonged to the unhappy Blanco party.
"Have you, then, lost some relation in this fight, senora?" I asked.
"No, senor," she replied; "but if our party had triumphed, perhaps
deliverance would have come to me. Ah, no; I lost my relations long
ago--all except my father. You shall know presently, when you see him,
why our cruel enemies refrained from shedding _his_ blood."
By that time we had reached the house. There had once been a verandah
to it, but this had long fallen away, leaving the walls, doors, and
windows exposed to sun and rain. Lichen covered the stone walls, while,
in the crevices and over the tiled roof, weeds and grass had flourished;
but this vegetation had died with the summer heats and was now parched
and yellow.
Pages:
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278