Saddling my two animals expeditiously, I rode to Peralta's _estancia,
and on arriving there carefully drew the horses into the shadow of a
clump of trees growing on the borders of the ancient, wellnigh
obliterated foss or ditch. I then dropped on to the ground so as to
listen better for approaching footsteps, and began waiting for Demetria.
It was past midnight: not a sound reached me except at intervals the
mournful, far-away, reedy note of the little nocturnal cicada that
always seemed to be there lamenting the lost fortunes of the house of
Peralta. For upwards of half an hour I remained lying on the ground,
growing more anxious every moment and fearing that Demetria was going
to fail me, when I caught a sound like a human whisper. Listening
intently, I found that it pronounced my name and proceeded from a clump
of tall thorn-apples some yards from me.
"Who speaks?" I replied.
The tall, gaunt form of Ramona drew itself up out of the weeds and
cautiously approached me. She was shaking with nervous excitement, and
had not ventured to come near without speaking for fear of being
mistaken for an enemy and fired at.
"Mother of Heaven!" she exclaimed, as well as her chattering teeth
would allow her to speak. "I have been so agitated all the evening!
Oh, senor, what are we to do now? Your plan was such a good one; when
I heard it I knew an angel had flown down and whispered it in your
ear.
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