She smiled happily at her husband, as she took his arm, and twice, as they went slowly upstairs together, she lifted her face for his kiss. Her gentleness and affection made it hard for him to speak; but there were words to be said that could be no longer delayed; and when he had closed the room door, he took her hands in his, and looked into her face with eyes that told her all.
“You are going away, Roberto,” she whispered.
“My love! Yes! To-night—this very hour I must go! Luis and Dare also. Do not weep. I entreat you! My heart is heavy, and your tears I cannot bear.”
Then she answered, with a noble Composure: “I will give you smiles and kisses. My good Roberto, so true and kind! I will try to be worthy of you. Nay, but you must not weep—Roberto!”
It was true. Quite unconsciously the troubled husband and father was weeping. “I fear to leave you, dear Maria. All is so uncertain. I can only ask you two favors; if you will grant them, you will do all that can be done to send me away with hope. Will you promise me to have nothing to do whatever with Fray Ignatius; and to resist every attempt he may make to induce you to go into a religious house of any kind?”
“I promise you, Roberto. By my mother’s cross, I promise you!”
“Again, dear Maria, if you should be in any danger, promise me that you will do as Antonia and Lopez Navarro think it wisest and best.”
“Go with God, my, husband. Go with God, in a good hour. All you wish, I will do.”
He held her to his heart and kissed her, and she whispered amid her tender farewells to himself, messages to her soils—but especially to Juan. “Will you see Juan? If you do, tell him I repent. I send him a thousand blessings! Ah, the dear one! Kiss him for me, Roberto! Tell him how much I love him, Roberto! How I sorrow because I was cross to him! My precious one! My good son, who always loved me so dearly!”
At length Isabel came in to weep in her mother’s arms. “Luis is going away,” she cried. The father felt a momentary keen pang of jealousy. “I am going also, queridita,” he said mournfully. Then she threw her arms around his neck and bewailed her bad fortune. “If I were the Almighty God, I would not give love and then take it away,” she murmured. “I would give orders that the good people should always be happy. I would not let men like Santa Anna live. He is a measureless monster, and ought to go to the d—to purgatory, at the very least.”