"I might be glad under certain circumstances," replied Anita with a sigh. Then throwing something around her she went out on the balcony. The breeze coming from the sea and the nearer mountains, was full of sweetness caught from blossoming plants, from fresh-cut hay, from ripening fruits. The queer jangling voices of the night insects, the occasional lowing of a cow, the distant strumming of a guitar fell upon the girl's ears unnoticed. She clasped her hands and looked up at the calm stars. "Where are you, Terrence?" she whispered. "Would it make any difference to you if you could know that I am here? Have you forgotten? Where are you, Pepé? Send us a message on a wave of thought so we may instinctively find you. Terrence, my darling, would I not go back gladly if it might be with you?"
The night winds bore the whisper on to the murmuring leaves and blended it with the plaint of the sea, and at that moment a young man rose from his place in a Paris café, left his coffee untouched and went out into the glitter and rumble of the streets, hearing in fancy the unforgotten sound of a girl's voice, seeing only the warm light in her luminous eyes.
CHAPTER VIII
At a Fiesta
Rocket bombs were going up, drums were beating, tambourines jangling when Doña Prudencia's party arrived at the old church. Mass was over and those bearing the sacred image of Our Lady of Carmen were coming out of the church, keeping up their monotonous chant as they followed with rhythmic step the richly-robed priests. After the image-bearers came a procession of worshipers carrying tall lighted candles. The late arrivals stood to one side to allow the procession to pass.
"There she is," whispered Amparo, as a tall, black-robed woman with severe features, went by, "I knew she would be here. We must wait now till the service is over."
"She is a person of opinions, this Pilar," remarked Rodrigo. "You remember, Amparo, how she closed her house, would not have a light, nor open her doors to her friends when was the fiesta of San Roque."
"But why?" asked Anita in wonder.
"Because she does not like this poor San Roque; she prefers the Santa Magdelena. She is jealous for this favorite saint of hers, and does not like that there are superior attractions at the fiesta of San Roque."
"She is not alone in that," Amparo asserted. "There are others as foolish, who close their houses so that a twinkle of light appears at night, and who complain of the dancing and the merriment which keeps up so late."