“Who?”
“It was—HIM!”
“Nonsense,” groaned Joan, nevertheless casting a hurried glance around her.
“Have no fear,” said Dona Rosita quickly, “he is gone—I saw him pass away—so! But it was HE—Huanson. I recognize him. I forget him never.”
“Are you sure?”
“Have I the eyes? the memory? Madre de Dios! Am I a lunatico too? Look! He have stood there—so.”
“Then you think he knew you were here?”
“Quien sabe?”
“And that he came here to see you?”
Dona Rosita caught her again by the shoulders, and with her lips to Joan's ear, said with the intensest and most deliberate of emphasis: