Vicente suddenly sat up on the squalid mattress. The smoky wick flung deep shadows in his hollow cheeks, and he looked so pale and wild that Lina almost cried out at him.
“I tell thee, ’manita,” he whispered earnestly, “I believe not in that priest! Running so, and so rough to thee! And thou sayest that at touch of thy hand to his robe he started and was to call out? There is a danger, I tell thee!” he repeated vehemently, striking his thin fist upon the floor till the impish shadows danced again. “All is crooked now, when they say the very captains wait to sell our general. And if the priests be traitors too——”
“But what to do?” asked the girl, in awe of this fierce young brother.
“Ay! What to do? For we know nothing. But something there is, my heart tells me. Oyez! Wouldst thou know the padre again, seeing him?”
“Como no? For it was near the farol, and I saw under the hood his eyes, how shining they were.”
“And his voice, too—no? Come, then, and we will see who is this father that curses his children!” And the boy rose eagerly, though his legs shook under him.
“But how canst thou go out, hermano, being so sick?”
“No hay cuidado. For now it is for our king against the rebels, and strength I shall have for that. The caldo also gives me new life. Vamos!”