“No? Then I must come and steal it; and when you confess to good Padre Josè you may tell him it was all my fault.”
He started toward her. A look of horror came into the child’s face and she sprang from her seat. Josè swiftly rose. He seized Diego by the shoulder and whirled him quickly about. His face was menacing and his frame trembled.
“One moment, friend!” The voice was low, tense, and deliberate. “If you lay a hand on that child I will strike you dead at my feet!”
Diego recoiled. Cielo! was this the timid sheep that had stopped for a moment in Banco on its way to the slaughter? But there was no mistaking the spirit manifested now in that voice and attitude.
“Why, amigo!” he exclaimed, a foolish grin splitting his ugly features. “Your little joke startled me!”
Josè motioned Carmen to leave.
“Be seated, Don Diego. It would be well to understand each other more thoroughly.”
Had Josè gone too far? He wondered. Heaven knew, he could not afford to make enemies, especially at this juncture! But he had not misread the thought coursing through the foul mind of Diego. And yet, violence now might ruin both the child and himself. He must be wiser.
“I––I was perhaps a little hasty, amigo,” he began in gentler tones. “But, as you see, I have been quite wrought up of late––the news of the revolution, and––in these past months there have been many things to cause me worry. I––”