She looked up at him with a tender, wistful smile. Then she shook her head. “Padre dear, I love you,” she said, “but you make me lots of trouble. But––we are going to love all the fear away, and––” stamping her little bare foot––“we are going to get the right answer to your problem, too!”
The priest took her hand, and together they passed out into the dazzling sunlight.
On the brow of the hill stood Rosendo, talking excitedly, and with much vehement gesticulation, to Doña Maria, who remained a safe distance from him. The latter and her good consort exclaimed in horror when they saw Carmen with the priest.
“Caramba!” cried Rosendo, darting toward them. “I could kill you for this, Padre! Hombre! How came the child here, and with you? Dios mío! Have you no heart, but that, when you know you may die, you would take her with you?” He swung his long arms menacingly before the priest, and his face worked with passion.
The girl ran between the two men. “Padre Rosendo!” she cried, seizing one of his hands in both of her own. “I came of myself. He did not call me. I found him asleep. And he isn’t going to die––nor I, either!”
Doña Maria approached and quietly joined the little group.
“Caramba! Go back!” cried the distressed Rosendo, turning upon her. “Hombre! Dios y diablo! will you all die?” He stamped the ground and tore his hair in his impotent protest.
“Na, Rosendo,” said the woman placidly, “if you are in 174 danger, I will be too. If you must die, so will I. I will not be left alone.”
A thrill of admiration swept over the priest. Then he smiled wanly. “Bien,” he said, “we have all been exposed to the plague now, and we will stand together. Shall we return home?”
Rosendo’s anger soon evaporated, but his face retained traces of deep anxiety. “Maria tells me, Padre,” he said, “that Amado Sanchez fell sick last night with the flux, and nobody will stay with him, excepting his woman.”