“Padre!” It was Doña Maria’s voice. “Where is Carmen?”
Josè turned. The child had disappeared.
“Lázaro!” he cried, “go at once to the Boque trail! Let no one pass that way with Carmen, if your life be the penalty! Juan, hurry to the lake! If either of you see her, call loudly, and I will come! Doña Maria, start through the town! We must find her! God above, help us!”
The afternoon dragged its interminable length across the valley. Josè wearily entered his house and threw himself upon a chair. He had not dared call at the Alcalde’s house, for fear he might do that official violence. But he had seen Fernando in the street, and had avoided him. Then, of a sudden, a thought came to him from out the darkness. He sprang to his feet and hurried off toward the shales. There, beneath the stunted algarroba tree, sat the child.
“Carmen!” He rushed to her and clasped her in his arms. “Why did you do this––?”
“Padre,” she replied, when she could get her breath, “I had to come out here and try to know for you the things you ought to know for yourself.”
He said nothing; but, holding her hand tightly, he led her back to the house.
That evening Josè sent for Don Mario, the constable, and Juan and Lázaro. Assembling them before him in his living room, he talked with them long and earnestly.