Josè made as if to reach him; but Fernando held him back. The Alcalde got quickly within the house and secured the door. “Go now to your home, Padre,” urged Fernando; “else I shall call help and put you in the stocks, too!”
“But I will enter that house! I will take the child from him!” shouted Josè desperately, struggling to gain the Alcalde’s door.
“Listen to me, Padre!” cried Fernando, holding to the frenzied man. “The little Carmen––she is not in there!”
“Not––in––there! Then where is she, Fernando?––for God’s sake tell me!” appealed the stricken priest. Great beads of perspiration stood upon his face, and tears rolled down his drawn cheeks.
Fernando could not but pity him. “Bien, Padre,” he said gently; “come away. I give you my word that the girl is not in the house of the Alcalde. But I am not permitted to say where she is.”
“Then I will search every house in Simití!” cried the priest wildly.
“Na, Padre, you would not find her. Come, I will go home with you.” He took Josè’s arm again and led him, blindly stumbling, to the parish house.
By this time the little town was agog with excitement. People ran from house to house, or gathered on the street corners, discussing the event.
“Caramba!” shrilled one wrinkled beldame, “but Simití was very quiet until the Cura came!”
“Na, señora,” cried another, “say, rather, until that wicked little hada was brought here by Rosendo!”