CHAPTER XIII
CONCERNING FAREWELLS AND WARNINGS
"To-morrow!" repeated the girl with a shudder.
Both stood silent under such a strain as cannot be long sustained. At the crunch of branch underfoot and the returning Blanco's, "Señor! Señor!" both started violently.
"Look, Señor," exclaimed the Spaniard. "The King has entered the fortress." Then, seeing that the eyes of both man and girl turned at his words from an intent gaze, not on the town but the opposite hills, he added, half-apologetic: "I shall go, Señor, and look to my prisoner. If you need me, I shall be there."
With the same stricken misery in her eyes that they had worn as she passed in her carriage, Cara remained motionless and silent.
The bottom of the valley grew cloudy with shadow. The sun was kissing into rosy pink the snow caps of the western ridge. A cavalcade of horsemen emerged at last from do Freres and started at a smart trot for the Palace. Cara pointed downward with one tremulous finger. Benton nodded.
"Safe," he said, but without enthusiasm.
"I must go." Cara started down the path and the man walked beside her as far as the battered gate which hung awry from its broken columns. Over it now clambered masses of vine richly purple with bougonvillea. She broke off a branch and handed it to him. "Purple," she said again, "is the color of mourning and royalty."