A man in a white serape, with the blue and black borders, suddenly appeared at the window, lifting his hat, on which was the sign of Quetzalcoatl, and pushing a little card through the window.
The card said: Come to the church when you hear the one big drum; about seven o’clock.—It was signed with the sign of Quetzalcoatl.
“Very well!” said Kate. “I will come.”
It was a quarter to seven already. Outside the room was the noise of Juana sweeping the verandah. Kate put on a white dress and a yellow hat, and a long string of pale-coloured topaz that glimmered with yellow and mauve.
The earth was all damp with rain, the leaves were all fresh and tropical thick, yet many old leaves were on the ground, beaten down.
“Niña! You are going out already! Wait! Wait! The coffee. Concha! quick!”
There was a running of bare feet, the children bringing cup and plate and sweet buns and sugar, the mother hastily limping with the coffee. Ezequiel came striding along the walk, lifting his hat. He went down to the servants’ quarters.
“Ezequiel says—!” Juana came crying. When suddenly a soft, slack thud seemed to make a hole in the air, leaving a gap behind it. Thud!—Thud!—Thud!—rather slowly. It was the big drum, irresistible.
Kate rose at once from her coffee.
“I am going to the church,” she said.