He made his way to the little white tent on the far side of the trapezium. The door was open, the lamplight flaring through. He could see Coronel struggling with the straps of a brass-bound trunk. Innes, by the door, was bidding good-by to Señora Maldonado.
He could hear her voice as he drew near. “You’ll let me hear from you? How you are getting on? And the children?”
He forgot to greet the Mexican. She stood waiting; her eyes full of him. Surely, the kind señor had something to say to her? He had taken the white girl’s hand. He was staring into the white girl’s eyes. Something came to her, a memory like forgotten music. Silently, she slipped away into the night.
Rickard would not release Innes’ hand; her eyes could not meet the look in his.
“Wasn’t she good to come? She rode, horseback, all the way up here just to say good-by to me. She is going to Nogales to live, taking the children. She thinks she has a good chance there. She asked me to tell you.” Her chatter, too, dropped before his silence. He kept her hand in his.
“Come out and have a walk with me! It’s not too late?”
Her foolish, chattering speech all mute!
“The levee?” asked Rickard. Still holding her hand, he drew it through the loop of his arm.
“You were not going to tell me you were going?”
No answer to that either! How could she tell him she was going when she knew what she knew!