"Why did you go?" he asked. "To look at Margarida?'
"Most decidedly not," she retorted with spirit. "I didn't know who the pretty girl in the mantilla was till I came home. Fisher only told me this gossip two hours ago."
"Then you went to church to see what it was like?" he persisted, hoping, nevertheless, that there was some better reason.
"I went because I wanted to," she answered. "But come back to the point. Is it true about Margarida?"
He had gradually become aware of a new sympathy between them. All the resentment and distrust faded out of his heart. His gaze sought hers; and not until he could look down into her eyes did he answer:
"It is not true. It never was. It never will be."
The last syllable had hardly sped clear of his lips when the monk was struck dumb by the truth. It flashed from Isabel's radiant eyes like a flaming sword into his heart. A moment later she had turned away her face; but she could not hide the magic roses, the great crimson roses, which sprang to full bloom upon her cheeks. He knew her secret; and she knew that it was known.
To cover her trouble and confusion, she moved to find her little gloves and the embroidered bag. Antonio stooped down before her and was the first to pick them up; but she snatched them almost roughly out of his hand.
"We've stayed too long," she said. "I must go."
In a twinkling she had crossed the stepping-stones and was in full flight for home. No wood-nymph pursued by a god of old ever flew with more gazelle-like grace; and the ravine seemed shorn of nearly all its beauty when the trees hid her from Antonio's eyes.