At the first note of intrusion Lopez had brought the pommel of his sword down upon the box in front of him. But the syllables of the girl’s name seemed to get into his memory, and he began to stare with a puzzled frown at the half-crazed old man. Lifting his eyes, he met Tiburcio’s, and Tiburcio himself nodded in some deep hidden significance. Lopez straightened abruptly, as at an astounding revelation.
“Tell me, Señor Murguía,” he said, “your daughter–Yes, yes, man, you shall see her!–But listen, what is she like? Has she large black eyes? Does she wear red sometimes? Come, señor, answer!”
The father gazed, wonderingly, jealously. How should an elegant officer from the City and the Court know aught of María de la Luz?
Tiburcio crept behind the sofa, and bending to Lopez’s ear, he whispered, “Si, si, mi coronel, she is the one you have in mind, and she is his daughter.”
Lopez swung round and searched the blackmailer’s face. “And now––”
“You will let him come,” said Tiburcio. “But bring two guards. And have four others with–well, with a stretcher.”
Again Lopez searched the dark crescent that was Tiburcio’s eye, and again Tiburcio nodded with deep significance. “Bring him,” he repeated, “but tell him nothing. Seeing will be enough.”
179Murguía went, unknowing. He would see her, thanks to some freakish kindness in Don Tiburcio. He was torn between the joy of the meeting and the sharp grief of the parting that must follow. At the time he never noticed that they led him up the chapel walk instead of toward the hacienda house. Tiburcio was ahead with a lantern, but when near the top of the hill he turned back to them, yet not before the expectant Lopez had seen a black something on the pavement under the swinging light.
“You first, mi coronel,” said Tiburcio.
“I, you mean!” cried Murguía, “I, señor!”