CHAPTER XXVII
BY DIFFERENT TONGUES
“Refugio.”
The word was magic. The angry woman who had laid hand upon Carlota’s shoulder started at the sound and intently regarded the unhappy child. Then she stooped and again touched her, but, this time, with gentle, tremulous fingers.
“Say that again, Señorita. Again.”
The girl sprang up, for to hear the familiar Spanish was, also, magic.
“What? Who are you? It was Refugio, I said. The House of Refuge—which this is not! Why—why?”
The wrinkled face softened to comeliness, and a look grew upon it which tempted Carlota to clasp it between her own two palms, in a dainty fashion she had, and to beseech:
“Do you know Refugio? Have you ever been at my home?”
“Are you the Master’s daughter?”
“Yes, oh! yes. Do you know him? Is he, too, here?”