“Know? Since he returned from that unhappy search of his—know? Why, minion, you know more of my boy, Miguel, now-a-days, than the mother who bore him. Yet, mark my words! He has a temper! Ah! yes. When you are his wife, let the folds of his silken shirt be creased the wrong way but once and I tell you— Oh! Have a care!”
“For a woman, breathless, there are many words, madre. But I am glad to know. That shirt—it shall be ever rightly creased. Si. But to-day he has no eyes for me. He has already gone, flown upon that Amador, to meet those who come. I? I cannot wait! How can I? Nor—need I! For—they come, they come! Hola! But the House of Refuge will be full this night! and the fiesta we will make shall last for days and days. Behold, my mother, what a company is this that comes from Albuquerque!”
“Where is that Pablo? Here. He shall stand here with us. Is every vaquero in place? Fall into line, there! For not a single soul upon the Master’s rancho shall fail to bid him welcome when he comes once more unto his own. I have said it, I, Anita. So it must be. And now— They come! Give them true Spanish welcome—lusty and from the heart: Bien Venido! Bien! BIEN!!”[14]
Truly, they had “come.” Adrian Manuel, his children on either side; the Burnhams, “root and branch”; Rupert Disbrow, glad as a boy to be back at Refugio in such happy times; Patterson of the terse speech and loyal heart; Mistress Mary Sinclair, riding in a carriage of honor, gay as a girl, forgiving and forgiven, at last one with the family for whom her soul had pined; Dennis, in gorgeous garb, befitting a gentleman of Connemara; and last, a woman in Pueblo dress—Paula; whose keen eyes saw her son restored—Pablo, the Dancer.
But, as this joyful company neared the old Mission, it diverged to a sunny spot, marvellously cared for and rich in blooming plants and waving palms. There Adrian Manuel and his children leaped down, to kneel in that beloved place where the Lady of Refugio slept; and, understanding without words, the last bitterness passed from old Mary Sinclair’s heart as she silently stepped down and also reverently knelt beside the trio.
It was a mute petition to the living and the dead; and the living answered for the dead, as Carlota folded her arms about the aged woman and kissed her—“for Mary.”
THE END
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Festivals.
[2] Cakes.