“Why not believe that I am truly sorry? And, in the name of reason, why stole you the stew-pot as well as the horse?”
“Why? For my children, souls of my life, indeed, yes.”
“If they so choose, can they not eat their meat in their father’s house?”
“Miguel Cardanza! Standest thou there and askest me that?” tragically demanded the maid.
In spite of his best intentions, Miguel laughed. Poor Anita would also have laughed if she could have seen herself; and her anger slowly oozed away before his mirth. If he were in that cheerful mood affairs could not be so bad as she had fancied from what she had overheard in the cloister. She determined to learn the real truth now, and asked:
“Miguel Cardanza, did you not say that these strangers had come to carry away our children? Did you not forbid their man to help them in their fiendish task? Oh! I heard you, I heard you. And if the master’s ‘friend’ cares not whither he sent the frightened innocents, Anita, the humble kitchen-maid, has a heart of flesh and will follow to care for them. Even I, bruised by that vile Amador— Where are my children, Miguel Cardanza?”
“Listen, Anita! If you shed more tears your face will be clean! If I sent the small ones away it was but for a moment, till I could speak to them more fully. Carlota is an angel. She knew not till I whispered her, that the hand she grasped so friendly had come to do her harm. Bah! girl! Your eavesdropping has wrought mischief this day!”
As their tempers cooled they had resumed their ordinary speech, changing the “thou” to “you”; and now, also, the manager realized that he had acted foolishly and might have chosen a better way to protect his charges. He was vexed with Anita for putting such stress upon the children’s disappearance. Of course, they were safe somewhere near. What harm could possibly come to them except from the intriguing guests? It is natural to visit one’s own fault upon somebody else and the maid afforded the readiest victim of Miguel’s self-reproach.
“I tell you, silly wench, you have wrought dire mischief. What is a mess of podrida to our children when the whole countryside is ‘sanctuary’ for them. Are they not the little ones of the ‘Lady of Refugio’? Is her name not still a talisman? You should not have scared them, you! Nor lost me my priceless Amador—You—”
“I? I—scare them? I, Miguel Cardanza, when I spoke not with them at all? You are mad, I tell you. Everybody is mad this day, and as for that fiend Amador, may he never return!” exclaimed the amazed and indignant damsel. Then drawing away from him, as he continued to help her pull the thorns from her dress, she added: “No! aid me no more. Your courtesy follows too close upon your rudeness to be valued. I must go from here; but—how?”