As soon as he was out of sight, Senor Bernal leaned forward, clasping his hands.
“It is the good turn I do. Well, then, it is the good turn you will answer, no.”
“Of course. I’d do you any ‘good turn’ which was right for me.”
“Then plead for me, my liberty. It is you, senorita, who have the so great, the strange power to move many hearts to your will. Si. You will plead, then, if I tell you–something–a little story–maybe?”
“I’m in no mood for stories, and you’re talking in riddles as you’ve always been fond of doing. Say what you mean at once, Antonio, for I’m going home to-morrow. Home! going home!”
“Ah! me! And? But yes. I will. I will force myself. I will ask it. That–that–title? Know you of that?”
“How should I know?”
“Ephraim. Was not Ephraim at the safe one midnight? Is not Ephraim a little strange–here?” touching his own forehead.
Jessica turned away, indignant.
“No, but you are. The queerest, crookedest man I ever saw. If you’ve anything to tell me, just be quick, I am going. As for Ephraim, I wish, unhappy man, that you had half the goodness and honesty in your whole body that dear old fellow has in his littlest finger. He couldn’t do a mean thing nor even think one, and if you sent for me to abuse him to me you might have spared yourself the trouble.”