Five minutes later Francesca went timidly up to her father in the gardens before the house.
Don Luis turned to her. He was thinking, at the moment, of his dark plans regarding the young engineers. In his eyes, despite his effort to smile on his daughter, was a deadly glitter that dried up hope in the heart of the daughter.
"You have been secluding yourself more than usual to-day, chiquita," chided Montez.
That word chiquita, meaning "pet," caused the girl to recoil inwardly. Could it be that this hard, cruel man had the right to address her in endearing terms?
"I am not well to-day, my father," she answered, in a low voice.
"Then take my arm, chiquita, and walk with me," urged Montez.
"My father," she cried, shrinking back, "if you will indulge me, I will walk alone. Perhaps, in that way, I shall gain more strength from the exercise."
"As you will," smiled Don Luis, coldly. "For myself, I have much to think of. I have American guests coming soon. I expect that they will buy El Sombrero for money enough to make you one of the richest heiresses in all Mexico, chiquita."
"For me? And I do not know how to care for money!" answered the girl, unsteadily. Then she turned away, swiftly, unable to stand longer looking into Don Luis's eyes.
Through the day Tom and Harry had tramped about almost feverishly, stopping at intervals as though for rest. Now, in the late afternoon, they were on their way back to camp by a route that took them not far from Don Luis's grounds.