He looked up inquiringly.
“When you have made sure of your precious fortune?” she explained.
She had raised her hand to her hair, and was standing in a very pretty, indifferent attitude. Tomaso held his lower lip between his teeth as he looked at her.
“I don't know what I shall do with it,” he answered, and, turning, he walked hurriedly down the sun-lit road.
“Come in on your way back and tell us about it,” she called out after him, and then stood watching him until he turned the corner where he had picked up his fortune on the road the day before.
It was characteristic of the man that he never turned to look at her, and the girl gave a little nod of the head as he disappeared. She had apparently expected him not to look back, and yet wanted him to do it, and at the same time would rather he did not do it. Felipe Fortis would have turned half a dozen times, with a salutation and a wave of the hat.
But the sun went down behind the tableland of the Val d'Erraha and Tomaso did not return. Then the moon rose, large and yellow, beyond the Valdemosa Heights, and the widow Navarro, her day's work done, walked slowly up the road to visit her sister, the road-keeper's wife. Rosa sat on the bench beneath the trellis, and thought those long thoughts that belong to youth. She heard Tomaso's step long before he came in sight, for the valley is thinly populated and as still as Sahara. He was walking slowly, and dragged his feet as if fatigued. The moon was now well up, and the girl could distinguish Tomaso's gleaming white shirt as he turned the corner. As he approached he kept on the left-hand side of the road. It was evident that he intended to call at the Venta.
“He—Tomaso!” cried Rosa, when he was almost at the steps.
“He—Rosa!” he answered.
“I am all alone,” said Rosa. “Mother has gone to see Aunt Luisa. Have you your fortune in your pocket?”