Still holding my hands, and looking into my face, she said, "You have heard the news, Juan? You know that your father lies dead on the mountains, slain while carrying a message of peace to the fierce men who live there?"
I bowed my head, but could utter no sound save the anguished cry of "Mother, mother!"
"Hush!" she exclaimed; "it is no time for tears now. I shall weep later in my own room, but not before the world, Juan. Our grief is our own, my son, not the country's. And there is little Rosa, brave little Rosa, who came to bring me the news; she must go back. Let Miguel bring round the carriage, and see that half a dozen of the men ride in attendance. Don Felipe's daughter must have an escort befitting her father's rank."
I began to speak of the strange visitor outside; but Rosa was her first care, and she would see no one until Rosa had been attended to. So I hurried Miguel, the coachman, and the men who were to ride on either side of the carriage, returning to the room only when all was ready.
Mother had wrapped Rosa up warmly, and now, kissing her, she said, "Good-bye, my child. You were very good to think of me, and I shall not forget. Tell your father the truth; he will not mind now."
Rosa kissed my mother in reply, and walked unsteadily to the coach. She was still sobbing, and the sight of her white face added to my misery.
"Don't cry, Rosa," said I, as I helped her into the carriage and wished her good-bye, neither of us having any idea of the strange events which would happen before we met again.
As soon as the carriage had gone, my mother directed that the stranger should be admitted, and he came in accompanied by José. I would have left the room, but my mother stopped me, saying,—
"No, Juan; your place is here. An hour ago you were but a thoughtless boy; now you must learn to be a man.—Señor, you have brought news? You have come to announce the death of my husband; is it not so?"
The mountaineer bowed almost to the ground.