Anon there floated down to her from the heights beyond the call of the Indian sentinel as he made his rounds, "Love to God!" followed by the reply from one of his fellows, "Love to God!" With a dozen tongues the hills took up the refrain, "Love to God! Love to God!"
"What can my father and Captain Morando find to talk about so long! Men can gossip as well as women when they are so minded."
She mounted another flight of outside stairs that led to the top of the buildings which formed three sides of the courtyard. The courtyard door was open. Several peons were holding the struggling watchdog while another brought Morando's horse.
"Hold fast those dogs!" Señor Mendoza said to the Indians. "They are as fierce as tigers. Good-night, Captain Morando. Remember two weeks from Thursday evening, at six. My daughter's dueña will be home from Monterey, and we'll have both to dine with us, with perhaps a few friends, just a valecito casero—a little house party. Good-night. Glad you've some men in the village. The country won't be safe till we rid it of those miscreant renegades. Good-night, Captain."
The heavy door closed. The doña saw that Captain Morando rode around the courtyard to the embrasure window, halted and looked up anxiously. Walking to the edge of the roof she stood there, a beautiful picture. He waved his hand.
"O, doña mia—" he began. Unfastening a rose from her hair she tossed it to him. The pulsing air caught it, and swaying, whirling, it fell. He reined in his horse, urged it forward, swung it around, keeping in the uncertain downward path of the rose, till finally its stem rested in his hand.
He kissed the flower again and again; then holding it up to her, waved it in rhythmic motion as he had done before with the guitar.
"O, doña mia—" he began once more, but the watchdogs bayed savagely and rushed against the adobe fence. His horse shied and sprang away. He wheeled back again.
The señorita had disappeared.