“When will he return?”
“Who knows?”
By this time they were at the northern end of the house where there was a small door. Tia Eusebia brought out her door-key.
“See,” she said, “since you want the road to Las Palomas, continue past the house; turn to the right near the front door, up the drive to the lodge. The gates are locked, but you can pass. If you then turn to the left, you will be upon the road to the North Gate of Las Palomas, which is distant, by the savannah, a league; but, by the seashore, less.”
“Thank you indeed, Madam, for your guidance,” Sard said. “And now will you tell me yet one thing more? Do you know of one, Señorita de la Torre, who has been to this house, or is now here or to come here?”
“De la Torre?”
“Yes. Señorita Juanita de la Torre.”
“God has neither brought nor promised such,” she said. “It is thought that some English may come here, but of no such name.”
“This lady is not English, but Spanish.”
“If she be young and beautiful, she will not come here, Señor, where youth died long ago and beauty withered. This is the house of the xicale flowers, brought from the Indian country by the General, for his love, who died before she saw them, and for his son, who died before they flowered.”