“Quick—the church—it is the last stand!” one of the frailes cried.
The señora got up and hurried to the door, grasping at a fray’s arm, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Señorita,” the fray called.
“I remain here,” she said.
“The comandante has said you must go to the church.”
“I remain here!”
In her brain was beating the sentence the caballero had spoken—that she was to remain in the guest house, no matter what transpired. She was not certain the words had not been a boast. She could not imagine how a rescue could be made, though she had reason to know he was clever at rescue work, unless he led the hostiles and intended to save her after the mission had been taken. But she remembered, too, how he had declared he was no traitor, and believed in her heart he had spoken truth.
“This is madness!” one of the frailes cried.
“Go! I remain here!” she answered.
“We must make haste. I’ll return for you, señorita!”