Patsy knew he was suffering and the fact aroused her to action.
“Father isn’t a coward,” she remarked, “and either he heard the cry, or he dreamed it. In the latter case it amounts to nothing; but if Jane really cried out, that fact ought to give us an important clue.”
He started at this suggestion, which the girl had uttered without thought, merely to reassure him. Yet now she started herself, struck by the peculiar significance of her random words.
“In what way, Patsy?” asked Beth, calmly.
That was the spur she needed. She glanced around the room a moment and then asked:
“Who built this wing, Arthur?”
“Cristoval, I suppose. I’ve heard it was the original dwelling,” he replied. “The rest of the house was built at a much later date. Perhaps two generations labored in constructing the place. I do not know; but it is not important.”
“Oh, yes it is!” cried Patsy with increasing ardor. “The rest of the house is like many other houses, but—these walls are six or eight feet in thickness.”
“Adobe,” said Arthur carelessly. “They built strongly in the mission days.”
“Yet these can’t be solid blocks,” persisted the girl, rising to walk nervously back and forth before the walls. “There must be a space left inside. And see! the major’s bed stands close to the outer wall, which is the thickest of all.”