“Ah!” he cried at last. “You are not alive at all, I believe. You have never lived, you do not know what life is.”
That was the first time she heard it, poor little Grandmother. She was to hear it so many times. Now she put her hand to her heart as if something had pierced it; a spasm crossed her smooth forehead, and when it passed a line remained, a little line of pain.
But she only nodded and tried to smile, and said, “Yes, sure, Manuel! yes, sure!”
Then they heard Grandfather’s voice behind them, and there was the good old man standing, leaning on his stick and looking at them with wonder.
“What is this?” said Grandfather. “I heard loud and angry words. Who is this, my dear?”
“This is Manuel, Grandfather; my friend of whom I told you. He is angry because I am married to you!” said Grandmother simply; “but I am always so thankful to you, Grandfather dear!”
Grandfather looked kindly at the boy. “I see!” he said. “Yes, yes; I see! I see! But come into the house with us, sir, and let us try to be friends. Sorrow in youth is hard to bear, yet it can be borne, it can be borne, and we will help you if we may.”
And Grandmother said, “Yes, sure, Manuel dear; come in and eat with us; you must be hungry.”
A great sob burst from the boy’s throat, and turning away he flung his arm upon the vine-covered wall and wept there.
“Go you into the house, my dear,” said Grandfather; “and be getting supper. We will come presently.”