“You reason wildly,” said Ashley. “I cannot understand these strange duplicities; yet I know it is quite true I should gain nothing by direct questioning. What have I ever gained? No, it is to Doña Isabel I will go, and to Ramirez himself. But promise me, Chata,” he added earnestly, “promise me, by all you hold most sacred, never to leave the hacienda to meet him or any messenger of his. Promise for your own sake, and I swear I will leave no measure untried to free you from this strange bondage.”
He had expressed himself with difficulty throughout, but she caught his meaning eagerly. “Oh, if I dared to promise!” she murmured. “But it is the duty of the child to obey. Besides, he would tell me the truth; even this very day I thought I should have known the wretched story,—oh, I am sure it is a wretched one! Well, I have a respite,—a little respite. Go, Señor; you have been kind,—be kind still by being silent. I must go; the sun will soon set. Ah, unfortunate that I am, the men will be coming in from the fields, the women will be at their doors,—how shall I ever return without being seen?”
Here was indeed a difficulty. The strictly nurtured girl had never in her life been outside the precincts of the village alone; that she then should be, and with a young man, would occasion endless gossip. The two involuntary culprits looked at each other with blank faces,—Ashley in absolute dismay, for he had heard of the strict requirements of Mexican customs and etiquette, and knew to what cruel innuendo this young girl had exposed herself. He realized then for the first time how great her courage had been in venturing forth in obedience to the command of Ramirez.
“Chata, Chata! for God’s sake,” he cried, “go at once! I will remain. Your mad freak will be pardoned this time, when they see you are alone.”
“Alone!” she echoed, a crimson flush suffusing her face as she fully realized the significance of his words, and saw that with a sudden faintness he leaned against the wall, spent with excitement and fatigue.
“Yes, yes,” he said wearily, “none will know I am here. The night will soon pass; in the morning I will wander in to one of the huts. They will fancy I was lost on the mountain. None will think—you will be safe.”
“I am safe,” said the girl with sudden resolution. “Would a woman of your own country leave you to hunger and shiver through all the night in a desolate place like this? Ah,” she added with a long-drawn breath and a tremor, “even ghosts are here.”
Ashley smiled. “I do not fear them,” he said. “I fear but for you. Go! go at once! And yet before you go, promise!—promise me never to run these risks again; never in any place to meet Ramirez!”
In his earnestness he clasped her hand and gazed eagerly into her limpid eyes. “I promise, yes, I promise,” she said hurriedly. “But I will not leave you,—weak, fasting, fainting!”
She looked up at him with the angelic pity in her face that innocent children feel before they have learned distrust. Ashley read the perfect trust, the perfect guilelessness, of her tender nature. Rather, he thought, would he die than cast a cloud upon her name; and what, after all, would matter the privations of a few hours? That he must not be seen in the neighborhood for some time after her unusual wanderings was a foregone conclusion. How should he combat her resolution? Truly, this gentle girl had deep springs of action within her. For duty and right she could be a very heroine.