Carmen had later married Pedro, and Pilar was their child. But both had passed away, leaving their little girl in the old man's care.
What was keeping Pilar now? Where had she gone, and what was taking her such a long time?
Her grandfather began to worry. He raised himself on the pillow. Dusk had fallen. The room was growing dark. Yet he could discern a white object lying on the floor just inside the door. Why, it looked like a letter. But few letters ever arrived at this house. Still it was a letter!
Oh, if Pilar would only come home! She had never been so late before.
"Suppose," he thought, "she has sold the magic castanets, and something terrible has happened to her! Suppose—"
| TOLEDO |
But he quickly laughed at his foolish fears, and just then the door swung open and Pilar burst in.
She was weeping bitterly, her arm flung across her eyes. She threw herself down beside her grandfather's bed, sobs shaking her.
At first it was difficult to understand what she said, but gradually the words swam out thickly through her tears, "Oh, I—I have done a—terrible th-thing—"
A flood of sobs broke through and drowned the rest. Her grandfather laid a gentle hand upon her head.