"Luisa! the Doña Luisa! Dead, you say?—before the wedding-day? No, señor, pardon, but you have not understood. I know Luisa Arteaga when she is still a little girl—and always. She not dying before she have marry the boy like she want."
Still, his hand trembled as he reached for his cane. Across the plaza Indians and Mexicans were moving toward the Mission. It was early for San Juan to be astir in the street. Old Matia, who had been nurse to Miguel and Rafael, went past, not seeing the two men for the tears in her eyes. Yes—after all, there was trouble—but Doña Luisa!
In his perturbation he turned, and again held out his hand.
"Adios, señor," he repeated; "but you coming back for sure. To San Juan all people coming back some time. You go with the horses across the deserts?"
"Yes, I am going across the deserts. Adios!"
Yo te he de amar,
te he de amar
hasta muerte,
Y si pudiera—
Yo te a maria despues.