Tula’s eyes lit up with her brief smile of approval.
“I am telling them you are a man and want no child things, my General,” she stated firmly, “and now it proves itself! On the instant the right thing comes.”
She darted out the door, bumping into Rhodes, and without even the customary “with your permission” ran past him along the corridor, and, suddenly cautious, yet bold, she lifted the latch of the guest room where she had seen what looked to her like wealth of towels,––and felt sure Doña Jocasta would not miss one of the plainest.
Stealthy as a cat she circled the bed, scarce daring to glance at it lest the lady wake and look reproach on her.
But she stepped on some hard substance on the rug by the wooden bench where the towels hung, and stooping, she picked it up, a little wooden crucifix, once broken, and then banded with silver to hold it solid. The silver was beautifully wrought and very delicate, surely the possession of a lady, and not a thing let fall by chance from the pocket of Valencia.
Tula turned to lay it carefully on the pillow beside the señora, and then stared at the vacant bed.
Only an instant she halted and thrust her hand under the cover.
“Cold,––long time cold!” she muttered, and with towel and crucifix she sped back to the sala where Rotil was joking concerning the compliment she paid him.
“Don’t make dandies of yourselves if you would make good with a woman,” he said. “Even that little crane of a muchacha has brain,––and maybe heart for a man! She has boy sense.”
Kit, seeing her dart into the guest room, stood in his tracks watching for her to emerge. She gave him one searching curious look as she sped past, and he realized in a flash that his glance should have been elsewhere, or at least more casual.