“No. And if I had, you couldn't pick me up. What did you come out here for?” was the characteristic answer.
“Because, not seeing you when down in this hollow I feared you were hurt, but since it is only foolish anger that ails you, I need not waste my sympathy,” she said in her sweet, low voice—which Clarence insisted always was like Mercedes' voice, having that same musical vibration, so pleasing to the ear and sure to go straight to the heart.
“Mrs. Darrell, allow me to assure you that all this trouble came most unexpectedly to us. We don't know what caused it, but no matter what the cause may be, I certainly could do nothing else than prevent anybody from striking my father,” Gabriel said.
“Certainly, Don Gabriel, you did your duty. I do not blame you—no one of you—at all. Express my regrets to your father, please. I am grieved to the heart about this,” she said, and there was a sad note in her tones, which plainly told that her expressions of regret were but too true.
“I will tell my father what you say, and let us hope that the cause of all this misunderstanding may be explained,” Gabriel replied.
“I hope so,” she said, offering her hand to him, which he took and pressed warmly.
When Darrell saw that friendly demonstration, he turned his back upon all, and muttering that he was “to be made the scape-goat of all,” walked home.
Mrs. Darrell then asked Gabriel to explain everything to her, which he did, while she listened to him very attentively.
“If you only had heard what those squatters said, and prevented father from riding out,” Everett exclaimed.
Mrs. Darrell sighed, shook hands with the Alamares, and, followed by her sons, walked home.