Gil nodded. "It was for me, sister. How could it be otherwise?"
"I thought that the gentleman was interested."
Gil peered closely into her face. "That gentleman is persecuted. Manuela can save him from the danger he stands in—but only through me. Sister, I love her more than life and the sky, but I am content, and she will be content, that life shall be dumb and the sky dark if that gentleman may go free. Let me speak with Manuela—you will see."
The nun was troubled. "Too many see Manuela," she said. "Only yesterday there came here a man."
"Ha!" said Gil Perez fiercely. "What manner of a man?"
"A little man," she told him, "that came in creeping, rounding his shoulders—so, and swimming with his hands. He saw Manuela, and left her trembling. She was white and grey—and very cold."
"That man," said Gil, folding his arms, "was our enemy. Let me now see Manuela."
It was more a command than an entreaty. Sister Chucha obeyed it. She went away without a word, and returned presently, leading Manuela by the hand. She brought her into the room, released her, and stood, watching and listening.
Eyes leaped to meet—Manuela was on fire, but Gil's fire ate up hers.
"Señorita, you have surrendered in vain. These men must have blood for blood. The patron lies wounded, and will die unless we save him. Señorita, you are willing, and I am willing—speak."