Then the señora would bless her, and say, “Go, my poor Macata.”
All day long she roamed through woods, down deep into the shadowy cañons, or upon the mountain tops. After weary hours, and sometimes days, of fruitless search, she would return, worn and heart-broken with her vain wanderings. Kneeling before the señora, weeping, and wringing her hands, she would cry, “Oh! dear señora, forgive me! I have not found our baby. I lost it, but I will find it. I will find it before I die, so help me, Wacondah, Great Spirit!”
Often the old woman fell fainting at the feet of her beloved señora, who would have her raised tenderly and placed upon the bed, where for hours she sat by her, watching and weeping.
Thus these two sorrowing ones, the broken-hearted mother and the grief-crazed nurse, became very dear to each other.
The father mourned deeply, but to the heart of man time brings its softening balm. He loved his wife fondly, and, for her sake, sometimes tried to waken a hope that the child might be restored to them. Yet within his shadowed heart he mourned the precious one as dead.
Very sadly he missed the tiny outstretched hands that once were sure to greet him, and that radiant little face that was all the world to him; and as months and years went by, whenever he looked upon a little maiden full of grace and beauty, he would press his hand to his heart in sorrow, for “what might have been.”
Sometimes the señora, leaning her weary head on his breast, would say: “I shall know my darling, no matter how many years shall pass before we meet.” Then she would clasp her hands, exclaiming: “What if I should die before Macata finds her? Then, oh! then, I shall know her in heaven,” she would bow her head lower upon the beloved breast in prayer. Thus she would remain till the tender voice of the hidalgo aroused her; then she would clasp her thin hands about his neck, and look pityingly into his eyes to see the sorrow of her heart reflected there.
Thus it was with the parents as the years passed sadly by, but all the while the seasons went and came again; the sunshine gladdened the earth; the rainbow beautified the shower; the flowers blossomed in the garden; and young hearts beat happily as theirs upon their bridal day.
On that bright morning of the fête of Corpus Christi, which resulted so unfortunately for the hidalgo and the poor señora, Macata had not noticed that the garden gate was left unlocked, nor in her haste did she see the crouching form of a fierce-looking woman hiding behind the lime-tree.