“How can you tell there wasn’t some other which has miscarried? I’m almost sure there has been; else why should somebody have knocked at the door an’ said so. The Americano left in charge of the house has told grandpa something about four men having come there the night after we left it. One may have been this messenger we’ve missed—the others going with him for company. And through his neglect we’ve not got letters intended for us. Or, if they haven’t written, it’s because they were pressed for time. However, we shall know when we meet them at Cadiz.”
“Ah! when we meet them there, I’ll demand an explanation from Eduardo. That shall I, and get it—or know the reason why.”
“He will have a good one, I warrant. There’s been a miscarriage, somehow. For hasn’t there been mystery all round? Luckily, no fighting, as we feared, and have reason to rejoice. Neither anything seen or heard of your California!! chivalry! That’s the strangest thing of all.”
“It is indeed strange,” rejoins Carmen, showing emotion; “I wonder what became of them. Nobody that we know has met either after that day; nor yet heard word of them.”
“Carmen, I believe one has heard of them.”
“Who?”
“Your father.”
“What makes you think so, Iñez!”
“Some words I overheard, while he was conversing with the English sailor who’s now in the ship with us. I’m almost certain there was something in Mr Crozier’s letter relating to De Lara and Calderon. What it was, grandpa seems desirous of keeping to himself; else he would have told us. We must endeavour to find it out from the sailor.”
“You’re a cunning schemer, sobrina. I should never have thought of that. We shall try. Now I remember, Eduardo once saved this man’s life. Wasn’t it a noble, daring deed? For all, I’m very angry with him, leaving me as he has done; and sha’n’t be pacified until I see him on his knees, and he apologise for it. That he shall do at Cadiz!”