"What nonsense are you conjuring up, Felisa, child! That is too absurd! Escobeda's quarrel is with Silencio, not with me. Do not fear, little one."
"And did I not hear you say that this Señor Escobeda hated your father, and also hated you?"
"Yes, I did say that," admitted Beltran, reluctantly, as he struggled to rise without hurting her; "but he will be very careful how he quarrels openly with me. My friends in the government are as powerful as his own."
"Well, you cannot go," said Felisa, decisively, "and let that end the matter."
They went homeward slowly, much as they had come, Felisa delaying Beltran by some new pretext at every step. She kept a watchful eye upon him, to see that he did not drop her bridle rein and canter away at the cross roads.
When they reached the picnic ground they found that Uncle Noé had departed, and Beltran must, perforce, see his cousin safely within the precincts of San Isidro. She did not leave the veranda after dismounting, but seated herself upon the top step, which was now shaded from the sun, and watched every movement of master and servants. Beltran had disappeared within doors, but he could not leave the place on foot. After a while he emerged from his room; behind him hobbled old Juana, carrying a small portmanteau. As he came toward the steps, Felisa arose and stood in his way.
"Why do you go to-night?" she said.
"Because he needs me at daybreak."
"I need you more." Felisa looked out from under the fringe of pale sunshine. "You will not leave me, Beltran—cousin?"
"It is only for a few hours, dear child."