"Ana! Ana!" Raquel had risen to her feet and was crying. Her face was white, her lips bloodless. "Tell me what you mean. How can I send for you? Where am I going that I can send for you? Am I going away, Ana? Ana, what do you know? Tell me, Ana, dear—dear Ana, tell me!"
But Ana had no time or reason to answer. There was a sound of horse's hoofs before the door, a man's heavy foot alighting upon the veranda, the throwing wide of the outer door, and Escobeda's voice within the passage.
"Ana!" it shouted, "Ana!"
Ana arose trembling. "I am here, Señor," she said.
"Where is that girl, Raquel?"
"The Señorita is also here, Señor," answered Ana.
The door was flung open.
"Pack her duds," said Escobeda. "She leaves this by evening."
"I—leave—here?" Raquel had arisen, and was standing supporting herself by Ana's shoulder.