“I thought it was Marcos,” was the answer.
“Marcos, aunt? Why, how could that be? Marcos went to Joyalita yesterday. He was sorry to go, because he would have liked to stay with Mr. Marsh. As it was, he gave orders that Mr. Marsh should be carefully attended until able to get up safely.”
“I am very sorry, sir,” said Marcos’ mother, turning again to the bed. “I thought it was my son. But I should not possess natural humanity, if I did not sympathize very heartily with you, even though I have never met you before. I trust you will soon be restored to health.”
“Thank you, madam!” returned Marcos quietly.
She gave him a graceful bow and walked toward the door, without even looking back.
What it cost her to do this only she knew. But she had a part to play for the benefit of her beloved son, even though she did not understand why, and she nerved herself to go through it to the end.
As she went out, Miguel looked at the bed. Disheveled, with the water-soaked bandage around his brow to allay the fever and relieve his aching head, Marcos did not look like himself.
“Confound him! I can’t swear to him!” muttered Miguel. “Did Marcos go to Joyalita? Did he, or didn’t he?”
Outside the sick room the three walked down to the library, where Prince Miguel bowed, and expressed his sorrow to have brought the princess from Newport on a misunderstanding. Then he walked out to his taxicab and told the driver to speed downtown as fast as he could.
When Miguel had gone, Laura turned to her aunt with admiration and pleasure shining in her eyes.