“Hurry! I’ll go first, then the Señora, and then you, Quentin.”
They formed themselves in single file and began to move. The night was dark, threatening a storm; distant flashes of lightning illuminated the heavens from time to time.
Doña Sinda moved slowly and painfully.
“Come, Señora, come,” said Quentin; “we are near you.”
“My hands and knees hurt me,” she murmured. “If I could only walk on my feet.”
“You can’t do it,” said Pacheco. “You would fall into a courtyard.”
“Ay, dear me! I’m not going a step farther.”
“We’re going as far as that azotea.”
Doña Sinda yielded; they crawled along the ridge of a long roof, and came out upon the azotea. They leaped the balustrade.
“Oh, dear! I’m going to stay here!” exclaimed Doña Sinda.