When dreams come true

by Ritter Brown

"Dead?" she cried, starting violently. "Joaquin and Manuelita dead?"

"Their bodies, together with those of their horses and wagon, were discovered early this morning at the foot of the mesa which lies between here and La Jara, directly below the point where the road winds along the rim of the cliff. Doubtless their horses became frightened in the dark and jumped over the cliff before they could save themselves."

Chiquita uttered a low cry. "You've done your work well, Don Felipe Ramirez," she said at length, suddenly straightening and stiffening as she faced him, the expression on her face changing to one of hatred and contempt.

"It was no easy task to run you to earth, I'll admit," he retorted with the same sneering look of triumph on his countenance.

The only two persons upon whom she could rely, who could corroborate what she had to say concerning the child, were dead. No, there was one other, a man, but he too was gone—no one knew where. She saw the hopelessness of her plight. Nothing she could say or do could alter the opinion of the world toward her. She might continue to deny the charge, protest her innocence, accuse others, but to what avail? Without the actual proof, all must believe that which they were so ready and willing to believe. Had not the child recognized her, called her mother before the world? Even though the charge might never be actually proven, and Captain Forest refuse to believe it, there would always be this thing between them which she could never explain satisfactorily. It was not natural to suppose that he could possibly forget it or continue to believe in her protestations of innocence without the corroboration of others. The hour must surely come in which he would be assailed by doubts. She felt she had lost him, and with the knowledge of her failure, was seized with a sickening sensation and an acute pain at the heart. A misty veil rose between her and the world and she swayed unsteadily as though about to fall. She knew she must not faint. She drew her hand across her eyes, then, putting all her remaining strength into the effort, she slowly drew herself up.

Strange, that she and Don Felipe should have been created to become the nemesis of one another! The child, awed by the silence and grave faces of the bystanders, instinctively divined that there was something wrong between her and them, and clung mutely to Chiquita's skirt, a frightened look on her face.

Chiquita, meanwhile, stood gazing straight out before her, her head slightly inclined forwards, her face white and set, her heart burning with shame. It was not so much the question of guilt or innocence that affected her now, but the shame of it all. What must the Americans think of her? She felt the burning, searching gaze of those about her and the joy they experienced at her discomfiture. Never had she been at a loss to know which way to turn to extricate herself from a difficulty; but now, how helpless she was. She nervously tapped the palm of her left hand with her fan, vainly racking her brain in an effort to find a solution. Dick, who had been watching her narrowly the while, saw a strange light begin to play in her eyes in which he read Don Felipe's death as plainly as though it were written across the heavens in letters of flame.

"Chiquita, you must say something," said Captain Forest. "I tell you again, I don't believe it, but for your own sake—speak!"

"Yes, my child, speak!" entreated Padre Antonio, stepping before her. "Can't you see your silence is condemning you?" She looked up at him and saw that his face was ashen, colorless like the Captain's—that he seemed to have suddenly aged. Notwithstanding, there was the same kindly expression in his eyes she had always known, and she felt that, even though the world refused to believe in her, he might; he might even forgive her. She saw in her present humiliation and shame, a direct punishment for the betrayal of the Padre's confidence. Had she confided her secret to him, this could not have come upon her. Now, however, it was too late. She had no right to expect sympathy even from him.

"Chiquita, for the last time, I ask you to speak!" pleaded Captain Forest, racked between doubt and belief in the woman he loved. Just then, little Marieta began to cry.