Instinctively he recalled Captain Forest's last words. And then, putting two and two together, he also recalled the fact that he had noted something during the scene which nobody else seemed to have noticed, namely: that the face of the child, Marieta, was the living image of Don Felipe's. Like a flash all became clear to him, and he smiled and nodded as the truth dawned upon him, and he wondered greatly at Chiquita's discretion. Yet why should he be astonished? Was it not like her?
Chiquita also wondered in turn, and was much perplexed by his attitude, the quiet, benign expression of his face, when she entered the room after bidding Juana and Marieta good night. She had expected exactly the reverse. What did it mean, did he know anything? But she did not stop to question him. Before unburdening her soul, she must first divest herself of the jewels which, ever since the terrible scene at the Posada, she felt she had dishonored. Their touch seemed to burn her flesh.
"Padre mio," she said quietly, as though nothing unusual had occurred, "you know I said it would not be necessary to wear these jewels longer than to-night. I really never should have worn them at all. It was not right, for, as you see, I am not worthy of them." She began to unclasp the bracelet on her arm, but hastily putting forth his hand, he checked her.
"No, my child!" he said, rising from the chair. "You must keep them—they are yours. Besides, they are so becoming to you! Again I say—you are the only woman in this world worthy to wear them."
"Padre, Padre mio!" she cried, starting backward and gazing full in his face. "You—you believe in me?"
"How could you have imagined anything else, my child?" he answered quietly. Without attempting a reply, she threw herself upon his breast, convulsed with sobs and trembling in every limb, telling him plainer than words how terribly shaken she had been by the ordeal through which she had just passed. He did not attempt to soothe or pacify her with words, knowing how useless it would be, but waited quietly for her passionate outburst to subside.
"Ah! Padre mio, how good you are, and how have I requited you!" she said at length, looking up at him through her tears and slowly disengaging herself from his arms. "You know," she continued between convulsive sobs, and slowly drying her tears, "that little Marieta is the child of Don Felipe and Pepita Delaguerra." Padre Antonio started at the mention of the latter's name.
"Pepita Delaguerra?" he repeated. "I felt all along that she was Don Felipe's child, the resemblance is so striking, and I wonder the others did not notice it, but I never connected her with Pepita; perhaps because it is so long since she died. How strange that he should have introduced his own child without knowing it!"
"Yes," returned Chiquita. "And yet it is not so strange after all. Persons of his character invariably blunder in the end, clever though they be. Another strange coincidence is that they were married just six years ago to-day in the little Mission church of San Isidor at Onava."
"Why, that was before Don Juan's death, and in direct opposition to the stipulations of his will!" exclaimed Padre Antonio excitedly.