Chita darted away. We waited, I burning with impatience, the others murmuring prayers. At last my sweet lady appeared in the curtained doorway. Though she sought to smile, her face was wan and sad, and her beautiful eyes heavy as if she had wept much and slept little. Had not Doña Marguerite taken the precaution to lay a restraining hand on my wrist, I should have rushed forward and clasped the poor oppressed darling in my arms.
We were permitted to approach each other. I bent on one knee and pressed my lips to the little white hand she gave me. The others watched our every movement and listened for every word. Yet I could not restrain myself from speaking out the love with which my heart overflowed.
"Dearest one!" I murmured, "it seems that we must now part—it may be forever! I do not see how I can bear to lose you, my darling. But, as the good padre says, we all have our crosses, and it may be that strength will be given to me to endure. Yet most of all my heart aches for your grief, Alisanda. God grant you surcease of sorrow!"
My voice failed me. I heard Doña Marguerite sob. But Alisanda neither wept nor sobbed. She gazed upward, with a spiritual glow in her dark eyes.
"God will do unto us according to His holy will!" she said.
"Ave Maria de los Dolores!" sobbed Doña Marguerite.
Alisanda looked down at me with the gaze which opened to me those fathomless wells of mystery.
"Juan," she said, "they tell me we can never wed. If such be the will of God, we must submit. But—" She held up the gold crucifix of the rosary which hung about her neck—"by la vera cruz I vow to you, beloved, I will wed none other mortal than yourself. If I may not be your bride, I will become the bride of Christ!"
"Caramba!" swore Don Pedro. "Recall that vow! I command you!"
"God has heard it!" she answered.