The noose was slipped about Carmencita, and the child, lowered by my arms to the ladder, made the descent in safety.
Once more the rope was drawn up. Hildegarde was next. She took the noose from my hand and slipped it under her arms without my assistance; I could not but admire her courage. Next she stepped to the edge of the wall, and looked fearfully down to where the unseen ladder stood.
“You must forgive me, but it can’t be helped,” I said, suddenly, with a determination that would not be baffled.
In another instant I had her again in my arms, she whom I had not seen for two long years, and yet who had once been flesh of my flesh, the woman I had loved above all else on God’s footstool, and whom I had in my fool’s paradise called—“wife!”
CHAPTER IX.
SAVING THE SATCHEL.
There were certainly enough dramatic elements concentrated in that critical moment to make it an epoch of my life, long to be marked with a white cross.
Those in the garden were throwing whatever they could lay hands on, and if the shower of missiles such as adobe bricks and broken flowerpots was not overwhelming it could be laid to the scarcity of material rather then any lack of desire on the part of the excited participants.
One fellow appeared to have a gun of some sort, and began banging away with a recklessness that gave me a cold chill.
True, I had no fear of his aim, but there was always danger from an accidental hit, for I had seen greenhorns bring the largest fish to net, and knew the quality of luck.