But now she was thinking of coming happenings—of sorrow perhaps for Merle, of the undoubted danger for Don Manuel himself.
And while thus she conned the chances, her head bent in deep meditation, her eyes half closed, Ricardo Robles, approaching with noiseless step, stood by her side and laid an affectionate hand upon her shoulder.
“I have come, Tia Teresa,” he said simply, as he sat down at the edge of the little rustic table.
CHAPTER XXXII—Forebodings
FOR this last hour, Don Manuel,” she said, placing a hand on his, “I have been going over all the long story of the past, from the days when you were a little boy and Rosetta was suckled at my bosom. Why should I not have loved her?” asked the old duenna almost fiercely. “Why should I not love her still?” she added, in a lower tone, as she bowed her head and covered her eyes with her disengaged hand. “There is love that can never die, Don Manuel.”
“Nor should we wish it otherwise,” he said gently, caressing the hand extended toward him. “And this very night our undying love for dear little Rosetta will be proved—tonight at last she will be avenged.”
With a start Tia Teresa sat erect.
“Then it is all arranged?” she asked breathlessly.