“There can be nothing but the one answer,” replied Dick. “Don Manuel has passed on.”
“Take me to him,” moaned Merle.
“No, no, Merle. This is no sight for you.”
“But, Dick, Dick, don’t you know one other thing?” she pleaded, raising her tearful eyes.
“What other thing?”
“Don Manuel—was my father—my dear, dear father.”
Again Willoughby was overwhelmed with amazement.
“Your father?” he murmured.
“Yes, I only came to know it today. So, Dick, dear, even though he is dead, let me kiss him now, let me kneel by his side and tell him that I loved him, and will always love and revere his memory. Let me watch by him until the others come.”
Dick drew the sobbing girl close to him. His eyes sought those of Tia Teresa. He shook his head, telling the duenna in an unmistakable way that Merle must be taken home—that she must not be shocked by the gruesome spectacle hidden in the chaparral.