“With Alessandro!” interrupted the Señora.
“Yes,” continued Felipe,—“with Alessandro, the Indian! Perhaps you think it is less disgrace to the names of Ortegna and Moreno to have her run away with him, than to be married to him here under our roof! I do not! Curse the day, I say, when I ever lent myself to breaking the girl's heart! I am going after them, to fetch them back!”
If the skies had opened and rained fire, the Señora had hardly less quailed and wondered than she did at these words; but even for fire from the skies she would not surrender till she must.
“How know you that it is with Alessandro?” she said.
“Because she has written it here!” cried Felipe, defiantly holding up his little note. “She left this, her good-by to me. Bless her! She writes like a saint, to thank me for all my goodness to her,—I, who drove her to steal out of my house like a thief!”
The phrase, “my house,” smote the Señora's ear like a note from some other sphere, which indeed it was,—from the new world into which Felipe had been in an hour born. Her cheeks flushed, and she opened her lips to reply; but before she had uttered a word, Luigo came running round the corner, Juan Can hobbling after him at a miraculous pace on his crutches. “Señor Felipe! Señor Felipe! Oh, Señora!” they cried. “Thieves have been here in the night! Baba is gone,—Baba, and the Señorita's saddle.”
A malicious smile broke over the Señora's countenance, and turning to Felipe, she said in a tone—what a tone it was! Felipe felt as if he must put his hands to his ears to shut it out; Felipe would never forget,—“As you were saying, like a thief in the night!”
With a swifter and more energetic movement than
