'
'Sir,' she cried, 'what do you know of that?'
'Only what my friend told me, senora.'
'Your friendship must have been close and your memory must be good,' she
murmured.
'Which he had done,' I went on, 'under strange circumstances, so strange
indeed that he dared to hope that his broken troth might be renewed in
some better world than this. His last prayer was that she should say to
me, his messenger, that she forgave him and still loved him, as to his
death he loved her.'
'And how can such forgiveness or such an avowal advantage a dead man?'
Lily asked, watching me keenly through the shadows. 'Have the dead then
eyes to see and ears to hear?'
'How can I know, senora? I do but execute my mission.'
'And how can I know that you are a true messenger. It chanced that I
had sure tidings of the drowning of Thomas Wingfield many years ago, and
this tale of Indians and princesses is wondrous strange, more like those
that happen in romances than in this plain world. Have you no token of
your good faith, sir?'
'I have such a token, senora, but the light is too faint for you to see
it.'
'Then follow me to the house, there we will get light. Stay,' and once
more going to the stable gate, she called 'John.'
An old man answered her, and I knew the voice for that of one of my
father's serving men. To him she spoke in low tones, then led the way by
the garden path to the front door of the house, which she opened with
a key from her girdle, motioning to me to pass in before her.
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