"Did he
bring her with him? Is she here? Why don't you answer me? Rosa--"
He began to mutter unintelligibly, his vitality flared up, and it
was with difficulty that Norine could hold him down. His gaze,
fixed upon the square of sunlight framed by the low doorway, was
blazing with excitement. To Norine it seemed as if his spirit, in
the uncertainty of this moment, was straining to leap forth in an
effort to learn his sister's fate.
The crowd was near at hand now. There came the scuffling of feet
and murmur of many voices. Esteban fell silent, he closed his hot,
bony hands upon Norine's wrists in a painful grip. He bent
forward, his soul centered in his tortured eyes.
There came a shadow, then in the doorway the figure of a man, a
tattered scarecrow of a man whose feet were bare and whose brown
calves were exposed through flapping rags. His breast was naked
where thorns had tried to stay him; his beard, even his hair, were
matted and unkempt, and the mud of many trails lay caked upon his
garments.
It was O'Reilly!
He peered, blinking, into the obscurity, then he turned and drew
forward a frail hunchbacked boy whose face was almost a mulatto
hue. Hand in hand they stepped into the hut and once again Esteban
Varona's soul found outlet in his sister's name. He held out his
shaking, hungry arms and the misshapen lad ran into them.
Pages:
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445