THE RETURN OF DOLORES
It was shattered by a gentle knock at Miss Carroll’s door. Light as was
the rapping, it caused the occupants of the room to start nervously.
“It’s Dad.”
Patsy ran to the door, turned the key and opened it.
It was not Mr. Carroll, however, who had rapped. Instead a shy little
figure stood in the corridor. Patsy promptly reached out and hauled the
newcomer into the room with two affectionate arms.
“Dolores, you brave little thing!” she cried out admiringly. “You went
all the way in the dark alone for help. Come over here, dear, and sit
down by Auntie. You must be all tired out.”
Patsy led Dolores to a deep chair beside Miss Martha and pushed her
gently into it. The girl leaned wearily back in it. For a moment
she sat thus, eyes closed, her long black lashes sweeping her tanned
cheeks. Then she opened her eyes, looked straight up at Miss Martha and
smiled.
“It is the heaven,” she said solemnly.
“You poor, dear child.”
Miss Martha reached over and took one of the girl’s small, brown hands
in both her own. The Wayfarers had gathered about Dolores looking down
at her with loving, friendly faces. She was, to use her own expression,
so “_simpatica_.” Their girlish affections went out to her.
“There is much to tell,” she said, straightening up in her chair, her
soft eyes roving from face to face.
“We’d love to hear it if you aren’t too tired to tell us,” assured
Patsy eagerly. “Where is my father, Dolores? Did he go with the men who
took Rosita away?”
“Yes. First the _señor_ showed me the way here. He gave me the message.
He will take Rosita away in the automobile. So it may be long before he
returns. With him went three black men and Carlos.”
“Carlos!” went up the astonished cry.
“Yes. You must know it was for Carlos I went as well as the others. I
had said to him many times that Rosita was mad. He would not believe.
It was Carlos who brought me to the house of Rosita when my father had
the death. Rosita had always for me the hate and abused me much. Carlos
cared not. Perhaps he had for me the hate, too. I believe it.
“I have not come to the beach to have the talk with you because of
Rosita. She watched me too much of late,” Dolores went on. “She had
the hate for you because you came to Las Golondrinas. She was afraid I
would see you and tell you she had the hate. She was mad, but yet most
cunning.”
“But why did she hate us, Dolores?” questioned Bee.
The Wayfarers had now drawn up chairs and seated themselves in a half
circle, facing the little Spanish girl.
“Soon I will tell you. First I must tell you that two days ago Carlos
went away. Then Rosita shut me in the cellar. Ah, I knew she had
the wickedness planned! All the day I heard her above me, speaking,
speaking to herself. Sometimes she laughed and shouted most loud. Then
I could hear her words. She cried out often of Las Golondrinas and
Eulalie and old Manuel. So I knew what was in her mind.”
“Then perhaps _you_ can tell us who Camillo is or was!” exclaimed
Patsy. “You seem to know a good deal about the Feredas.”
“How knew you _his_ name?” Dolores turned startled eyes on Patsy.
Briefly Patsy related the Wayfarers’ one conversation with Rosita.
“I never knew.” Dolores shook her black head. “_Comprendo mucho._”
Unconsciously she had dropped into Spanish.
“_We_ don’t understand,” smiled Mabel.
“Ah, but you shall soon know. Now I must speak again of myself. In
the cellar I remained until this night. But on the night before this,
Rosita went away. She came not back. This night late came Carlos home.
I cried out to him and so he released me. He was very tired and would
sleep. So he slept and I came here, because I had the fear that Rosita
was hiding in the secret place to do you the harm. She had known of it
long. Yet she knew not that I knew it, too. It was Eulalie who showed
me, once when I came here to see her. We were friends. Rosita was the
nurse of Eulalie in her childhood. Eulalie was _simpatica_, but she was
most unhappy. Her grandfather was the cross, terrible old one. He, too,
had the madness. He was _loco_.”
Dolores nodded emphatic conviction of her belief that Manuel de Fereda
had been insane.
“It was the midnight when I came here,” she resumed. “I lay in the
long grass to listen, but heard nothing. So my thought was that Rosita
might be far away and not in the house. I wished it to be thus, for I
had the shame to knock on the doors late and say, ‘Beware of Rosita who
is mad.’ I knew that in the daylight I should do that and tell you all
before harm came. So I lay still and watched the house where all was
dark and quiet. Then I heard the voice of Rosita as I have heard it
never before. I knew not what had come to her, but I wished to see and
give you the help such as I could give.”
“But how did you get into the house, Dolores?” questioned Patsy. “All
the doors were locked.”
“I climbed the vines, which grow upward to the small balcony on the
western side,” Dolores said simply. “The window stood open and thus I
came in the time to help.”
“You certainly did, little wood nymph,” declared Patsy affectionately.
“What happened when you came back with the men? We’re crazy to know.”
“The _señor_ asked Carlos of the secret door. Was it the true door, or
but the canvas? Carlos knew not. Of the door he knew from Rosita, but
not the secret. Never had he passed through it. But I knew that it was
the true door with strong wood behind the canvas. So the picture door
must be shattered by blows. Thus was loosed the rope which had shut in
the door and held Rosita fast so that she could move but a little. It
was the surprise when I saw her wrapped in the white sheets. On the
floor I saw her long black cloak. I understood all.”
Dolores’ sweeping gesture indicated her complete comprehension of a
situation which still baffled her audience not a little.
“How did they get her out of this cubby-hole?” inquired Miss Carroll
interestedly.
Fortunately for Patsy, the arrival of Dolores had turned her aunt’s
attention temporarily from her reckless niece’s transgressions.
Practical Miss Martha was of the private opinion that she had been
living through a night of adventure far stranger than fiction. The
thought gave her an undeniable thrill.
“She herself leaped out like the wild beast,” Dolores answered. “She
sprang at Carlos, but he was ready. The wise _señor_ had said she would
do this, because the mad turn fiercest against those they love. The
_señor_ and the black men caught her and the _señor_ wound the rope
round and round her body. Then they carried her down the stairs and
held her fast, while the _señor_ went for the automobile. The _señor_
said she must go to the police station at Miami. Carlos was sad for
Rosita had loved him much. He had not believed she was mad.”
“I don’t see how he could _help_ knowing it!” cried Patsy. “Why, we
thought her crazy the first time we ever saw her! Mabel asked Carlos
about her. It made him angry. I guess he knew it then, but wouldn’t
admit it. I’m sure he must have told Rosita about us. That must have
been one reason why she forbade you to come near us. Please tell us,
Dolores, why she hated us. You promised you would.”
“It was because of the treasure of Las Golondrinas.” Dolores lifted
solemn eyes to Patsy.