ard-game. Fourteen or fifteen
months later he maintained the same story, in court. He claimed he and
Manolo had been playing _mus_, and that by way of a joke on his friends
he had thrown away one of the cards in his hand and slipped himself
another. Then he said Berlanga had denounced him as a cheat; they had
quarreled, and had challenged each other.

Thus spoke Amadeo Zureda, in his chivalric attempt not to throw even the
lightest shadow on the good name of the woman he adored. Who could have
acted more nobly than he? The state's attorney arraigned him in crushing
terms, implacably.

And the judge gave him twenty years at hard labor.

V

Scourged by poverty, which was not long in arriving, Rafaela had to move
away to a little village of Castile, where she had relatives. These were
poor farming people, making a hard fight for existence. By way of excuse
for her coming to them, the young woman made up a story. She said that
Amadeo had got into some kind of trouble with his employers, had been
discharged and had gone to Argentina, for there he had heard engineers
got excellent pay. After that, she had decided to leave Madrid, where
food and lodging were very dear. She ended her tale judiciously:

"As soon as I hear from Amadeo that he's got a good job, I'm going out
there to him."

Her relatives believed her, took pity on her and found her work. Every
day, with the first light of morning, Rafaela went down to the river to
wash. The river was about half a kilometer from the little village. By
washing and ironing, at times, or again by picking up wood in the
country and selling it, Rafaela managed, with hard, persistent toil, to
make four or five _reals_[C] a day.

[C] Twenty or twenty-five cents.

Two years passed. By this time the neighbors were beginning to find out
from the mail-carrier that the addresses on all the letters coming to
Rafaela were written by the same hand and all bore the postmark of
Ceuta. This news got about and set things buzzing. The young woman put
an end to folks' gossip by very sensibly confessing the truth that
Amadeo was in prison there. She said a gambling-scrape had got him into
trouble. In her confession she adopted a resigned and humble manner,
like a model wife who, in spite of having suffered much, nevertheless
forgives the man she loves, and pardons all the wrongs done her. People
called her unfortunate. They tattled a while, and then took pity on her
and accepted her.