a low-toned inaudible reply. Then came a wail of
despair and grief--that nearly sent him up the stairs at a tiger's rush,
which would have scattered his enemies before him like chaff. For it was
the voice of his Dolores he heard for the second time. But of late El
Sarria had learned some of the wisdom of caution. He knew not the force
Luis might have within the house, and he might only lose his own life
without benefiting either Dolores or his son.

Then there was a slow foot on the stairs, coming down. The light went
out above, and he heard a heavy breathing behind the closed door by
which he stood.

"Tomas--Tomas!" said a voice, "here is the brat. It is asleep; do it
quietly, so that the mother may not be alarmed. I cannot stir without
her hearing me and asking the reason."

And in the arms of Ramon Garcia was placed the breathing body of his
first-born son. The door was shut before he could move, so astonished he
was by the curious softness of that light burden, and Tia Elvira's
unamuleted groin escaped safe for that time--which, indeed, afterwards
turned out to be just as well.

So at the door of his enemy El Sarria stood dumb and stricken, the babe
in his arms. For the fact that this child was the son of his little
Dolores, annihilated for the moment even revenge in his soul.

But a hand was laid on his shoulder.

"Haste thee, haste," hissed the witch-wife, La Giralda, Elvira's friend
and rival, "hast thou smitten strongly? She lies behind the door. I
cannot hear her breath, so all must be well. I saw thee stoop to the
blow. Well done, well done! And the brain-pan of the ill-disposed and
factious Senor Tomas is comfortably cracked, too. He had but sevenpence
in his pockets, together with a bad peseta with a hole in it. Such
fellows have no true moral worth. But come away, come away! Presently
Don Luis will miss the Tia and give the alarm. Give me the babe!"

But this Ramon would not do, holding jealously to his own.

"What can you, a man, do with a babe?" she persisted. "Can you stop its
mouth from crying? Is there milk in your breasts to feed its little
blind mouth? Give it to me, I say!"

"Nay," said El Sarria, shaking her off, "not to you. Did not this
murderous woman come from your waggons? Is not her place under your
canvas?"

"It shall be so no more, if your stroke prove true," said the gipsy. "I
shall be the queen and bring up this youngling to be the boldest
horse-thief betwixt this filthy Arago