divined that there was something wrong
between her and them, and clung mutely to Chiquita's skirt, a frightened
look on her face.

Chiquita, meanwhile, stood gazing straight out before her, her head
slightly inclined forwards, her face white and set, her heart burning
with shame. It was not so much the question of guilt or innocence that
affected her now, but the shame of it all. What must the Americans
think of her? She felt the burning, searching gaze of those about her
and the joy they experienced at her discomfiture. Never had she been at
a loss to know which way to turn to extricate herself from a difficulty;
but now, how helpless she was. She nervously tapped the palm of her left
hand with her fan, vainly racking her brain in an effort to find a
solution. Dick, who had been watching her narrowly the while, saw a
strange light begin to play in her eyes in which he read Don Felipe's
death as plainly as though it were written across the heavens in letters
of flame.

"Chiquita, you must say something," said Captain Forest. "I tell you
again, I don't believe it, but for your own sake--speak!"

"Yes, my child, speak!" entreated Padre Antonio, stepping before her.
"Can't you see your silence is condemning you?" She looked up at him and
saw that his face was ashen, colorless like the Captain's--that he
seemed to have suddenly aged. Notwithstanding, there was the same kindly
expression in his eyes she had always known, and she felt that, even
though the world refused to believe in her, he might; he might even
forgive her. She saw in her present humiliation and shame, a direct
punishment for the betrayal of the Padre's confidence. Had she confided
her secret to him, this could not have come upon her. Now, however, it
was too late. She had no right to expect sympathy even from him.

"Chiquita, for the last time, I ask you to speak!" pleaded Captain
Forest, racked between doubt and belief in the woman he loved. Just
then, little Marieta began to cry.

"Madre, madre!" she gasped between her sobs. "I'm afraid of these
people. Take me away--take me home again!"

"Be not afraid, my little one, they cannot harm you," she answered,
drawing the child closer to her and laying one hand on its shoulder.
Another embarrassing silence, broken only by the low sobs of Marieta,
followed.

"Chiquita," demanded Padre Antonio at length, "has this child the right
to call you mother?" There was a stern ring in his voice and she knew
her