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To have gone any other way would have been to make himself visible from one part or another of the convent grounds, and Evasio Mon was in that garden. Both Sor Teresa and Evasio Mon saw Juanita emerge from the nut trees and join her friend, but neither appeared to have noticed anything unusual.
It was the face of a man who had seen something that he would never forget. He looked at his father. "Evasio Mon," he said. "Killed?" Marcos nodded his head. "You did not do it?" said Sarrion sharply. "No. They found him among the Carlists, There were five or six priests. It was Zeneta wounded himself who recognised him and told me. He was not dead when Zeneta found him and he spoke.
So he remained at Saragossa and threw open his great house there, while Marcos passed to and fro into Navarre up the Valley of the Wolf to Torre Garda. Where Evasio Mon might be, no man knew. Paris had fallen. The Commune was rife. France was wallowing in the deepest degradation. And in Bayonne the Carlist plotters schemed without let or hindrance.
Then I shall learn at what hour and in which chapel the ceremony is to take place to-day." "The ceremony in which Juanita has been ordered to take part as a spectator only?" Sor Toresa nodded her head. "It cannot well take place without you?" "No," she answered. "Neither can it take place without Evasio Mon.
You might have ruined several lives." "So might Evasio Mon," returned Sarrion sharply. And Juanita rather drew back as a fencer may flinch who has been touched. Sarrion leant back in his chair and threw away the cigarette which he had not smoked. Juanita had chosen her own ground and he had met her on it. He had answered the question which she was too proud to ask.
One of the novices is his niece, and, where possible, the near relations are necessarily present." "Yes I know," said Marcos. He had apparently studied the subject somewhat carefully. "And Evasio Mon is delayed on the road, which gives us a little more time to mature our plans." Sor Teresa said nothing, but glanced towards Marcos who was watching the road.
He turned and illustrated the knock on the balustrade of the stairs up which they had hastened. "We will try it," he added grimly, "on that door when Evasio has had time to go away from it." They waited a few minutes, and then went out again into the Calle de la Merced. It was the luncheon hour, and they had the street to themselves.
It was his old friend Evasio Mon smart, well-brushed, smiling a good-morning to all the world this sunny day. They had not met for many years. Their friendship had been one of those begun by parents, and carried on in after years by the children more from habit than from any particular tie of sympathy. For we all find at length that the nursery carpet is not the world.
And as he had anticipated, Evasio Mon came to Torre Garda. It was almost dusk when he arrived. Whether he knew that Marcos was not in his room, remained an open question. He did not ask after him. He was brought by the servant to the terrace where he found Cousin Peligros and Juanita. Sarrion was in his study and came out when Mon passed the open window.
There was a mystic little smile at the corner of her lips which tilted upwards there, as humorous and tender lips nearly always do. It suggested that she knew something which even Evasio Mon, the all-wise, did not know. "And you believed him?" inquired Mon, dimly groping at the meaning of the smile.
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