It must have been a mighty conflagration. They would have seen it in the sky along the river. My grandmother would have come into her garden to watch; and perhaps my mother would be with her. They would remember perhaps the way the smoke used to drift along from Smithfield. And my mother would remember her two girls who were lost to her.

“Darling Cat and Honey,” she would say. There would be tears in her eyes. How lonely she must be without us.

He said: “Of what are you thinking?”

“Of my mother. She will be sad thinking of me and my sister. Both of us to have been snatched away. What a tragedy for her and there have been so many tragedies in her life.”

I was silent and then he said: “You are smiling now.”

“I am thinking of our going back. She will love Roberto, her grandson. Dearly she loves children. I think I inherited that from her. And Carlos shall not be forgotten! I shall say, ‘Mother, this is my adopted son as Honey was your adopted daughter. He belongs with us now.’ We shall be happy again.”

His face was impassive and I went on: “Roberto is one year old. He is old enough to travel. Now you must keep your promise. It is time for us to go back.”

He shook his head. “You cannot take the child,” he said.

“Not take my son!”

“He is my son too.”

“Your son. What is he to you?”

“He is my son.”

“But this child is part of me. He is my own. I would never give him up.”

“He is part of me. Nor shall I give him up.” He smiled at me gently. “How your eyes blaze! There is an alternative. I would not rob a mother of her child, and as I will not give up my son, if you will keep him you must stay here.”

I was silent. Then I said: “Always you have led me to understand that you wished me no ill.”

“Nor do I.”

“You have told me that it is only because of a vow you made that I am here. You led me to believe that when you had fulfilled that vow I should be at liberty to go.”

“You are at liberty … but not to take the child with you.”

I stood up. I wanted to get away to think. He was at the door before me, barring it.

“You will never leave your child,” he said. “Why not accept what cannot be avoided? You can be happy here. What is it you want? Ask me and it shall be yours.”

“I want to go home, to England.”

“Ask anything but that.”

“It is what I want.”

“Then go.”

“And leave my child behind?”

“He shall lack nothing. He is my son.”

“I believe you are glad that he is born.”

“I was never more pleased with anything.”

“You could have been had he been born of Isabella.”

“He would not have been Roberto. He has something of you in him.”

“And that pleases you?”

“It pleases me, for if you ever went away there would be something to remind me.”

“And you wish to be reminded?”

“I do not need the reminder. I shall never forget.”

Then he drew me to him and held me against him.

“I would,” he said, “that we could have more sons like this one.”

“How could that be?”

“It is not beyond your power to understand.”

“You have a wife. Have you forgotten?”

“How could I forget?”

I said: “You never see her.”

“She screams at the sight of me.”

“She could be cured.”

“She can never be cured.”

“You loved her once.”

“I have loved one woman,” he said. “I still love her. I shall do so to the end of my life.” He looked steadily at me.

“You cannot tell me that you feel love for me, your victim? You hated coming to me as much as I hated it. You had to pretend I was Isabella. You had to remind yourself constantly of your vow.”

He took my hands and held first one to his lips and then the other.

“If you loved me,” I said, “you would wish to please me. You would let me go.”

“Ask anything but that,” he said.

I felt exultant. It was a victory. Fate had turned the tables. He was at my mercy now, not I at his.

“Tell me,” he went on, “that you do not harbor resentment against me. Tell me that you do not hate me.”

“No,” I said, “I don’t hate you. In a way I’m fond of you. You have been kind to me … apart from your violation of me, and that I will admit was conducted in a courteous manner … if one can imagine rape so being. You have tried to save me from the evil laws of your country. But you do not love me well enough to make me happy, which you would do by letting us go.”

“You ask too much,” he said. “It will be different now. You do not hate me. Could you grow fond of me?”

I said: “You cannot offer me marriage, Don Felipe, which could be the only gateway to the path you suggest.”

“Tell me this,” he said, “if I could…”

“But, Don Felipe, you cannot. You have a wife. I know she is mad and no wife to you and that is a grievous state of affairs. I know that Jake Pennlyon was in part responsible. But was he entirely so? How mad was Isabella before she came here? Let me go now. I want to think of what you have said.”

He stood back, but he still held my hands; then he kissed them with a passion unfamiliar to him. I withdrew them and with a wildly beating heart went to my room and shut myself in to think of this revelation.

Don Felipe left next morning. I had spent a disturbed night. That I could consider the possibility of marriage with him seemed absurd. Yet it was not so. He was the father of my beloved child and the child was a bond between us. Roberto was already beginning to show an awareness of him and Don Felipe was always gentle and tender toward him.

It’s ridiculous, I said; but I had to confess that I was intrigued by the situation.

I was a little disappointed to learn that he had left the Hacienda. I was restless and wanted to know more about his feelings for Isabella.

That afternoon, when most people were indulging in the siesta, I left Jennet in charge of the children and wandered off in the direction of Isabella’s house.

The sun was warm; everything seemed sleeping behind the wrought-iron gate; and as I stood there the subject of my thoughts appeared in the doorway. She was carrying the doll I had seen before and as she walked across the patio she saw me. She hesitated. I smiled and she came toward me, murmuring a greeting. I knew enough Spanish now to be able to converse a little, so I replied. She stood looking at me, which gave me an opportunity to study her features. If beauty is perfection of feature, then she was indeed beautiful. Her face was without blemish and without expression; this was indeed a beautiful shell; there was no intellect to give character to the face.

She held out the doll to me. I smiled and she smiled too. Then she opened the gate and I went into the patio.

I had not been there since that day when I had taken Carlos away. She took my hand confidingly and led me to the seat. We sat down and she chattered about her doll. I gathered that she took the doll everywhere with her. She kept saying the word muñeca. Pilar made clothes for it which came on and off.

Then suddenly her face puckered; she showed me that the doll was wearing only one shoe.

“She has dropped it,” I said. “We’ll look.”

She nodded conspiratorially and I began to search the patio while she followed me around. I was delighted to find the shoe near the gate. She clapped her hands and we went back to the seat and put it on the doll.

Suddenly she stood up and, taking my hand, drew me toward the door and led me into the house. I noticed the faint perfume with which I had become familiar; it was dark inside, for the house, like the Hacienda, had been built to shut out the sun.

There was an imposing staircase leading from the hall with its blue mosaic floor. The banisters were exquisitely carved and the ceiling of this hall was painted with angels floating on clouds. It was more splendid than I had thought it would be.