Part 7 (2/2)
”Is she--do you think she is raving--a little out of her mind?”
whispered Belle.
”Hus.h.!.+” cautioned Cora, but Inez did not seem to have heard.
”I pray your pardon--I should not inflict my emotions on you thus,”
the lace seller said, with a pretty foreign accent. Only now and then did she misp.r.o.nounce words--occasionally those with the hard (to her) ”th” sound.
”We shall be only too glad to help you,” said Cora, gently.
”I do not know zat you can help me, Senorita,” the girl murmured, ”and yet I need help--so much.”
She was silent a moment, as though trying to think of the most simple manner in which to tell her story.
”You said your father was a--a prisoner,” hesitated Bess, gently.
”Did he--”
”He did nozing, Senorita!” burst out the girl. ”He was thrown into a vile prison for what you call 'politics.' Yet in our country politics are not what zey are here--so open, with all ze papairs printing so much about zem. Spanish politics are more in ze dark--what you call under the hand.”
She seemed uncertain whether she had used the right word.
”Underhanded--yes,” encouraged Cora, with a smile.
”He had enemies,” proceeded the girl. ”Oh, zose politic--zose intrigues--I know nozzing of zem--but zey are terrible!” She spread her hands before her face with a natural, tragic gesture.
”But I must not tire you, Senoritas,” she resumed. ”My father, he was arrested on ze political charges. We lived on Sea Horse Island-L, it is a Spanish possession of ze West Indies. We were happy zere (it is one grand, beautiful place). Ze waters of ze bay are so blue--so blue--ah!”
She seemed lost in a flood of happy memories, and then, as swiftly, she apologized for giving away to her feelings.
”I should not tire you,” she said.
”Oh, but we just love to hear about it,” said Belle, eagerly. ”We are going there--to waters blue--”
”That I might go wiz you--but no, it is impossible!” the lace seller sighed.
”Tell us your story--perhaps we can help you,” suggested Cora.
”I will make for you as little weariness as I can, Senoritas; and, believe me, I am truly grateful to you,” she said. ”I do not even dare dream zat I could go to my father,” sighed Inez, ”but perhaps you will be of so great kindness as to take him a message from me. I cannot mail it--he is not allowed to receive letters zat are not read, and we have no secret cipher we might use.”
”If we can get a letter to him, rest a.s.sured we shall do so,”
promised Belle, though her sister rather raised her eyebrows at the rashness of the pledge.
”I cannot go into all ze details of ze politics, for I know zem not,”
went on the Spaniard. ”All I painfully know is zat my father was thrown into prison, and our family and home broken up. My mother and I came to New York--to relatives, but alas! my poor mother died. I was left alone. I was desolate.
<script>