Late in the night she awoke suddenly and sat up. She was cold; she felt alone; she was startled, too, as if something direful had happened. Forgetting her wrongs in her fear, she reached out her arms and called softly. The _cubierta_ was not spread over her. Only the under blanket was left upon the rushes of the bed. And Ricardo was not by her side! She sprang out upon the floor, feeling this way and that. “Ricardo! Where are you?” she demanded. “Answer. You will have me wakening Niñito next.” She touched the reed partition, the table, the chairs. Then she lit the _lámpara_ and held it above her, looking into every corner of the living room and the kitchen. He was not in the hut! On the instant she was like one gone mad. “_Madre de Dios!_” she gasped. “They are together!” She set the lamp on the table, snatched up a flat, spear-shaped _lanza_, and raced off down the street. Arrived at Antonia’s, she entered swiftly. By the light of the single window, that, here, faced the moon, she saw that the room was deserted. In her own home, once more, she examined the mud walls closely. Ah!--the new _machete_ was gone from its nail! And, farther along, the carved gourd flask that held _aguardiente_! They had left the _hacienda_! She blew out the light and took her stand by the door. Her eyes blazed with hatred and anger. She gave out little inarticulate cries. She shook the keen-pointed _lanza_ at the hut down the street. For a long time, thus. Then she grew quieter, and leaned back wearily against the wall. Then she slipped down to a sitting posture on the ground, and her head drooped forward to her knees. The day broke, the pigs came up, grunting and rooting. A chicken flew to her shoulder and pecked at a bright flower in her waist. She looked up, and the memory of her quarrel and her loss came back. She groaned and covered her face. From across the street her mother saw her and scented trouble. She came waddling over, her shrivelled face all anxiety. “What is it, Manuelita?” she asked. “Is the _niño_ dead?” Then, spying the baby, “Or, perhaps, a pig?” Manuelita shook her head. The old woman peered about her, searching for the cause of the trouble. “What, then, what?” she inquired. “Ricardo is gone!” The other stared. “Gone!” she repeated in a tone of disgust; “gone! Do you say that you are deserted? Nineteen, only, and deserted. Pst! You are a fool! I kept your father beside me until I was more than twenty-five!” “Oh, mamma!” It was a plaintive, heart-broken cry. “But there is no use to snivel over it. What will you do? Do not make a fuss outside here, for all the men to see. Be up, and act gay. Now, there is Felipe, the younger one. He gets four _reales_ a day in the _cacao_ court. He is worth something, I can tell you. And there is Juan. As you know, Antonia Toro----” Now, Manuelita looked up, and her whole body trembled with fury. “Antonia!” she repeated hoarsely. “He has gone with her!”