"But you can't tell a blessed thing about these Greasers," he said afterward to Marguerite. "I was sure she was going to die, and I reckon she would if she had not done the very thing that I thought would be certain to finish her anyway. Maybe I'll learn sometime that these Mexican women have got to let out their emotions or they would die of suppressed volcanoes." When Marguerite had sympathized with and soothed and comforted her accidental guest Amada asked if she would send for the _padre_. "I shall die very soon," she said, "and he must come at once. I thought I should die long before this, but God has let me live through all that time that I do not remember, when I was so nearly dead, only that the _padre_ might come and make me ready for death." After the priest had gone Marguerite went to the sick girl's room with a cup of gruel. Amada lay back on the pillow, her face gray with pallor against the background of her shining black hair. She kissed and fondled Marguerite's hand. "You have been very good to me, senorita, but I shall have to trouble you one little time more, and then I shall be ready to die, and some one can ride over to the Fernandez mountains, beyond Muletown, and tell my father, Juan Garcia, that his daughter, Amada, is dead, and that she was very, very sorry to bring so much grief to him and her mother. You will tell him that, will you not, senorita? But you must not tell him about the _nino_, because they do not know--ah, senorita, you must not think that I am a--a bad woman! See! Here is a letter that says _mi esposa_! But they might not believe it--and they must not know--you will not tell them, senorita!" "But you are not going to die!" said Marguerite encouragingly. "You will soon be strong again." Amada shook her head. "No! I shall be dead before another morning comes. But now the _padre_ says I must see _el Senor Don_ Emerson Mead." The girl's eyes caught a sudden, brief flicker which crossed Marguerite's face, and, weak though she was, she raised herself on one elbow, her black hair streaming past her face and her eyes shining. She caught Marguerite's hand, calling softly: "Senorita! You love Don Emerson! Is it not so? I saw it in your face! Ah, senorita, it is good to love, is it not? Now you must bring Senor Mead to me here and I must tell him something that the _padre_ says I must before I die. But you must not ask me what it is, for I can not tell you. I can not tell any one but Don Emerson." "He is in the court room now," Marguerite replied, "and they would not let him leave. But his friend, Senor Ellhorn, is here, and I will see if I can find him."