Doña Carlota leaned forward to study her sharply in the fast-falling gloom.
"You will not eat?" she asked.
"No. Please close the door when you begin. I only want to be alone."
"You would not run away?"
"Yes, if I could. If I had an ax I'd break down these bars. Yes. Perhaps you'd better tell that to Don Abrahan."
"I tell Don Abrahan? Don Abrahan hears nothing from me!"
"While you are praying, Aunt Carlota, say several for yourself."
"He hears only what is for your good," Doña Carlota amended for the benefit of her own conscience, mumbling it as she closed the door. She closed it noisily, to show her displeasure, then opened it softly wide enough to admit a feather or a sound.
Doña Carlota fell asleep after her heavy supper, a tall, fresh candle on the table at her side, her feet short of the floor as she lay back in the great armchair which Don Abrahan had provided for her comfort. But she had locked the door leading into the patio, and was sitting on the key. Helena knew her habit in the way of keys. As well try to beat down the door of two-inch oak with her bare hands as to remove Doña Carlota from the key without waking her, sluggish as her slumber was, raucous as her snore.
Helena returned to her own dark room from a
