"The governor was discussing today the mystery of the arrow that night at the dam. When you spoke the word just now it sprang into my thought."
"Yes?" said he, pressing her hand between both his own.
"Yes. He said he would give a great deal to know who it was, to whom he really owes the obligation for his life."
"He is a generous man," said Juan. He seemed to have withdrawn some part of him, to have hidden away within himself, and to be far distant from her in a moment. Although her hand was clasped in his, she seemed groping for him, reaching and straining, unable to touch more than his shadow.
"I have wondered, too," she confessed, looking frankly into his eyes, a little color rising in her face on owning to the curiosity which was her right by heritage, if by no other justification. "You will tell me, Juan? Who was it shot the arrow that saved the governor's life that night?"
Juan seemed to go farther away, the elusive personality that had drawn near for a moment while she framed her question, leaped to its concealment again.
"It is strange for you to ask me that," he said.
"No, not strange. It was such a great service, a thing so heroic to tell one's children. Was it Cristóbal, Juan, or was it you?"
