Behold Bendita, therefore, the next night, arrayed even more magnificently than Solomon in all his glory. For Solomon, whatever he may have gotten himself up in, surely never wore such huge diamond ornaments in the ears, such diamonds and rubies in the hair, such magnificent bracelets. All this was topped off by a long string of diamonds and pearls, while outside her _mantilla_, at the neck, Bendita displayed, in all humility, a necklace of pear-shaped black and white pearls. Amado, who had served for three years as a pawnbroker’s clerk, alone of the crowd in the plaza knew that the girl’s jewels were real--fabulously rich. “_Carrambas_,” he thought, excitedly; “she, in those jewels, is rich as a princess. El Señor Vega, alone, would give fifty thousand _pesos_ for them!” Others, noting the new finery of the homely girl, said smilingly: “What pretty playthings of glass has our good Bendita found?” A week’s time saw the feckless Amado off with the old love and on with the new. Quick work, it is true, but--consider the extenuating circumstances. To do him justice, he had a plan for securing the jewels (with Bendita, if it had to be), and later, making matters up with his own pretty first love. Two things prevented this, however: first, Bendita rarely wore, touched, or mentioned the jewels, and he was fearful of exciting her suspicions; second, the jilted Ponciana had vanished from the ken of even her own family. No one seemed to know where she was. Old Madre Piedad, in San Geronimo town near by, knew. The latter dame, thought to be a witch, was the girl’s near relative. To her Ponciana had stated merely that some one had injured her; and asked if Madre Maria would keep her quietly hidden, and teach her how to avenge herself. Madre Piedad promised, and the two, with the aid of an ugly, squat, herb-stuffed doll, a brazero of hot coals, and some long pins, set the ball of vengeance in motion. Meanwhile, instead of preparing for marriage, Bendita fell grievously ill. She lost flesh rapidly, could not eat, drink, or rest, and complained of agonizing pains that shot through her body. A doctor was consulted, but could not relieve her. Then various old women congregated and muttered together--they could do nothing! Of a truth, it could be nothing less than the _mal del ojo_ (evil eye), and with that only old Madre Piedad, of San Geronimo, could cope. Wherefore Madre Piedad was sent for, and entreated. At dusk she arrived--a bundled-up old dame, her halting steps aided by crutches, and her face shrouded in many _tapalos_. A large bundle came with her--“medicines,” she gruffly explained. The other women, secretly in deadly terror of her, gladly withdrew at her commands. “If you wish me to make a cure, you must get out and leave me alone with the patient,” she ordered. And not until the premises were clear did she begin operations.