"Good morning, mother!" I replied, and was passing on, when she approached me, and said, "Listen to me, José Juan; I have to speak to you of that which nearly concerns you." "Nearly concerns me!" I repeated, in great surprise. "Yes. Do you deny that your heart is in the island of Espiritu Sante, or that you cross the strait every night to see and converse with her on whom you have bestowed your love?" "How know you that?" "No matter; I know it well. José Juan, for you this voyage is fraught with a twofold peril. The foes whom my charms can hold harmless during the day only lie in wait for you each night beneath the waves; on the shore, foes more dangerous still, and over whom my arts are powerless, dog your steps. I come to offer you my aid to combat these double dangers." My only answer was by a loud laugh of contempt. The old Indian's eyes sparkled with fiendish fury as she exclaimed, "And because you are without faith, you deem me without power? Be it so; there are those who believe in the influence you but scoff at." As she spoke, she drew from her pocket a little case of printed cloth, and producing amid pearls of inferior value one of a large size and brilliant water, she replied, "Know you aught of this?" It was one I had given to Jesusita; for such was the girl's name. "How came you by it?" cried I. The witch gave me a look of hatred. "How came I by it? Why, 'twas given me by a damsel the fairest that ever set foot on these shores; a damsel who would be the glory and happiness of a young man, and who came to crave my protection--that protection you hold so cheap--for one she fondly loves." "His name!" I exclaimed, with a fearful sinking at my heart. "What matters it," jeeringly returned the hag, "since _his_ name is not the one you bear?" I hardly know how I resisted the impulse to crush the cursed witch beneath my feet; but after a moment's reflection, I turned my back to her that she might not read in my face the anguish of my soul, and coolly saying, "You are a lying old dotard," I walked on to the fishery. On the evening of that day, which seemed as if it would never close, I went as usual to Jesusita, and the welcome she gave me soon dispelled all lurking suspicions. I felt no doubt but that the old woman, in resentment of my contemptuous treatment, had purposely deceived me as to the name of him for whom Jesusita had craved that protection which I had despised. I had utterly forgotten my scene with the witch, when, one night, I was as usual crossing the strait on my return home. The sky was dark and lowering, yet not so cloudy but that I could distinguish amid the waves something which, from its manner of swimming, I could make out to be a man. The object was alongside of me. The old crone's words rushed upon my memory, and I felt a thrill of agony convulse my frame. For an enemy I cared but little; the idea that I had a rival unnerved me at once.