The only thing that troubled me, and I tried to laugh it out of my
thoughts, was the connection with the reputed witch, but foolish as I
knew such notions to be, I was, however, unable to banish them, and I
often wished that the beautiful Ysidria was any one in the world but the
niece of Ambrosia Moreno. Not that I had any dislike for the Madre, or
that I bore her any ill will for the various misfortunes which had come
to my family through her agency, as the country people believed, but it
was unpleasant to me to think of this young creature living under the
same roof with and under the influence of such a woman as I knew the
Moreno to be, aside from her connection with el bueno Diablo, at which I
could only laugh, and a story which I knew to be encouraged by the Madre
herself, simply for the notoriety it gave her, and the power she was
enabled through this belief to exercise over the people.
Ysidria, I had already learned, was as skeptical as myself in regard to
Madre Moreno's spells, for the laughing manner in which she had spoken
of her aunt's charms and witcheries, when we were on the hill and even
in the presence of the Madre herself, convinced me of her intelligence
and education. It was not this that troubled me concerning Ysidria, but
knowing Madre Moreno as I did, and what an unscrupulous, scheming and
heartless woman she was, I felt that she had brought this lovely niece
to her home for some purpose known only to herself. Of what that purpose
could be I had not the faintest idea, but I knew the Madre never did
anything without an object.
I laughed at myself for the great interest I so suddenly felt in a
person whom I had never seen before, and then only for a few hours. But
laugh as I would, I had to own that I was something more than interested
in the stranger, and the pleasure with which I looked forward to the
promised call in the morning, and my anxiety for her recovery, plainly
showed me that my heart was fast being lost, if indeed it were not
already gone from me.
Catalina sat at the door with me after her work was done, but I was so
deep in my own thoughts, and often did not hear her remarks, that she
left me and went to her room.
I did not notice when she left, and not until the clock in the veranda
struck eleven did I become aware of the length of time I had been
dreaming awake.
The moon was shining clear and full in the blue, cloudless sky, so
bright that scarcely a star could be seen, illuminating the whole
country so that everything not in shadow could be distinguished as well
as if it were noontime.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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