Now she seemed all alive with eager cunning, turning from the force of her bitter wrath into a crafty old crone, anxious to save the life of her grandchild, it is true, but exulting as much in the thoughts of baffling all the keen hate and power of her tribe.
“Get up, little one: come sit down here on the bed by my side, and let us talk,” she said, passing her hand over the head of my mother, and caressing her with a grim smile.
“You believe me innocent—you will not let them murder me.”
“Yes, yes, my star, I know you are innocent—else, you see the drao yonder—by this time it had been curdling in your blood.”
“Then you will save me! Who is so powerful? Oh, grandame, your little girl will yet live. Who shall dare to contradict the will of Papita?”
“He, Chaleco! ha! ha! he almost braved me to-night: but he shall be brought round”——
The girl turned faint, and grew paler than she had been before that night.
“No, not that!—oh, not that! Let me die, grandmother—let me die. I would rather a thousand times than marry Chaleco.”
The Sibyl laughed till her teeth shone again.
“Marry Chaleco now!—why, child, he would strangle me if I but hinted it! Oh, our people are wise in this generation, wiser than old Papita. We shall see—we shall see!”