Doña Orosia turned quickly.
"Go! Leave me!" she cried. "Do you linger? Can I never be rid of you? Out of my sight! I would have a moment's respite from your great eyes and your white face. Go!"
And I obeyed her.
CHAPTER XIV.
March, the 9th day.
Doña Orosia sent for me at noon to-day. There was news to tell, and she chose to be the one to tell it.
I found her in her favourite seat,—a great soft couch, covered with rich Moorish stuffs, and placed under the shadow of the balcony that overlooks the sunny garden. Up each of the light pillars from which spring the graceful arches that support this balcony climbs a mass of blooming vines that weave their delicate tendrils round the railing above and then trail downward again in festoons of swaying colour. Behind, in the luminous shadow, she lay coiled and half asleep; with a large fan of bronze turkey-feathers in one lazy hand, the other teasing the tawny hound which was stretched out at her feet.
She opened her great eyes as I came near.