"Have you forgotten my promise, my vow?" Florentina went on, "or did you think I was talking at random? But indeed, nothing I can do seems enough to show our Mother of Mercies my gratitude for the grace she has shown us. I should like that, on this day, not a creature that the whole world contains should be sad. I should like to divide my happiness, and fling it abroad on all sides, as the sower casts the seed; I should like to go into every wretched dwelling and say: 'All your troubles are ended. I have a remedy for them all.'—But it is impossible; no one can do that but God. Still, as my powers are not equal to my will, let me at any rate do what I can—and these are not mere words, Nela. Come with me, away from this hovel; bid farewell to everything that has made part of your misery and your loneliness. For you may have an affection, even for your wretchedness, my child."
Marianela did not, however, say good-bye to anything; and as none of the family were indoors at that hour, she did not wait for them. Florentina went out, leading by the hand the poor little girl whom her noble impulses and christian feeling had adopted to be her equal; and Nela allowed herself to be led, from sheer incapacity to offer any resistance. She felt as though some superhuman power had taken her in hand and was carrying her along, fatally and inevitably, as the angels bear a soul away to Heaven.
They took the path by Hinojales, where the vagabond child had seen Florentina for the first time. As they turned into the lane the young lady said to her companion.
"Why have you not been to the house? My uncle says that you have so much natural modesty and delicacy that it is a pity you should not have been educated. Was it delicacy that kept you from coming to ask for what, by God's mercy, you had so happily gained? Without doubt my uncle is right.... You should have seen the poor dear man that day—he said he should not be sorry to die!—Do you see? My eyes are still red with crying so much. And last night my uncle and my father and I never went to sleep; we were making plans for all the family and building castles in the air all night—Why do you say nothing? Why are you so silent? Are you not as glad as I am?"
Nela looked up in the girl's bright face and made a faint effort to resist the gentle hand that held hers.
"Come along—what is the matter? You look at me so strangely Nela."
She did indeed; the hapless child's eyes wandering vaguely from one object to another, ended by fixing themselves on the Virgin of her fancy, with a strange glitter of apprehension.
"Why does your hand tremble so?" Florentina went on. "Are you ill? You are as pale as death and your teeth are chattering. If you are ill I will cure you, I myself can cure you. From this day you will have some one to care for you, and pet you, and make much of you. And I shall not be alone you know, for Pablo is very fond of you—he told me so. We both love you dearly and he and I shall be like one person.—He wants to see you. Just fancy how full of curiosity a man must be who has never seen anything at all; but you cannot think how—from being so clever as he is, and having an imagination which seems to have given him a number of ideas which blind people scarcely ever have—from the first moment he knew what was pretty and what was ugly. A bit of scarlet sealing-wax pleased him at once and a piece of coal he thought hideous. He admired the beauty of the sky and was disgusted at the sight of a frog. Everything that is beautiful excites him to an enthusiasm that is almost delirium; everything ugly fills him with horror, and makes him tremble as we do when we are frightened. My appearance must have pleased him, for he exclaimed as soon as he saw me: "Oh! cousin, how pretty you are! Thank God for having bestowed sight on me so that I can see you!"
Nela had gently withdrawn her hand from Florentina's grasp and fell on the ground as if suddenly stricken to death. The young girl bent over her, saying in coaxing tones: "Oh! what is it ails you? Why do you look at me so?" Marianela fixed her eyes on the Holy Virgin's face with a miserable stare; still their expression was not one of aversion, but rather a gaze of agonized entreaty, like the last look of a dying man imploring mercy from the image of the Saviour, and believing it to be God himself.
"Señora," murmured the child, "I do not hate you—no indeed I do not hate you. On the contrary, I love you dearly—I adore you." And taking up the hem of Florentina's dress she pressed it to her dry lips and kissed it fervently.