"Art thou happy, Carlos Sotos, with thy love? Thank old Madre Moreno for it." She laughed aloud, and the wall echoed back the laugh mockingly.
VIII.
When I parted from Ysidria at Madre Moreno's that evening, after the destruction of the plant, I looked into her blue eyes, and suddenly the pupil spread over the entire iris.
"Oh! Ysidria, your eyes are beautiful," and I pressed a kiss upon them, "good-bye, till we meet to-morrow. I am happy."
"Good night," she answered, "I shall see you in the morning. I will rise as the first rays of the sun, come through my window, and my first thought will be of you."
We parted, and I watched her graceful form as she walked up the path to the door; she turned and waved her hand to me as she passed from sight.
"Her eyes, alas, are all the light I know!" I said aloud, and, with an indefinable feeling of sadness, walked briskly home.
I told Catalina all, that evening, but the good woman said nothing to sadden me, but I could see sorrow in her face.
There were clouds in the sky at sunset, and every prospect of a storm; the wind howled through the trees and rattled the doors of the old house. I sat till late watching the collecting clouds which were rolling on in turbulent masses, and very low, till all was dark, as the last rent was filled, through which the moon had been shining. It was a terrible storm, the worst I had ever known, and Catalina came to my door at about two o'clock, in great fright, saying that she had seen a figure like Madre Mareno, going by the house as if floating in the air, and had heard a loud report as if there had been thunder in the distance, coming from Tamalpais. I could hear the rumbling and could not tell what it was; but I laughed at her fears and told her that it must have been a shadow, for no human being even a witch, would be out in such a night, if they could help it.