“No,” said Nella, though a little reluctantly. “I want to hear about Catalina. For,” she thought, “I shall not be able to pay her to tell me too much, and besides,”—Nella’s thoughts here became hazy even to herself; but they were to the effect that she would not use this sinful means of information more than she could help.
“I see,” said the witch, after a moment, “a maiden like this one before me!”
“Yes,” said Nella, “we were both of an age, and alike exactly.”
“Her eyes are blue, and her face is fair,” looking at her visitor’s. “Those around are—dark—dark.”
“Yes—for the Moors are black,” eagerly said Nella. “Oh, is she alive and happy?”
“The prisoners of the Moors live far away,” said the witch. “One day shall there be a great ransom—and a great deliverance. Friends shall meet across the sea—a talisman will save the lost.”
“Why, I come from across the sea,” said Nella. “A talisman! would it be the cross that Prince Fernando gave us?”
“Ay, the fate of a prince is in the balance,” said the witch, mysteriously.
“But shall I ever see my sister again?” urged Nella.
“Across the sea—across the sea,” repeated the witch. “I can tell no more, my lady—no more.”