“You shall hear. I thought you had taken a dislike to me.”
“I a dislike to you!”
“Yes, and thinking of that I became very melancholy. The worm got into my head.”
“The worm?”
“That is what we say at home, when one gets a notion one can’t get rid of into one’s head. I would spend the whole blessed night trying to untangle the skein—What shall I do to make the Señorito lose his dislike for me? What means shall I take to please him? And the worst of it was—you may believe what I say, for it is as true as that God is in heaven—that heavy as my heart was, I did not feel as I did in the other house. No; from this house I would not have gone, not if I was to be cut in quarters—unless I was turned out of it.”
“Because you knew I liked you, Sura?”
“No, indeed I didn’t know it. I give you my word I thought you hated me. It made me so wretched that I wanted to die.”
“And I am ready to die with joy at hearing you, Suriña. You are not comfortable there, child. Put your head on this pillow. Here, let me pull it out to make room for you.”
Esclavita laid her head on the pillow without embarrassment or mistrust, and both remained silent for a while, absorbed in the happiness of the moment. The dim light of the lamp threw the girl’s features into relief, bestowing on the lights a pure pale tint, on the shadows a uniform grayish rose. Her head had the effect of a fine engraving, and Rogelio expressed his admiration by saying:
“Suriña, you are lovely.”