"It is very good, mamita. You will spoil me always, but that is because you are so good. And one day I hope you will be as happy as your little daughter; for there are other good Americans in the world. No? mamma. I think—Mamacita!"
She sprang upward with a loud cry, the body curving rigidly; her soft brown eyes stared horribly; froth gathered about her mouth; she gasped once or twice, her body writhing from the agonized arms that strove to hold it, then fell limply down, her features relaxing.
"She is dead," said the nurse.
"Benicia!" whispered Doña Eustaquia. "Benicia!"
"You have killed her," said the old woman, as she drew the mantilla about the baby's face.
Doña Eustaquia dropped the body and moved backward from the bed. She put out her hands and went gropingly from the room to her own, and from thence to the sala. Brotherton came forward to meet her.
"Eustaquia!" he cried. "My friend! My dear! What has happened? What—"
She raised her hand and pointed to the cross. The mark of the dagger was still there.
"Benicia!" she uttered. "The curse!" and then she fell at his feet.