"I will sell her," he replied.
"That is well!—my brother will be faithful?"
"I am a chief; I have but one word, my tongue is not forked; but why should I take this pale woman so far?"
Doña Maria cast a penetrating glance at him—a suspicion crossed her mind—the Indian perceived it.
"I only made a simple observation to my sister; it concerns me little, and she need not answer me if she does not think proper," he said, with indifference.
The brow of the Linda became serene again.
"The remark is just, chief; I will answer it. Why take her so far, you asked me; because Antinahuel loves this woman—his heart is softened by her—and perhaps he will suffer himself to be moved by her prayers, and restore her to her family. But it shall not happen; she shall weep tears of blood; her heart shall break under the incessant pangs of grief; she shall lose everything, even hope!"
After uttering these words, Doña Maria arose, with head erect, sparkling eyes, and extended arm; there was in her aspect something fatal and terrible, which terrified even the Indian, by nature so difficult to move.
"Go," she cried, in a tone of command, "before she departs for ever, I will see this woman once—only once, and speak with her for a few minutes; she shall at least know me: bring her hither!"
The Indian went out silently; this woman, so beautiful and so cruel, terrified him—she inspired him with horror.