"I implore you, daughter, not to let your filial affection deceive you. I see it now. I was mad, and did wrong in exhorting you to die. Death is horrible at your age, my child, when you have scarce entered upon life and all still appears smiling."
"All the better, mother," the maiden answered, kissing her forehead. "I have only known the sweets of life; does not that make me the happier?"
"Oh, oh, woe is me!" Doña Emilia exclaimed, as she twined her arms desperately; "I have killed my daughter."
The Indian listened gloomy and pensive; a poignant remorse was silently gnawing his heart.
"Mother," Doña Diana said, kneeling piously before her, as she was wont to do each night in happier times; "mother, you are a holy woman; mother, bless your child."
"Oh, bless you, bless you; may God hear the prayer I offer up, and withdraw from you this frightful cup, to offer it to me alone."
The maiden rose. Her face shone with a pure and holy joy; never had her features reflected such a sublime expression; she was lovely, with the beauty of Virgin and Martyr.
"Let us go," she said, in a tone of authority which overpowered her mother's grief, "we should not keep our murderers waiting."
And with a sovereign gesture she showed the Indian chief the door. The latter, involuntarily overcome by this omnipotent will, went out with hanging head, and the two ladies followed him. They walked down the staircase of the teocali with a firm step, followed and preceded by a number of old squaws and children, who overwhelmed with insults and hurled mud in their faces. Doña Diana smiled; for a moment she felt her mother's arm tremble upon hers; fancying that the latter was giving way, she leant gently over to her and said with an ineffable expression—
"Courage, my kind mother, each step brings us nearer to heaven."