"Already five days—five centuries of suspense and fear! Ah! Petronilla, what a frightful night I passed! I saw Geronimo extended on the ground, the pallor of death on his face, a large wound was in his breast, and his lifeless eyes were fixed on me as if with his last breath he had bade me adieu."
"These are illusions caused by grief, Mary."
"More than twenty times I saw him thus; in vain I strove to shut out the horrible vision; day alone brought me relief."
The duenna took her hand, and said, tenderly:
"You are wrong, Mary, to cherish your grief in this manner. Your dreams at night were but the reflection of your thoughts by day. I, too, saw Geronimo in sleep more than once."
"You, too, Petronilla, you saw Geronimo?" exclaimed the young girl, with emotion, as though she feared the confirmation of her own terrific dream.
"Why not, Mary; do I think of him less than you?"
"You saw him dying, did you not?"
"On the contrary, I saw him return joyfully and cast himself into the arms of his uncle and embrace your father. And you, my child, I saw you kneeling on this same prie-Dieu, thanking God that your dreams were false and deceiving."
Mary smiled as she listened to the duenna's consoling words, but scarcely had Petronilla ceased speaking than she suspected the artifice.