She obeyed me now, sinking wearily, as we entered my room, upon the waiting couch.
I was devoutly thankful when I believed her to be sleeping.
She had scarcely stirred for nearly an hour, and I told myself, wearily, that I, too, might perhaps catch a little rest. The day had been a perpetual strain. I was not expecting or intending to sleep soundly, but I felt a merciful relief in lying quietly by the side of Marjorie.
For the night, at least, Mariposilla was safe. I could only hope that the morrow would dawn more tranquilly than the trying day now, at last, over.
After the funeral, I intended to go immediately to Catalina with Marjorie and Mariposilla. I would wait no longer; the heartbroken child must leave San Gabriel at once.
I was arranging my plans most carefully, when I fell asleep from absolute exhaustion.
When I awoke, the moon was no longer casting fantastic shadows. My white walls were no longer softened by elfin touches.
The shadow vines and pepper branches had disappeared in the honest light of the July sun.
The morning was yet deliciously cool, but the day was fairly begun, even now brimful of sweet odors and bird-music.
The mockers, who had sung all night, were not yet weary, but less belligerent. At night they sometimes quarreled, but in the morning their little disagreements were adjusted.