"Indeed, I have done so!" she cried, fiercely. Rising from the bed she confronted me excitedly. Upon her sweet face, still wet with tears, there was an exultant expression, mingled with tragic distress.
"She knew not that I was unhappy! She thought only to make me wretched, but I wept not until I was alone," she sobbed, triumphantly.
Poor little one! how my heart ached for her! How readily was she acquiring the miserable experience from which I would have saved her. Never again could she be the Mariposilla she had been before this unfortunate visit.
The flame was now lighted which threatened to consume her.
"Come, dear," I said; "you must not mind Mrs. Wilbur. She is a vain, foolish woman. If she has hurt your feelings, she has shown herself coarse and vulgar. Perhaps we had better order a close carriage and go back to the dear Doña Maria," I continued, jumping at the opportunity to escape from our difficult surroundings.
"No, no!" she cried, passionately; "let us not go away. I will be foolish no more. I will look no more into the silver shrine if only we may stay longer."
It was impossible to repulse her confidence. I could not then urge her to shield her love from the probabilities of disappointment. I could not add to the anguish of her afternoon. I shrank from assisting Mrs. Wilbur in her cowardly attack. At present I must wait. A few days, at most, would restore the child to the care of her mother. I would then know better what course to pursue.
In my inmost heart I believed that Sidney Sanderson would be willing to marry the beautiful Spanish girl, but as yet I could not interpret his mother.
I was beginning to feel more and more the woman's artful depth, but yet I did not really doubt her.