For some years the innkeeper had been greatly prospered. The family had used economy in all things until they had amassed considerable wealth.
"Now," said the señora, "the children are growing up, and we must not spare the money—they must have position." She engaged a governess to teach her daughter, and a master to give her lessons on the harp and guitar.
Zaletta always sat in the room with the young señorita, and listened eagerly to every word the teachers uttered, though her hands were busy with her needle.
Every day she grew in knowledge and beauty. Her dark eyes were soft as a fawn's, and her pure olive cheek glowed with a clear rose-tint, while her form and features were cast in beauty's most exquisite mold. Both mother and daughter were often cruelly unkind to her, more especially when they saw that her beauty, and innocent sweetness of manner, attracted more attention than all the young señorita's fine clothes and accomplishments. The señorita was pretty and full of airs and graces, but Zaletta, in her coarse dress, was far more lovely. Every day increased the envy of the mother and daughter, and new and harder tasks were invented for the weary little hands to perform.
One sultry afternoon all three sat upon the piazza of the inner court. A ship had arrived from New York, with letters from Guilerme, and a large box, filled with beautiful fabrics for dresses, shawls, and ornaments, for the mother and daughter; but Zaletta received nothing, not even a word of kind remembrance.
All the long night before she had wept. Guilerme, the gentleman, had forgotten the poor maid; but she, alas! remembered him too well.
The mother and daughter sat looking over their treasures with great delight, and for the time she was unnoticed. Stitching away upon a beautiful organdie muslin, at last overcome by fatigue, loss of sleep, and the excessive heat, she fell asleep, and in her dreams she called out in a piteous tone, "Guilerme! Guilerme!" and the tears ran down her pale cheeks.
"What is she saying?" said the mother. She rose and looked at her, and again she called, "Guilerme! Guilerme!"
"Hear her, mamma," exclaimed the enraged daughter, "I'll give her a lesson for her impertinence," and she raised her hand to strike the sleeping girl.
"Stop, daughter," said the mother, softly, with a malicious smile, "we can do better. The foolish Guilerme has sent her a letter and presents of books. The letter I have burned. The books you can do as you like with, but I have a present for la señorita, she will not like, perhaps."