“I have been almost as far as the hacienda of San Carlos,” said he. “The road to the house is clear; and I should have gone up to it, but for the strange sights which I saw there.”
“Strange sight! what sights, Castrillo?”
“Oh, master! I can hardly tell you what I saw—at least I cannot explain it. The windows were all lit up, but with such lights! They were blue and red, and of a purple colour, and they appeared to be changing every instant, and moving about in the most mysterious manner. While I stood looking at them, and trying to think what it could mean, I saw a figure in white gliding past me in the darkness, like some one not of this world.”
“My worthy Castrillo, fear was troubling your senses, I am afraid you only fancied these things?”
“Oh, my master! what I saw was but too real. If you had seen these lights as I, you could not have doubted it. May it please God that I may have been deceived!”
The tone of conviction in which the servant delivered his report produced its effect on Don Mariano; and he could not help feeling the unpleasant presentiment that some grand misfortune had happened to his daughter, Marianita, or her husband.
The information brought by Castrillo was only the reawakening of a doubt that had been already oppressing him.
A prey to afflicting thoughts, he remained for a while in that state of silent uncertainty which follows the receipt of calamitous news. The servant having finished his report had joined his three companions, and Don Mariano was alone.
Just then the curtains of the litera were drawn inside by a hand from within, and the voice of Gertrudis interrupted for the moment his gloomy reflections.
“My sleep has refreshed me,” said the young girl; “do you intend soon to continue your journey, father? It is near daybreak, is it not?”