“Perhaps she is afraid of the Inquisition?” naïvely suggested the negro.
“Bah! Clara, you’re a ninny! Why the devil should you suppose that the powerful divinity of the waters has any fear of long-robed monks? It is they, more likely, who would have cause to tremble in her presence, and prostrate themselves before her.”
“Carrambo! if she’s afraid to show herself before one white man, more reason why she should fear a whole host of monks—who, it must be confessed, are ugly enough to frighten anything.”
“May the devil drown the man who interrupted us!” cried Costal, rendered the more indignant by the justice of the negro’s reasoning. “A few minutes more, and I am certain the Siren would have showed herself.”
“Why did you extinguish the fire so soon? I think, friend Costal, you did wrong in that,” remonstrated Clara.
“I did it to hide from the eyes of the profane white man the mystery about to be accomplished. Besides, I knew after what happened there was no chance of her appearing.”
“So you really think it was some one who disturbed us?”
“I am sure of it.”
“And is that how you account for the shower of stones?”
“Of course.”