“Remain below till the morning; you will be too late to return to-night. Remain! perhaps you may hear something. Come early—not to the house. Be in time for oration. You will find me in the church. Perhaps you may see Antonio. If so, give him this.” A diamond set in a golden circlet sparkled a moment at the tips of the lady’s fingers, and then lay hid in the shut fist of the poblana. “Tell him for whom—he need not know who sent it. There is money for your expenses, and some to give her; or give it to her mother, if they will accept it.” Here a purse fell in Josefa’s lap. “Bring me news! oh, bring me news, dear Josefa! Adios! adios!”
The last salutation was uttered hurriedly; and, as the lady pronounced it, she wheeled her glossy mustang and galloped back towards the town.
She need not have doubted that Josefa would fulfil her instructions about “remaining below until the morning!” for the poblana was nearly, if not quite, as much interested as herself in this journey. The rather pretty Josefa chanced to be the sweetheart of the half-blood Antonio; and whether she saw Antonio or not, she was not likely to hurry back that night. If she did see him, so much the pleasanter to remain; if not, she should remain in the hope of such an event.
With a full purse of “pesos”—a sixth of which would pay all expenses—and the prospect of meeting with Antonio, the rough carreta seemed all at once transformed to an elegant coach, with springs and velvet cushions,—such as Josefa had heard of, but had never seen!
The kind-hearted girl readjusted the seats, placed the head of Rosita on her lap, spread her reboso over her to keep off the evening dew, and then told the peon to move on. The latter uttered a loud “ho-ha!” touched his oxen with the goad, and once more set them in motion along the dusty road.
Chapter Forty.
Early morning prayer in the “iglesia” is a fashionable custom among the señoras of Mexico—particularly among those who dwell in cities and towns. Close upon the heels of daybreak you may see them issuing from the great doors of their houses, and hurrying through the streets towards the chapel, where the bell has already begun its deafening “ding-dong.” They are muffled beyond the possibility of recognition—the richer in their silken shawls and mantas, the poorer in their slate-coloured rebosos; under the folds of which each carries a little bound volume—the “misa.”
Let us follow them into the sacred temple, and see what passes there.