“Celeste, why are you doing this cruel thing?” Lorinda asked in a pleading tone. “Does it mean nothing to you that Father brought you here, fed you, clothed you—gave you many advantages?”
For a moment Celeste softened and seemed to hesitate. Lorinda was quick to press the advantage.
“My father and my mother have been very kind to you—”
Mention of her mother’s name proved unfortunate. Celeste’s face hardened into rigid lines again and she said furiously:
“I hate her! May her flesh rot away and her bones be torn asunder!”
“Celeste! And to think we ever trusted you! Mother is ill because you have willed it so—it was you who made the wicked effigy doll—you who kept planting in her mind the idea that she would become ill and die!”
“And I have the will too!” the woman said gleefully. “I told Antón to get it from the library! Then I called you to your mother’s room so he could snatch it from the table!”
“But why did you do it, Celeste? What have you gained?”
“You will not steal my master’s money! The will is destroyed—burned!”
“Steal my stepfather’s money? Indeed, you are out of your mind, Celeste! My stepfather has disappeared and may never be seen again.”