Isola! Hear my cry!
The skies are black above me!
Love me, or bid me die!
Isola! Isola!
Love me, or let me die!’
“As the wonderful voice held the last word at the top of the register without a quaver, the lady arose, stood unsteadily for a moment, then turned and walked proudly to the hallway and disappeared within. Nuñez Pico rose and, without a word, followed his daughter.
“That night I could not sleep, and near morning left my room and paced the garden walks until daybreak. Then, drawn by curiosity, I crossed the river and came to the great rock at the foot of the rise. Here I found the trace of a horse, coming and going, and, behind the rock, evidence that the horse had stood there for many hours.
“The Lady Isola came to the breakfast the following morning without a tear-stain upon her face, her features set and cold. The look in her proud eyes seemed to say: ‘My hours of terror are done! I am master of myself!’
“She moved about the house, the porches and the garden as freely as of old, but with a different manner. Then it was with the languorous grace of one in love with idleness; now she moved with the proud militancy of one who asserts dominion and defies aggression. I was glad of the changed mien, and so, I think, was Pico.