"I will give Rachela the blue silk kerchief I brought from New
York. She will forget a great deal for that, and then, Iza,
darling, you must tell Fray Ignatius of your sin, because it
is not good to have an unconfessed sin on the soul."
"Antonia, do not say such cruel things. I have confessed to
you. Fray Ignatius will give me a hard penance. Perhaps he
may say to mi madre: `That child had better go back to
the convent. I say so, because I have knowledge.' And now I
am tired of that life; I am almost a woman, Antonia, am I
not?"
Antonia looked tenderly into her face. She saw some
inscrutable change there. All was the same, and all was
different. She did not understand that it was in the eyes,
those lookouts of the soul. They had lost the frank,
inquisitive stare of childhood; they were tender and misty;
they reflected a heart passionate and fearful, in which love
was making himself lord of all.
Antonia was not without experience. There was in New York a
gay, handsome youth, to whom her thoughts lovingly turned.
She had promised to trust him, and to wait for him, and
neither silence nor distance had weakened her faith or her
affection. Don Luis had also made her understand how hard it
was to leave Isabel, just when he had hoped to woo and win
her. He had asked her to watch over his beloved, and to say
a word in his favor when all others would be condemning him.
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