Volume Iii Part 112 (1/2)
”Yes,” answered the boy, ”and where were they going?”
”To the sea for water.”
”Is there so much water in the sea?”
”Yes indeed, and more than there is in Uncle Pedro's pond.”
”The voice of the wind seems to me like the voice of the evil spirit, that comes leading fear by the hand,” said Maria.
”You are always frightened, mother,” remarked Rita. ”I don't know when your spirit will rest. Look here, lazy-bones,” she proceeded, giving a push to the boy who had reclined against her, ”lean upon what you have eaten.”
The child, being half asleep, lost his balance. Elvira gave a cry, and Perico, springing forward, caught him in his arms. Anna dropped her distaff, but took it up again without a word.
”If you ever lose your son,” said Pedro, indignant, ”you will not weep for him as I do for mine. You have that advantage over me.”
”She is so quick, so hasty,” said Maria, always ready to excuse and slow to blame, ”that she keeps me in hot water.”
”So, then, Mamma Maria,” Perico hastened to say, ”yon are afraid of everything--and witches?”
”No; oh! no, my son! The church forbids the belief in witches and enchanters. I fear those things which G.o.d permits to punish men, and, above all, when they are supernatural.”
”Are there any such things? Have you seen any?” asked Rita.
”If there are any? And do you doubt that there are extraordinary things?”
”Not at all. One of them is the day you do not preach me a sermon. But the supernatural I don't believe in. I am like Saint Thomas.”
”And you glory in it! It is a wonder you do not say also that you are like Saint Peter in that in which he failed!”
”But, madam, have you seen anything of the kind, or is it only because you can swallow everything, like a shark?”
”It is the same, to all intents, as if I had seen it.”
”Aunt, what was it?” asked Elvira.
”My child,” said the good old woman, turning toward her niece, ”in the first place, that which happened to the Countess of Villaoran. Her ladys.h.i.+p herself told it to me when we were superintending her estate of Quintos. This lady had the pious custom of having a ma.s.s said for condemned criminals at the very hour they were being executed. When the infamous Villico was in those parts, committing so much iniquity, she allowed herself to say that if he should be taken, she would not send to have a ma.s.s said for him, as she had for others. And when he was executed, she kept her word.
”Not long alter, one night when she was sleeping quietly, she was awakened by a pitiful voice near the head of her bed, calling her by name. She sat up in bed terrified, but saw {664} nothing, though the lamp was burning on the table. Presently she heard the same voice, even more pitiful than at first, calling her from the yard, and before she had fairly recovered from her surprise, she heard it a third time, and from a great distance, calling her name. She cried out so loudly that those who were in the house ran to her room, and found her pale and terrified. But no one else had heard the voice.
”On the following day, hardly were the candles lighted in the churches when a ma.s.s was being offered for the poor felon, and the countess, on her knees before the altar was praying with fervor and penitence, for the clemency of G.o.d, which is not like that of men, excludes none. And now Rita, what do you think?”
”I think she dreamed it.”
”Goodness, goodness! what incredulity,” said Uncle Pedro. ”Rita will be like that Tucero, who, the preachers say, separated from the church.”
”Ave Maria! Do not say that, Pedro,” exclaimed Maria, ”even in exaggeration! Mercy! you may well say, what perverseness, for she talks so just to be contrary.”
A noise in the direction of the door which opened into the back-yard, caused Maria's lips to close suddenly.
”What is that?” she said.