VIII.


When I parted from Ysidria at Madre Moreno's that evening, after the
destruction of the plant, I looked into her blue eyes, and suddenly the
pupil spread over the entire iris.

"Oh! Ysidria, your eyes are beautiful," and I pressed a kiss upon them,
"good-bye, till we meet to-morrow. I am happy."

"Good night," she answered, "I shall see you in the morning. I will rise
as the first rays of the sun, come through my window, and my first
thought will be of you."

We parted, and I watched her graceful form as she walked up the path to
the door; she turned and waved her hand to me as she passed from sight.

"Her eyes, alas, are all the light I know!" I said aloud, and, with an
indefinable feeling of sadness, walked briskly home.

I told Catalina all, that evening, but the good woman said nothing to
sadden me, but I could see sorrow in her face.

There were clouds in the sky at sunset, and every prospect of a storm;
the wind howled through the trees and rattled the doors of the old
house. I sat till late watching the collecting clouds which were rolling