round-glass skylight there
appeared, rigid, like an implacable and obscure fate, the awful
Therese--waiting for her sister. The heavy ends of a big black shawl
thrown over her head hung massively in biblical folds. With a faint cry
of dismay Dona Rita stopped just within my room.

The two women faced each other for a few moments silently. Therese spoke
first. There was no austerity in her tone. Her voice was as usual,
pertinacious, unfeeling, with a slight plaint in it; terrible in its
unchanged purpose.

"I have been standing here before this door all night," she said. "I
don't know how I lived through it. I thought I would die a hundred times
for shame. So that's how you are spending your time? You are worse than
shameless. But God may still forgive you. You have a soul. You are my
sister. I will never abandon you--till you die."

"What is it?" Dona Rita was heard wistfully, "my soul or this house that
you won't abandon."

"Come out and bow your head in humiliation. I am your sister and I shall
help you to pray to God and all the Saints. Come away from that poor
young gentleman who like all the others can have nothing but contempt and
disgust for you in his heart. Come and hide your head where no one will
reproach you--but I, your sister. Come out and beat your breast: come,
poor Sinner, and let me kiss you, for you are my sister!"

While Therese was speaking Dona Rita stepped back a pace and as the other
moved forward still extending the hand of sisterly love, she slammed the
door in Therese's face. "You abominable girl!" she cried fiercely. Then
she turned about and walked towards me who had not moved. I felt hardly
alive but for the cruel pain that possessed my whole being. On the way
she stooped to pick up the arrow of gold and then moved on quicker,
holding it out to me in her open palm.

"You thought I wouldn't give it to you. _Amigo_, I wanted nothing so
much as to give it to you. And now, perhaps--you will take it."

"Not without the woman," I said sombrely.

"Take it," she said. "I haven't the courage to deliver myself up to
Therese. No. Not even for your sake. Don't you think I have been
miserable enough yet?"

I snatched the arrow out of her hand then and ridiculously pressed it to
my breast; but as I opened my lips she who knew what was struggling for
utterance in my heart cried in a ringing tone:

"Speak no words of love, George! Not yet. Not in this house of ill-lu