“What time is it?” asked the girl.

“It will soon be midnight.  Perhaps you are not afraid, but I am.”

Rosarito was trembling, and every thing about her denoted the keenest anxiety.  She lifted her eyes to heaven supplicatingly, and then turned them on her mother with a look of the utmost terror.

“Why, what is the matter with you?”

“Did you not say it was midnight?”

“Yes.”

“Then——­But is it already midnight?”

Rosario made an effort to speak, then shook her head, on which the weight of a world was pressing.

“Something is the matter with you; you have something on your mind,” said her mother, fixing on her daughter her penetrating eyes.

“Yes—­I wanted to tell you,” stammered the girl, “I wanted to say——­Nothing, nothing, I will go to sleep.”

“Rosario, Rosario! your mother can read your heart like an open book,” exclaimed Dona Perfecta with severity.  “You are agitated.  I have told you already that I am willing to pardon you if you will repent; if you are a good and sensible girl.”

“Why, am I not good?  Ah, mamma, mamma!  I am dying!”

Rosario burst into a flood of bitter and disconsolate tears.

“What are these tears about?” said her mother, embracing her.  “If they are tears of repentance, blessed be they.”

“I don’t repent, I can’t repent!” cried the girl, in a burst of sublime despair.

She lifted her head and in her face was depicted a sudden inspired strength.  Her hair fell in disorder over her shoulders.  Never was there seen a more beautiful image of a rebellious angel.

“What is this?  Have you lost your senses?” said Dona Perfecta, laying both her hands on her daughter’s shoulders.

“I am going away, I am going away!” said the girl, with the exaltation of delirium.

And she sprang out of bed.

“Rosario, Rosario——­My daughter!  For God’s sake, what is this?”

“Ah, mamma, senora!” exclaimed the girl, embracing her mother; “bind me fast!”

“In truth you would deserve it.  What madness is this?”

“Bind me fast!  I am going away—­I am going away with him!”

Dona Perfecta felt a flood of fire surging from her heart up to her lips.  She controlled herself, however, and answered her daughter only with her eyes, blacker than the night.

“Mamma, mamma, I hate all that is not he!” exclaimed Rosario.  “Hear my confession, for I wish to confess it to every one, and to you first of all.”

“You are going to kill me; you are killing me!”

“I want to confess it, so that you may pardon me.  This weight, this weight that is pressing me down, will not let me live.”

“The weight of a sin!  Add to it the malediction of God, and see if you can carry that burden about with you, wretched girl!  Only I can take it from you.”

“No, not you, not you!” cried Rosario, with desperation.  “But hear me; I want to confess it all, all!  Afterward, turn me out of this house where I was born.”