Then
she stole out, with this net on her back, "like a true Indian woman
as I am," she said, almost gayly, to herself,-- through the
court-yard, around the southeast corner of the house, past the
garden, down to the willows, where she laid down her load, and
went back for the second.
This was harder. Wine she was resolved to have and bread and
cold meat. She did not know so well where to put her hand on old
Marda's possessions as on her own, and she dared not strike a light.
She made several journeys to the kitchen and pantry before she
had completed her store. Wine, luckily, she found in the
dining-room,-- two full bottles; also milk, which she poured into a
leathern flask which hung on the wall in the veranda.
Now all was ready. She leaned from her window, and listened to
Felipe's breathing. "How can I go without bidding him good-by?"
she said. "How can I?" and she stood irresolute.
"Dear Felipe! Dear Felipe! He has always been so good to me! He
has done all he could for me. I wish I dared kiss him. I will leave a
note for him."
Taking a pencil and paper, and a tiny wax taper, whose light would
hardly be seen across a room, she slipped once more into the
dining-room, knelt on the floor behind the door, lighted her taper,
and wrote:--
"DEAR FELIPE,-- Alessandro has come, and I am going away
with him to-night.
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