"But, senor," he said, "if it is not an impertinence, how is it that a young man of so distinguished an appearance as yourself, a Venezuelan, should be residing with these children of the devil?""You love not your neighbours, then?""I know them, sir--how should I love them?" He was rolling up his second or third cigarette by this time, and I could not helDnoticing that he took a great deal more tobacco than he required in his fingers, and that the surplus on each occasion was conveyed to some secret receptacle among his rags. "Love them, sir! They are infidels, and therefore the good Christian must only hate them. They are thieves--they will steal from you before your very face, so devoid are they of all shame. And also murderers; gladly would they burn this poor thatch above my head, and kill me and my poor grandchild, who shares this solitary life with me, if they had the courage. But they are all arrant cowards, and fear to approach me--fear even to come into this wood. You would laugh to hear what they are afraid of--a child would laugh to hear it!""What do they fear?" I said, for his words had excited my interest in a great degree.
"Why, sir, would you believe it? They fear this child--my granddaughter, seated there before you. A poor innocent girl of seventeen summers, a Christian who knows her Catechi**, and would not harm the smallest thing that God has made--no, not a fly, which is not regarded on account of its smallness. Why, sir, it is due to her tender heart that you are safely sheltered here, instead of being left out of doors in this tempestuous night.""To her--to this girl?" I returned in astonishment. "Explain, old man, for I do not know how I was saved.""Today, senor, through your own heedlessness you were bitten by a venomous snake.""Yes, that is true, although I do not know how it came to your knowledge. But why am I not a dead man, then--have you done something to save me from the effects of the poison?""Nothing. What could I do so long after you were bitten? When a man is bitten by a snake in a solitary place he is in God's hands. He will live or die as God wills. There is nothing to be done. But surely, sir, you remember that my poor grandchild was with you in the wood when the snake bit you?""A girl was there--a strange girl I have seen and heard before when I have walked in the forest. But not this girl--surely not this girl!""No other," said he, carefully rolling up another cigarette.
"It is not possible!" I returned.
"III would you have fared, sir, had she not been there. For after being bitten, you rushed away into the thickest part of the wood, and went about in a circle like a demented person for Heaven knows how long. But she never left you; she was always close to you--you might have touched her with your hand. And at last some good angel who was watching you, in order to stop your career, made you mad altogether and caused you to jump over a precipice and lose your senses. And you were no sooner on the ground than she was with you--ask me not how she got down! And when she had propped you up against the bank, she came for me.
Fortunately the spot where you had fallen is near--not five hundred yards from the door. And I, on my part, was willing to assist her in saving you; for I knew it was no Indian that had fallen, since she loves not that breed, and they come not here.
It was not an easy task, for you weigh, senor; but between us we brought you in."While he spoke, the girl continued sitting in the same listless attitude as when I first observed her, with eyes cast down and hands folded in her lap. Recalling that brilliant being in the wood that had protected the serpent from me and calmed its rage, I found it hard to believe his words, and still felt a little incredulous.
"Rime--that is your name, is it not?" I said. "Will you come here and stand before me, and let me look closely at you?""Si, senor." she meekly answered; and removing the things from her lap, she stood up; then, passing behind the old man, came and stood before me, her eyes still bent on the ground--a picture of humility.
She had the figure of the forest girl, but wore now a scanty faded cotton garment, while the loose cloud of hair was confined in two plaits and hung down her back. The face also showed the same delicate lines, but of the brilliant animation and variable colour and expression there appeared no trace. Gazing at her countenance as she stood there silent, shy, and spiritless before me, the image of her brighter self came vividly to my mind and Icould not recover from the astonishment I felt at such a contrast.
