VIII

Early in the evening Emma knocked at my door to summon me to the table. I bathed my face to hide the traces of tears, and changed my clothes to give color to my delay. María was not in the dining-room, and in vain I tried to think what might have made her so late. My father noticed the vacant chair, and asked after her. Emma said that María had had a headache all the afternoon, and had already gone to bed. I endeavored to appear unconcerned, and forced myself to speak with enthusiasm of the great improvements I had found in the property. But it was all useless; my father was more tired than I, and went to his room early; Emma and my mother went to put the children to bed, and to see how María was, for which I thanked them in my heart, with no feeling of surprise at that sense of gratitude.

Although Emma came back to the dining-room, we were not long together there. Felipe and Eloisa, who had got me to play cards with them, accused me of falling asleep. Felipe had in vain besought my mother to be allowed to go with me up the mountain in the morning, and on this account he went away unhappy.

Reflecting in my room, I thought I could guess the reason of María’s indisposition. I remembered the abrupt way I had gone out of the parlor, and how I had answered her so inconsiderately, through my effort to repress my own feelings. I would have given my life a thousand times over to obtain her pardon; but a doubt came to aggravate my distress⁠—could I be sure she loved me? Why, I thought, should I try to believe that she loved as I did? I was unworthy of so much beauty and goodness. I accused myself of blind pride in thinking that I might be the object of her love, when all I deserved was her sisterly affection. In my stress of feeling, I looked forward with less dread, no, with pleasure almost, to my coming journey.