About noon she left the house, with the dwarf following her to the gate, which, when she had passed he barred more securely than ever.
For some days Crimson Tuft worked diligently over the papers. There were deeds of haciendas and mines, mortgages, and grants of land, and many long, intricate pages of law papers. Really to copy all these was a task, and Crimson Tuft was filled with amazement at the greatness of the old señora’s possessions.
At last they were all finished, and locked up by the dwarf in the iron-bound oaken chest, and that again was locked in the great closet, and the dwarf carried the key. So it was very secure.
Still the old señora did not return! “Now the time has come,” thought Crimson Tuft, “I must escape.” But that was easier planned than done. Everywhere the dwarf followed him, and when Crimson Tuft grew angry he laid his heavy hand upon his arm, saying, “from the first I have loved you, boy,--believe me it will all be well--only wait a little longer.”
Then Crimson Tuft took his hard, honest hand, saying, “you alone have loved me, and for your sake I will wait, but not long, I _can not_--do not ask it.”
One evening, about a week after this, the bell rang, and the señora entered, followed by a most beautiful little maiden about twelve years of age.
She was dressed in mourning, with a black shawl about her head; her long glossy hair hung carelessly over her graceful shoulders; her complexion was a clear olive, and her skin soft and smooth as satin; while her large, dark eyes had a depth as of the mystic sea, and a pure clear look as of heaven.
They were more beautiful than any thing Crimson Tuft had ever seen, and some how they startled him. It was not like the old vision, yet it touched him more deeply--this was of the present--that of the past.
“This is my only granddaughter,” said the old woman to the dwarf and Crimson Tuft. Both bowed very low to the pretty señorita. They were such a queer-looking pair, that she clapped her dainty little hands together laughing in a pure ringing tone, clear as the notes of a silver bell.
Poor Crimson Tuft was very much confused, for to him the young Donna Leota was the first dream of beauty that had kindled the dawning fire of manhood in his heart, and he was ready to bow down and kiss her foot-prints in the sand.