But to return to my story. I went to post the letter and Miranda followed me and seized me by the arm, and heaped insults upon me, calling me all sorts of bad names, and, what I felt more than all, insulting my father. Poor, dear father! How is he to blame for what I may do? Tell him nothing of all this, Father Urtazu, for the love of God! I was so indignant that I answered him haughtily, and then went and shut myself up into my room. I feel as crushed as if the house had fallen in upon me.
My health is beginning to suffer from all these things. Tell Señor Velez de Rada that when he sees me he will no longer be pleased with my looks. My head is dizzy just now and I often have severe fits of giddiness. Good-by, father; advise me, for I am bewildered by all this. Sometimes I think I have done wrong, and again I think I am not in any way to blame. Is pity a sin? When I look into my heart I find only pity there; nothing more.
Excuse the writing, for my hand trembles greatly. Write soon, for charity’s sake, for we are shortly to leave this place, and I should like to receive a letter from you before we go. Your respectful daughter in Jesus Christ,
To those familiar with the conversational style of Father Urtazu, and who desire to have some knowledge of the epistolary style employed by so learned a man, the following letter will afford satisfaction:
LUCIGÜELA OF MY SINS: Ah, child, how well we know how to represent things so as to put our dear little selves in the best light! Pity, eh? I’ll give you pity! You did wrong, and very wrong, to write that letter without your husband’s knowledge, and I am not surprised that he should have behaved like a very dragon about it. You should have asked his permission; and if he had refused it--patience! Did I not tell you, child, that to be a good wife and to make the journey in peace you should put a couple of arrobas of patience in your trunks? We forget to do that, and this is the result. Go, unlucky child, and buy a supply of patience now where you are, and feed upon it, for you stand sorely in need of it. Your husband ought not to have insulted your good, kind father (although in some respects he deserves it, and I know myself the reason why), but remember that he was angry, and when one is excited,--I, who have a hot temper myself, can make allowance for him! As I said before, patience, patience, and no more clandestine notes. What call had you to turn preacher? And there is no need to grieve. God tightens the cord, but he does not strangle; he is no executioner, and perhaps when you least expect it, he will send you consolation--as a gift, and not because of your own merits. And good-by, for the mail is closing; and besides, I have the lungs of a frog on the slide of a microscope, and I am going to study the manner in which those little people breathe. Remember to say a few prayers, eh? And that will take down our pride a little. The blessing of God and of San Ignacio be with you, child.