My singing ceased suddenly,
and I stood for some moments gazing admiringly at the shy, rustic
beauty.
"What a distance you have walked to gather lilies, Monica!" I said,
approaching her. "Will you give me one of your stalks?"
"They were gathered for the Virgin, so I cannot give away any of these,"
she replied. "If you will wait here under the trees I will find one
to give you."
I agreed to wait for her; then, placing the cluster she had gathered
on the grass, she left me. Before long she returned with a stalk,
round, polished, slender, like a pipe-stem, and crowned with its cluster
of three splendid crimson flowers.
When I had sufficiently thanked her and admired it, I said, "What boon
are you going to ask from the Virgin, Monica, when you offer her these
flowers--safety for your lover in the wars?"
"No, senor; I have no offering to make, and no boon to ask. They are
for my aunt; I offered to gather them for her, because--I wished to
meet you here."
"To meet me, Monica--what for?"
"To ask for a story, senor," she replied, colouring and with a shy
glance at my face.
"Ah, we have had stories enough," I said. "Remember poor Anita running
away this morning to look for a playmate in the wet mist."
"She is a child; I am a woman."
"Then, Monica, you must have a lover who will be jealous if you listen
to stories from a stranger's lips in this lonely spot.
Pages:
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157