From that cruel moment he was deprived of
reason; and to that calamity we owe it that he was not put to death
and that our enemies ceased to persecute us."
Demetria shed some tears when telling me this tragical story. Poor
woman, she had said little or nothing about herself, yet how great and
enduring must have been her grief. I was deeply moved, and, taking her
hand, told her how deeply her sad story had pained me. Then she rose
and bade me good night with a sad smile--sad, but the first smile that
had visited her grief-clouded countenance since I had seen her. I could
well imagine that even the sympathy of a stranger must have seemed
sweet to her in that dreary isolation.
After she left me I lit my cigar. The night had lost its ghostly
character and my fantastic superstitions had vanished. I was back once
more in the world of men and women, and could only think of the
inhumanity of man to man, and of the infinite pain silently endured
by many hearts in that Purple Land. The only mystery still unsolved
in that ruinous _estancia_ was Don Hilario, who locked up the
wine and was called _master_ with bitter irony by Ramona, and who
had thought it necessary to apologise to me for depriving me of his
precious company that evening.
CHAPTER XXIV
I spent several days with the Peraltas at their desolate,
_kineless_ cattle-farm, which was known in the country round
simply as _Estancia_ or _Campos de Peralta.
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