It was late when we returned to the house. After reaching my room I
found that I had left my cloak in the arbor. It was a strong fabric: the
dew could not hurt it, but it could hurt my sketching materials and
various trifles in the wide inside pockets--_objets de luxe_ to me,
souvenirs of happy times, little artistic properties that I hang on the
walls of my poor studio when in the city. I went softly out into the
darkness again and sought the arbor: groping on the ground I found, not
the cloak, but--Felipa! She was crouched under the foliage, face
downward: she would not move or answer.
"What is the matter, child?" I said, but she would not speak. I tried to
draw her from her lair, but she tangled herself stubbornly still farther
among the thorny vines, and I could not move her. I touched her neck: it
was cold. Frightened, I ran back to the house for a candle.
"Go away," she said in a low hoarse voice when I flashed the light over
her. "I know all, and I am going to die. I have eaten the poison things
in your box, and just now a snake came on my neck and I let him. He has
bitten me, I suppose, and I am glad. Go away: I am going to die."
I looked around: there was my color-case rifled and empty, and the other
articles were scattered on the ground. "Good Heavens, child!" I cried,
"what have you eaten?"
"Enough," replied Felipa gloomily. "I knew they were poisons: you told
me so. And I let the snake stay.
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