Shortly after that, to the surprise of everybody, Mrs. de Barryos did die.

People had expected that she was going to be one of those who lived eternally, eternally complaining, and her death came in the nature of a sort of shock to the community. Carlita was looked upon with general favor, and there were those who, while they sighed, exclaimed to each other consolingly:

"Well it is the first freedom of any sort the poor child ever had. She will grieve, of course, but as soon as the first shock has worn off, she'll be happier than she ever was in her life before."

But any kind of a mother is better than no mother at all, and there was the sincerest sorrow in Carlita's heart. There was enough of the warm Mexican blood in her veins to fill her with a passion that was beyond the understanding of those colder, more northern folk, and she had loved her mother very sincerely. She was frightened, too, at the time of her mother's death by the remembrance of that curse which her mother had impressed upon her many times before the end came, and felt that shrinking sense of loneliness, of bitter oppression, of isolation from all the world that is so hard to bear.

When Jose de Barryos died he left his fortune, and it was considerable, equally to his wife and daughter, the daughter under her guardianship and that of a brother who did not long survive him, so that at the time of Mrs. de Barryos' death there was considerable interest felt as to who she had appointed guardian of her daughter in her own place, Carlita being still under legal age. Some said that she would appoint her husband's sister, Mrs. Erminie Blanchard but there were others who knew that there had not been sufficient friendship between the two women for that, and there was a rustle of excitement felt when two ladies in mourning arrived on the day of the funeral, two women whom none of them had ever seen before, but who went at once to the great de Barryos mansion, for it was nothing less in that country, and established themselves in the house.

There was considerable talk among the neighbors, who stood off and looked at them from a distance like frightened sheep, feeling somehow an embarrassment that they were never known to exhibit before.

Both of them were large women, the elder inclined to be stout, with a waist that was suspiciously small for the size of bust and hips. Her hair was yellow—a brilliant, half-greenish yellow—that contrasted oddly with her very dark eyebrows and black lashes. Her eyes were a dark blue, and her complexion very white and very pink about the cheeks.

She was startlingly young-looking to confess to being the mother of the young woman who accompanied her.

She—the daughter—was a curious contrast to her mother, while following at the same time upon much the same lines. Her hair was red—that glorious dark rich auburn—her eyes dark brown and rather fine, her complexion singularly like that of her mother. She was not beautiful—not even pretty—but there was a certain sort of dangerous fascination about her that even inexperienced people recognized.

Carlita rather gasped when they bore down upon her suddenly the day of her mother's funeral, their mourning was so heavy, so crisp, so new, and they gushed over her in such a curious way, calling her "a dear thing!" "darling!" and all the rest of it, which was quite new to Carlita, and they took such absolute possession of everything. But she explained it all to herself by remembering that letter which her mother had received signed "Jessica," and tried to be satisfied.

When the will was read, the good people understood it all better.

Mrs. Louise Chalmers has been appointed guardian of the orphaned heiress, and Mrs. Louise Chalmers was that rather large, rather showy, rather overdressed, while yet in mourning, woman, and to her had been left an income of eight thousand dollars a year so long as she remained Carlita's guardian.

Her black-bordered handkerchief was pressed very closely to her eyes during the reading of the will; but although an occasional sob was heard by those who sat nearest to her, there wasn't an atom of moisture on the handkerchief when it was removed. Her little, black King Charles spaniel fidgeted and sneezed on her lap during the entire time, not quite able to comprehend why he should be neglected for the first time in all his absurdly spoiled life.

It did not seem quite appropriate to those plain Southern folks that Mrs. Chalmers should hold a dog on her lap during the reading of her old friend's will; but they rather forgave her when she went up to Carlita, and, in a really very pretty way, put her arms about the young orphan's neck, and said in her sweetest and most maternal voice:

"I can not take your mother's place, my darling, but I shall try to be a second one to you. It is a very sacred trust that she has left me, and I shall try with all my heart to be worthy of it."

And she immediately took the place of "second mother," taking the direction of everything in her own hands with a clear sweep that rather staggered Carlita. Her mother had been ill for five years before her death, as has already been told, and the girl had been housekeeper in entire charge, so that to be so completely swept aside in her own domain was something which she had not calculated upon. Still, she submitted, because there did not seem to be anything else to be done.

There were not many changes made in the house, because practically there was no way of making them. The town was not full of opportunities. The people were slow and inactive. Jose de Barryos had owned a huge cotton plantation just outside the limits of the town, and had been contented to have his dwelling-place there, though it must be confessed that he had not spent much of his time at home. He and his wife had not agreed sufficiently well to permit their living very comfortably under the same roof for any length of time together. And she had remained there after his death because she lacked the energy to do anything else.

But it was not the sort of place in which Mrs. Chalmers could be long content. She was not surprised, as she sat one evening upon the lawn near the fountain, with the sweet southern air blowing lazily about her, to receive a visit from her daughter.

The girl threw herself upon the grass and looked up indolently.

"I say," she exclaimed in a tone that was low, almost thrilling, "this is dead slow! And I am tired of the whole thing. I don't think I could stand it another week for all the fortune that black thing possesses!"

"Jessica!"

"Oh, bah! You are doing the delicately virtuous with a vengeance, and it is that which adds to my ennui almost more than this enervating atmosphere. Call a halt, can't you? One can't speak of that little backwoods thing but you are up in arms!"

"She is beautiful!"

"Yes; but with about as much style as one of these buzzards that are so disgustingly plentiful. Her big eyes are uncanny, and that chalky complexion looks like the first indication of decay. She looks like one of the mulatto girls that abound in these parts. I am seriously afraid that some one will think that we've brought a negro home with us!"

"Jessica, for the love of Heaven, hush! If she should hear you, she would never forgive you in the world!"

"And what an awful calamity that would be!" sneered the girl, gracefully drawing a blade of long grass through her lips. "This place will be good enough when this absurd time of mourning is passed and we can fill it with guests; but until it is, for the Lord's sake, let's cut it all and run. I can't stand it!"

"We can't leave her."

"Of course, we can't—worse luck—but surely you have not lost your cunning in the development of romance. You can make her see the absolute necessity for change of air and scene. You don't need a better ally than that chalky complexion of hers. Get me out of it, or I shall do something disgraceful."

"Where shall we go?"

"Anywhere. I suppose we've got to draw it mild on her pocket-book for a while; but—well, the opera season has opened in New York, and there will be something to live for. After that, we can go over the pond for a while and—"

"Why don't you try to use a little less slang, Jessica?"

"Because slang is strictly in my line, Miss Virtuous. Look here! It is quite sufficient to be on my p's and q's when our little mulatto is around, without getting qualms and—and things. I say, when are you going to propose the New York plan?"

"You really think it best?"

"Best or worst, it's going to be done. Great Scott! think of it! We've been buried in this hole for three weeks now. Not a glass of champagne, not the face of a man, not a single game of poker—nothing to relieve the dread monotony. I'd be in a mad-house in three weeks more! Besides all that, I'm dead tired of this black toggery."

"You mean to take it off when you get back to New York?"

"Take it off!" echoed the young lady, looking up in astonishment. "Well, rather!"

"What will Carlita think?"

"What, in Heaven's name, do you suppose I care what she thinks? Did you really believe that I intend to pass the rest of my life guarded from evil by the fear of Carlita's displeasure? If such an idea has ever disturbed you, put it away at once. She will very soon find her level in my life, and in yours, if I mistake not. When will you speak to her about our going?"

"Tomorrow, if you really wish it."

"You'd better make it tonight. There is no time like the present. I shall sleep better if I know the matter is settled."

"And if she should refuse?"

The girl lifted herself upon her elbow and opened her eyes very wide.

"Refuse!" she exclaimed. "Heavens and earth! Whence did you acquire this new-born submission? I'm positively afraid the mulatto is affecting your brain. Is she your guardian, or are you hers? Go in there and tell her that you are going, and that she is going with you. It is quite enough. Just let that settle it. Don't begin with anything like questioning her inclination, or you may have cause to regret it by and by. Come, toddle along now, and I will wait for you here."

The girl lay indolently back upon the grass, and her mother arose, albeit with a sigh.