it has been since yesterday that you have not eaten! You will die famished—it is a mortal sin to starve one's self to death."
"I have no heart for food, Aunt Carlota," Helena sighed.
"Three days is as long as any Christian being can live without eating, and it is now more than one. You must eat, my little dove."
"I have a banquet of bitter herbs tonight. I shall not die of hunger."
"You should not be bitter in your heart toward Don Abrahan, my sweet pigeon. What Don Abrahan proposes is only a subterfuge to save your property; in the end he will give it back to you again. Don Abrahan has told me this with his own mouth."
"Don Abrahan has been more generous to you than he has been to me."
"He is a good man, Helena; a kind and gentle man. 'Pray for me, Doña Carlota,' he requested me not an hour ago."
"Eat your supper first, then, Auntie Carlota. You will need great strength and endurance for that task."
"You must not scoff at prayers," Doña Carlota rebuked her.
"Not I."
Helena was standing before the window, the long leaves of which opened into the room. Her hands were white on the bars where she grasped them as if to draw herself to the window-ledge.
