Moreover, her fine cambric shirt embellished with bright flowers and
gold ornaments fitted so closely as to betray the outlines of her
harmonious figure. Wound ten times round her neck she wore a necklace
of gold coins extending down to her bosom. As she rode along (and she
sat astride her saddle like a man), every now and then one could catch
glimpses beneath her variegated girdle of her red morocco boots and of a
Turkish dagger, with a massive silver handle, gleaming forth from their
shafts. On each side of her holsters peeped forth a double-barrelled
pistol with an ivory handle.
When the old man stopped to water his horse at the spring gushing forth
from the black slate rock, he said to the girl: "Anicza, when did you
speak last with Fatia Negra?"
"Just a month ago. It was at the time of the full moon, like it is now.
He then said that he was going away on a long journey."
"And yet he has already been at home these two days. I saw his sign over
against my window."
"Impossible. It cannot be," cried the girl passionately.
"What cannot be? Do you think I am dreaming or lying?"
"If he were at home, he would have come to see me ere this."
The old man shrugged his shoulders.
"And yet he did not come. But the day before yesterday, about midnight,
I found the three owl-feathers there in the window."
"The wind carried them thither."
"The wind did not carry them thither for they were stuck fast in putty.
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