t, the brown maid of Painnalla
And the pale, blushing rose of the island,--
Malinche and sad Catalina.
The Dona gave voice to her murmur
In words that were pungent and bitter,
Reproaching the maid for the beauty
That had stolen the heart of her husband.
But Malinche returned no reproaches
When she heard the whole truth from the Dona;
But her tears, as the dew of the morning,
Which like diamonds filled her dark lashes,
Smote the tender heart of the maiden:

"O maiden, most hard and unconscious!"
Cried Malinche, out of her sobbing,
"Hear the bitter tale of my lifetime;
And the Heavenly melting of pity
Will fill all the place of your loathing."
Then she told her the whole sad story--
How her cruel mother betrayed her,
How she fell a slave to the Chieftain,
And was called upon to interpret.
"But the heart is easily broken,
Fair maiden!" Malinche continued.
"And before I knew, I had fallen;
And I hung on his matchless features,
The wonderful glow of his prowess,
And the liquid flow of his language,
Till I could no longer resist him.
I thought I was free to embrace him,
And I gave my whole life to his keeping.
How I thrilled to his first caressing,
And panted to gather his kisses!
How I hung on the lips of the morning
That shadowed his life with new danger!
Could I die for the love I bore him,
I would pity the weight of the casket
That gave such a featherlike measure;
Could I stand in the breach of danger
To shelter his form from the missile,
I could mourn that the Father had given
But only one heart for the arrow.
I loved him! I loved him! I loved him!
And this is my furtherest pleading."

And long ere Malinche had finished
The Dona had mingled her weeping,
And each held the hand of the other
In truce of their worthless repining;
And Malinche, as Magdalene,
Would have washed the feet of her Master,
But the Dona rather preferred her
As companion and friend in pastime;
So they passed their time in the solace