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A legend of Sonora by Hildegarde Hawthorn. Two persons, a man and a

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woman, faced each other under a
clump of live oaks. Hard by were

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visible the walls of an adobe house
crumbling with age. The sun was setting.

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A slight breeze stirred in the dark
branches of the trees, which,

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all through the hot Mexican day had
been motionless. The woman was dark and

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small, with large eyes and a
graceful body. The man a swarthy vocaro

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in sarope and sombrero. And you
heard him say that, said she,

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yes, Senorita. He said I
love you. I love you twice like

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that, and then he kissed her. Ah, he kissed her anything else

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this He handed her a slip of
folded paper. It contained a woman's name,

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a few words of passion, and
a signature. As the Signorita's eyes

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perused it, they contracted, and
she drew a long breath. The vacara

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watched her keenly. I found it
in the arbor after they had gone,

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said he. She looked away dreamily. Thank you, thank you, Mazeppa.

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She muttered, It is late,
I must go in now. Adios

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Mazeppa. She turned and moving slowly
vanished behind a corner of the adobe house.

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The Vaccaro remained motionless until she was
out of sight. Then he pressed

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his hands to his lips and flung
them out toward her with a passionate gesture.

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The next moment he had mounted his
horse and was gone. An hour

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past again the sound of hoofs,
a handsome young signor, jauntily attired,

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galloped up to the door of the
house, and, springing from the saddle,

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hitched his rein over a large hook
projecting from the wall. Ollah Maria,

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little one, he called out,
in a rich, joyous voice.

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Where is my little Maria? The
senorita appeared, smiling. She was in

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white, with a riboso drawn around
her delicate face. She bore a two

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handled silver cup. Curiously chaste,
see, she said, I have brought

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you some wine. Such a long
ride, just see me. She was

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holding out the cup toward him,
but as he was about to receive it,

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she drew it back. Suddenly,
she was pale, her eyes glittered.

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I too am thirsty, she said. She lifted the cup to her

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lips and took a deep draft.
Now you shall finish it, she added,

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handing it to him. He nodded
to her laughingly. To our love,

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he said, and drained it.
But how strangely you look at me,

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little one, he exclaimed, as
he set the cup down and caught

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his breath. Is anything wrong?
All is well? She answered? I

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am happy? Are you happy?
I? I am with you? Am

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I not? She put her hand
in his. Let us never be parted

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any more, She said, Come, we'll walk to the hilltop and see

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the moon rise. Hand in hand, they sauntered along the path up the

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bare hillside. On and on they
walked, slowly, slowly. Maria gave

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a little gasp and glanced with dilated
eyes at her lover. He smiled faintly

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and tried to draw her toward him, but somehow did not, And still

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they moved slowly on their way.
The hilltop seemed strangely far off. Maria

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pressed forward, grasping her lover's hand. What made the distance seem so long?

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Surely it was but a stroll of
ten minutes, Yet it was as

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though they had been walking an hour
a year many years. Down the hillside

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path came a horseman, riding quietly
and humming a low song. He was

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close upon the two figures before he
appeared to be aware of them. They

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half stopped as if to speak to
him. The horse shivered and plunged.

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The rider stared at the couple,
but an instant then, driving home his

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spurs, he sprang past them.
Mother of God, he faltered, crossing

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himself as he threw a backward glance
up the path, on which nothing was

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now visible. The ghosts the little
girl who they say down below poisoned herself

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and her lover fifty years ago.
End of a Legend of Sonora by Hildegarde Hawthorn