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Speaker 1: A legend of Sonora by Hildegarde Hawthorne. Two persons, a

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man and a woman, faced each other under a clump

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of live oaks. Hard by were visible the walls of

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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

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woman was dark and small, with large eyes and a

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graceful body. The man a swarthy vicaro in serape and sombrero.

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And you heard him say that, said she, yes, Senorita.

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He said I love you. I love you twice like that,

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

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else this He handed her a slip of folded paper.

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It contained a woman's name, a few words of passion,

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and a signature. As the Signorita's eyes perused it, they contracted,

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and she drew a long breath. The vicero watched her keenly.

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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,

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Adius Mazeppa. She turned, and, moving slowly vanished behind a

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corner of the adobe house. The Valkio remained motionless until

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she was out of sight. Then he pressed his hands

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to his lips and flung them out toward her with

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a passionate gesture. The next moment he had mounted his

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horse and was gone. A hour passed again the sound

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of hoofs. A handsome young signor, jauntily attired, galloped up

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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.

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O l Ah, Maria, little one, he called out, in

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a rich, joyous voice. Where is my little Maria? The

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senorita appeared, smiling. She was in white, with a riboso

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drawn around her delicate face. She bore a two handled

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silver cup. Curiously chased see, she said, I have brought

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you some wine. Such a long ride just to see me.

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She was holding out the cup toward him, but as

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he was about to receive it, she drew it back. Suddenly,

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she was pale, her eyes glittered. I too am thirsty,

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she said. She lifted the cup to her lips and

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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

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our love, he said, and drained it. But how strangely

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you look at me, little one, he exclaimed, as he

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set the cup down and caught his breath. Is anything wrong?

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All is well? She answered? I am happy? Are you happy? I?

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I am with you? Am I not? She put her

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hand in his. Let us never be parted any more,

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She said, Come, we'll walk to the hill top and

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see the moon rise. Hand in hand, they sauntered along

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the path up the bare hill side. On and on

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they walked, slowly, slowly. Maria gave a little gasp and

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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,

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And still they moved slowly on their way. The hilltop

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seemed strangely far off. Maria pressed forward, grasping her lover's hand.

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What made the distance seem so long? Surely it was

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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.

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Down the hillside path came a horseman, riding quietly and

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humming a love song. He was close upon the two

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figures before he appeared to be aware of them. The

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half stopped as if to speak to him. The horse

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shivered and plunged. The rider stared at the couple, but

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an instant then, driving home his spurs, he sprang past them.

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Mother of God, he faltered, crossing himself as he threw

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a backward glance up the path, on which nothing was

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now visible. The ghosts the little girl who they say

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down below poisoned herself and her lover fifty years ago.

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And of a legend of Sonora by Hildegarde Hawthorne