CHAPTER VIIIt was in the later day that Morayma came to Angelica, where she still sat apart in a mood of rebellion against the fate that was closing her in. The call of sea and wind and the wide freedom of life became louder and more alluring as it seemed more hopeless that she could accept its charm. She had all the hunger of youth and she looked down on a meal which was to lie for a lifetime untasted before her eyes. At least, so it seemed to her. The Abbess of Holy Cross, had she been in a confessional mood, might have told her that the plate was not always bare.
“Señor Francisco,” Morayma said, “has sent for some things he needs but lacks time to fetch. There is a yellow scarf which he says you have.”
“Yes. It is in my chest. It has been there since the masquerade. I will get it now.
