United States or Botswana ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
It was, however, no part of Mazzolin's policy to allow him for one moment to forget the reverence due the marble images that looked so calmly down from their niches, and with a stern glance he pointed to them, crossing himself as he did so. "Señor Austin is in the Calaboose," he said, after a pause. Mazzolin started, and looked keenly at him, as if striving to read his inmost thoughts.
Her hand had been promised from infancy to her orphan cousin, Mañuel Nevarro, whose possessions were nearly as extensive as her own. This he positively refused to do, but promising, at Father Mazzolin's suggestion, that she should have a few more months of freedom, she apparently acquiesced. Among the peculiar customs of Mexicans, was a singular method of celebrating St. 's day.
All trace of anger was removed from Nevarro's brow, and Father Mazzolin's countenance wore the impenetrable cast he ever assumed in public. It was his business expression, the mask behind which he secretly drew the strings, and lured his dupes into believing him a disinterested and self-denying pastor, whose only aim in life was to promote the welfare and happiness of his flock.
He had not proceeded far, when a hand was laid upon his arm, and turning, with somewhat pugnacious intentions, encountered Father Mazzolin's piercing black eyes. "Bueño tarde, Padre." The black eyes rested on Nevarro with an expression which seemed to demand an explanation of his choler. Mañuel moved uneasily; the hot blood glowed in his swarthy cheek, and swelled like cords on the darkened brow.
Word Of The Day