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Updated: June 23, 2025
There, hospitable as he was, like all the Portuguese of the old race, Magalhaes lived with his daughter Yaquita, who after the death of her mother had taken charge of his household. Magalhaes was an excellent worker, inured to fatigue, but lacking education.
Yes, the islands are beautiful, but, beautiful as they are, they cannot equal the one we have made our own!" "My little Minha is enthusiastic to-day," said the padre. "Ah, padre! I am so happy to see everybody happy around me!" At this moment the voice of Yaquita was heard calling Minha into the house. The young girl smilingly ran off. "You will have an amiable companion," said the padre.
What he was writing about he told to nobody, not even Yaquita, and it seemed to have already assumed the importance of a veritable essay. Benito, all observation, chatted with the pilot and acted as manager. Yaquita, her daughter, and Manoel, nearly always formed a group apart, discussing their future projects just as they had walked and done in the park of the fazenda.
The girl arose, ashy pale, as if she would seek shelter by the side of her mother. Yaquita opened her arms to protect, to defend her. "Father," said Benito, who had placed himself between Joam Garral and Torres, "what were you going to say?" "I was going to say," answered Joam Garral, raising his voice, "that to wait for our arrival in Para for the wedding of Minha and Manoel is to wait too long.
Why, on the other hand, did he not participate in this desire to become acquainted with her who was to be the second mother of his child? Yaquita took her husband's hand, and with that gentle voice which had been to him all the music of his life: "Joam," she said, "I am going to talk to you about something which we ardently wish, and which will make you as happy as we are."
In the meantime Yaquita, her daughter, and the young mulatto, accompanied by Manoel, went for a walk in the neighborhood, leaving Benito to settle with the commandant about the tolls he being chief of the custom-house as well as of the military establishment. That done, Benito, as was his wont, strolled off with his gun into the adjoining woods.
After twenty-three years of exile I have come to give myself up! Here I am; judge me again!" The death of Torres, the impossibility of reading the document found on him, had thus not produced on Joam Dacosta the impression which it had on his children, his friends, his household, and all who were interested in him. "I have faith in my innocence," he repeated to Yaquita, "as I have faith in God.
Benito was quite overwhelmed, and accused himself of having destroyed his father, and had it not been for the entreaties of Yaquita, of his sister, of Padre Passanha, and of Manoel, the distracted youth would in the first moments of despair have probably made away with himself. But he was never allowed to get out of sight; he was never left alone. And besides, how could he have acted otherwise?
There was evidently some hesitation which he was anxious to overcome, even some trouble which his wife felt but could not explain. A secret battle was being fought under that thoughtful brow. Yaquita got anxious, and almost reproached herself for raising the question. Anyhow, she was resigned to what Joam should decide.
Yaquita and her party were received by the commandant of the fort, a poor fellow who, however, knew the laws of hospitality, and offered them some breakfast in his cottage. Here and there passed and repassed several soldiers on guard, while on the threshold of the barrack appeared a few children, with their mothers of Ticuna blood, affording very poor specimens of the mixed race.
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