"She's too close to that well.
There is--" He started forward a pace or two. "They say people who
walk at night go mad if they're awakened too suddenly, and yet--"
Dona Isabel was talking in a low, throaty, unnatural tone. Her
words were meaningless, but the effect, at that hour and in those
surroundings, was bizarre and fearsome. Esteban felt his scalp
prickling uncomfortably. This was very creepy.
When the somnambulist's deliberate progress toward the mouth of
the well continued he called her name softly. "Dona Isabel!" Then
he repeated it louder. "Dona Isabel! Wake up."
The woman seemed to hear and yet not to hear. She turned her head
to listen, but continued to walk.
"Don't be alarmed," he said, reassuringly. "It is only Esteban--
DONA ISABEL! STOP!" Esteban sprang forward, shouting at the top of
his voice, for at the sound of his name Isabel had abruptly
swerved to her right, a movement which brought her dangerously
close to the lip of the well.
"STOP! GO BACK!" screamed the young man.
Above his warning there came a shriek, shrill and agonized--a wail
of such abysmal terror as to shock the night birds and the insects
into stillness. Dona Isabel slipped, or stumbled, to her knees,
she balanced briefly, clutching at random while the earth and
crumbling cement gave way beneath her; then she slid forward and
disappeared, almost out from between Esteban's hands.
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