The two had never quarreled; no angry word
had ever passed between them: their mutual understanding,
moreover, had been almost more than human, and where the one was
concerned the other had been utterly unselfish. To lose Esteban,
therefore, split the girl's soul and heart asunder; she felt that
she could not stand without him. Born into the world at the same
hour, welded into unity by their mother's supreme pain, the boy
and girl were of the same flesh and spirit; they were animated by
the same life-current. Never had the one been ill but that the
other had suffered corresponding symptoms; never had the one been
sad or gay but that the other had felt a like reaction.
Personalities so closely knit together are not uncommon, and to
sever them is often dangerous.
Into Rosa's life, however, there had come one interest which she
could not share with her twin--that was her love for O'Reilly.
Spanish-reared women, as a rule, do not play with love; when it
comes they welcome it, even though it be that first infatuation so
often scorned by older, colder people. So it was with Rosa Varona.
Whatever might have been the true nature of her first feeling for
the Irish-American, suffering and meditation had deepened and
strengthened it into a mature and genuine passion. As the wise men
of old found wisdom in cave or desert, so Rosa in her solitude had
learned the truth about herself.
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