The Doomswoman

Doomswoman, by Gertrude
Franklin Horn Atherton

Project Gutenberg's The Doomswoman, by Gertrude Franklin Horn
Atherton This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and
with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away
or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: The Doomswoman An Historical Romance of Old California
Author: Gertrude Franklin Horn Atherton
Release Date: May 5, 2004 [EBook #12270]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE
DOOMSWOMAN ***

Produced by Leah Moser and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team.

[Illustration: Gertrude Atherton PHOTOGRAPHED BY MRS.
LOUNSBERY]
THE DOOMSWOMAN

An Historical Romance of Old California
By
Gertrude Atherton
[Illustration]

1900

To
STEPHEN FRANKLIN

THE DOOMSWOMAN.

I.
It was at Governor Alvarado's house in Monterey that Chonita first
knew of Diego Estenega. I had told him much of her, but had never
cared to mention the name of Estenega in the presence of an Iturbi y
Moncada.
Chonita came to Monterey to stand godmother to the child of Alvarado
and of her friend Doña Martina, his wife. She arrived the morning
before the christening, and no one thought to tell her that Estenega was
to be godfather. The house was full of girls, relatives of the young
mother, gathered for the ceremony and subsequent week of festivities.
Benicia, my little one, was at the rancho with Ysabel Herrera, and I was
staying with the Alvarados. So many were the guests that Chonita and I
slept together. We had not seen each other for a year, and had so much
to say that we did not sleep at all. She was ten years younger than I, but
we were as close friends as she with her alternate frankness and reserve

would permit. But I had spent several months of each year since
childhood at her home in Santa Barbara, and I knew her better than she
knew herself; when, later, I read her journal, I found little in it to
surprise me, but much to fill and cover with shapely form the skeleton
of the story which passed in greater part before my eyes.
We were discussing the frivolous mysteries of dress, if I remember
aright, when she laid her hand on my mouth suddenly.
"Hush!" she said.
A caballero serenaded his lady at midnight in Monterey.
The tinkle of a guitar, the jingling of spurs, fell among the strong tones
of a man's voice.
Chonita had been serenaded until she had fled to the mountains for
sleep, but she crept to the foot of the bed and knelt there, her hand at
her throat. A door opened, and, one by one, out of the black beyond,
five white-robed forms flitted into the room. They looked like puffs of
smoke from a burning moon. The heavy wooden shutters were open,
and the room was filled with cold light.
The girls waltzed on the bare floor, grouped themselves in
mock-dramatic postures, then, overcome by the strange magnetism of
the singer, fell into motionless attitudes, listening intently. How well I
remember that picture, although I have almost forgotten the names of
the girls!
In the middle of the room two slender figures embraced each other,
their black hair falling loosely over their white gowns. On the
window-step knelt a tall girl, her head pensively supported by her hand,
a black shawl draped gracefully about her; at her feet sat a girl with
head bowed to her knees. Between the two groups was a solitary figure,
kneeling with hand pressed to the wall and face uplifted.
When the voice ceased I struck a match, and five pairs of little hands
applauded enthusiastically. He sang them another song, then galloped

away.
"It is Don Diego Estenega," said one of the girls. "He rarely sings, but I
have heard him before."
"An Estenega!" exclaimed Chonita.
"Yes; of the North, thou knowest. His Excellency thinks there is no
man in the Californias like him,--so bold and so smart. Thou
rememberest the books that were burned by the priests when the
governor was a boy, because he had dared to read them, no? Well,
when Diego Estenega heard of that, he made his father send to Boston
and Mexico for those books and many more, and took them up to his
redwood forests in the north, far away from the priests. And they say he
had read other books before, although such a lad; his father had brought
them from Spain, and never cared much for the priests. And he has
been to Mexico and America and Europe! God of my soul! it is said
that he knows more than his Excellency himself,--that his mind works
faster. Ay! but