Page 533 - nostromo-a-tale-of-the-seaboard

Thus Captain Mitchell would talk in the middle of the
Plaza, holding over his head a white umbrella with a green
lining; but inside the cathedral, in the dim light, with a faint
scent of incense floating in the cool atmosphere, and here
and there a kneeling female figure, black or all white, with a
veiled head, his lowered voice became solemn and impres-
sive.
‘Here,’ he would say, pointing to a niche in the wall of the
dusky aisle, ‘you see the bust of Don Jose Avellanos, ‘Pa-
triot and Statesman,’ as the inscription says, ‘Minister to
Courts of England and Spain, etc., etc., died in the woods
of Los Hatos worn out with his lifelong struggle for Right
and Justice at the dawn of the New Era.’ A fair likeness.
Parrochetti’s work from some old photographs and a pen-
cil sketch by Mrs. Gould. I was well acquainted with that
distinguished Spanish-American of the old school, a true
Hidalgo, beloved by everybody who knew him. The marble
medallion in the wall, in the antique style, representing a
veiled woman seated with her hands clasped loosely over
her knees, commemorates that unfortunate young gen-
tleman who sailed out with Nostromo on that fatal night,
sir. See, ‘To the memory of Martin Decoud, his betrothed
Antonia Avellanos.’ Frank, simple, noble. There you have
that lady, sir, as she is. An exceptional woman. Those who
thought she would give way to despair were mistaken, sir.
She has been blamed in many quarters for not having taken
the veil. It was expected of her. But Dona Antonia is not the
stuff they make nuns of. Bishop Corbelan, her uncle, lives
with her in the Corbelan town house. He is a fierce sort of

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard