The eyes deep sunk in the sockets without eyebrows or eyelashes, with the pupils still beautiful, but dulled with a glassy opacity.

Everything about her revealed poverty and desolation; the dress was a summer one, and from under it showed her split boots much too large for her feet.
"Salute him, child," said the old woman.

"It is your Uncle Gabriel, one of God's angels, in spite of his misfortunes, and you owe it to him that we searched for you." The gardener's widow pushed Sagrario towards her Uncle, but the young woman lowered her head, moved her shoulders and drew back, as though she could not endure the presence of a member of her family; she covered her face with her wretched cloak to hide her tears.
"Aunt, let us go home," said Gabriel, "it is not good for the child to be here." At the cloister staircase they made the young woman pass on in front; she went up with her head bent and without looking, as though her feet trod those broken steps instinctively.
"We arrived from Madrid this morning," said the gardener's widow as they went up.

"I kept her at an inn till it was time to bring her to the Cathedral in the evening.

It is the best time, for Esteban is in the choir, and you will have time to settle things here.