The log cabin in which they found shelter was at least a resting-place. A fire of cedar logs burned upon the hearth, and there was a bed in the room, and a few rude chairs covered with raw hide. But the Senora had a happy smile on her weary face. She ignored the poverty of her surroundings. She had her Roberto, and, for this hour at least, had forgiven fate.
Presently the coffee-pot was boiling, and Doctor Worth and Luis brought out their small store of corn-bread and their tin camp-cups, and the weary women ate and drank, and comforted themselves in the love and protection at their side. Doctor Worth sat by his wife, and gave Antonia his hand. Isabel leaned her pretty head against Luis, and listened with happy smiles to his low words:
“Charming little one, your lips are two crimson curtains. Between curtain and curtain my kiss is waiting. Give it to me.”
“Eyes of my soul, to-night the world begins again for me.”
“At this blessed hour of God, I am the happiest man he has made.”
“As for me, here in this dear, white hand I put my heart.”
Is there any woman who cannot imagine Isabel’s shy glances, and the low, sweet words in which she answered such delightful protestations? And soon, to add a keener zest to his happiness, Luis began to be a little jealous.
“With us is Dias de Bonilla. Do you remember, my beloved one, that you danced with him once?”
“How can you say a thing so offensive?”
“Yes, dear, at the Senora Valdez’s.”