[CHAPTER XXIII]
IN WHICH IT IS PROVED THAT COLD AND LOVE ARE NOT INCOMPATIBLE
The following night had arrived, and was somewhat advanced when the bandits retired to sleep. The much diminished band of the Vengador remained in the same encampment, and Teresa and the page in the same tent.
The night was dark and cold, for it had rained during the evening, and to the rain had succeeded a thick fog, with which the day had ended. Teresa and Guillen were sitting near some badly-burning pieces of wood, the heat of which could not warm the page, for it was deadened by the dampness of the ground, and by the fog, which penetrated the canvas of the tent, almost like an icy fluid.
Teresa was shivering with cold, and a deadly pallor overspread her face; but a pink circle extended around her sweet eyes, a sign that the unhappy girl had been weeping. Tears also had come to the eyes of the youth, although he had done his best to keep them in. Who would formerly have said that the page, so manly, so brave, so joyous, would one day mingle his tears with those of a weak girl? What an affecting sight was that of the poor maiden, with a body so frail and delicate, accustomed to all the comforts of a castle, almost dying of cold and mental prostration, seated on an icy stone, with her feet resting on the wet earth, her clothes saturated with moisture, and with scarce strength enough to approach her hands to the partially extinguished fire; and then that kind-hearted youth, with the robust body, with the brave soul, accustomed to arms, and to manly exercises, trying to cheer her with his words, and cover her with his clothes, timidly warming the hands of the maiden between his own, reviving the fire which was going out, and, after all, his eyes filled with tears, feeling that all his tenderness, all his love, all his efforts, were unavailing to bring comfort to that delicate girl.
"You are very cold, is it not so?" asked Guillen, with all the tenderness, anxiety, and love with which a father could question a dying daughter. "Oh! to see you dying of cold—I who would wish to see you seated on a throne! Are you very cold?"
"Yes, Guillen," answered the girl, shivering, "I am very cold."
The page, who had already covered Teresa with his mantle, took off a kind of jacket which he wore, and was about to put it also on her.
"No, no!" exclaimed Teresa, "I will not take your jacket; you will die of cold."