"Bah! 'tis quite the contrary with me. I should give thanks to God that I have been undeceived in time. Somehow I have always suspected that the girl was in love with Castell, although Emilio and Sabas were so certain of something else. And, to be frank, I also love someone else better."
"Then why don't you marry her?"
"Because, because—I don't know why; that is to say, if I knew and if you also knew—but there are things that I do not care to confess to myself."
These words made her look troubled. I was repentant at once, as the rays of the moon let me see on her forehead that frown dreaded of yore.
"No, Cristina, no!" I hastened to say vehemently, "I beg you not to think that which I read in your eyes. I have been through bitter struggles, despairing conflicts with myself. I have stumbled, and fallen too, but I have risen; and—I can say it without pride—never shall treachery find shelter in my breast. I have not Castell's brilliant qualities. I am far from possessing the advantages that make that man admired and sought after; but if I possessed them all, I swear I would not use them to stab a friend in the back. Far more than the satisfactions of love, more than all the enjoyments of earth—and even those of heaven if they were offered me—I hold the peace of my own conscience."
The warmth of my tones and the sincerity of expression with which I uttered these words made her lift her head and look at me in a slight amaze. Her brow grew calm, and a sweet smile lingered upon her lips.
"Yes, I have already come to see that you are more original in that way than could at first have been imagined. I think it much better this way."
And saying so, she graciously held out her hand to me, and I pressed it with as much respect as emotion. At this moment a shadow fell across us, then one appeared before us, saying:
"Good-evening."
Both Cristina and I were painfully startled.