"Turn this way," swinging her about; "do not open thy eyes till I tell thee. There—now!"
For an instant the darkness seemed impenetrable; but there was enough of a faint light, rather like pale belated moonbeams than the brightness of the sun, to enable her to read her own name carved upon the smooth wall of rock.
"Ah! little deceiver, when did you do this?" she asked, touched by his gallantry.
"Do this! Why, Pepeeta, I did not do it," he answered, surprised and taken back by her misunderstanding.
"You did not do it?" she asked, astonished in her turn. "Who did it if you did not?"
"Why—can't thee guess?" he asked.
And then it slowly dawned upon her that it was the work of her lover, done in those days when he wandered about the country restless and tormented by his passion. His own dear hand had traced those letters on the rock!
She kissed them, and burst into tears.
This was an indescribable shock to the child, who had anticipated a result so different, and he sprang to her side, embraced her in his young arms and cried:
"What is the matter, Pepeeta? I did not mean to make thee sad; I meant to make thee happy! Oh, do not cry!"