“I say, O’Malley,” cried out Monsoon, as I appeared on the Plaza, “I have accepted an invitation for you to-day. We dine across the river. Be at my quarters a little before six, and we’ll go together.”
I should rather have declined the invitation; but not well knowing why, and having no ready excuse, acceded, and promised to be punctual.
“You were at Don Emanuel’s last night. I heard of you!”
“Yes; I spent a most delightful evening.”
“That’s your ground, my boy. A million of moidores, and such a campagna in Valencia. A better thing than the Dalrymple affair. Don’t blush. I know it all. But stay; here they come.”
As he spoke, the general commanding, with a numerous staff, rode forward. As they passed, I recognized a face which I had certainly seen before, and in a moment remembered it was that of the dragoon of the evening before. He passed quite close, and fixing his eyes steadfastly on me, evinced no sign of recognition.
The parade lasted above two hours; and it was with a feeling of impatience I mounted a fresh horse to canter out to the villa. When I arrived, the servant informed me that Don Emanuel was in the city, but that the senhora was in the garden, offering, at the same time, to escort me. Declining this honor, I intrusted my horse to his keeping and took my way towards the arbor where last I had seen her.
I had not walked many paces, when the sound of a guitar struck on my ear. I listened. It was the senhora’s voice. She was singing a Venetian canzonetta in a low, soft, warbling tone, as one lost in a revery; as though the music was a mere accompaniment to some pleasant thought. I peeped through the dense leaves, and there she sat upon a low garden seat, an open book on the rustic table before her, beside her, embroidery, which seemed only lately abandoned. As I looked, she placed her guitar upon the ground and began to play with a small spaniel that seemed to have waited with impatience for some testimony of favor. A moment more, and she grew weary of this; then, heaving a long but gentle sigh, leaned back upon her chair and seemed lost in thought. I now had ample time to regard her, and certainly never beheld anything more lovely. There was a character of classic beauty, and her brow, though fair and ample, was still strongly marked upon the temples; the eyes, being deep and squarely set, imparted a look of intensity to her features which their own softness subdued; while the short upper lip, which trembled with every passing thought, spoke of a nature tender and impressionable, and yet impassioned. Her foot and ankle peeped from beneath her dark robe, and certainly nothing could be more faultless; while her hand, fair as marble, blue-veined and dimpled, played amidst the long tresses of her hair, that, as if in the wantonness of beauty, fell carelessly upon her shoulders.
It was some time before I could tear myself away from the fascination of so much beauty, and it needed no common effort to leave the spot. As I made a short détour in the garden before approaching the arbor, she saw me as I came forward, and kissing her hand gayly, made room for me beside her.
“I have been fortunate in finding you alone, Senhora,” said I, as I seated myself by her side, “for I am the bearer of a letter to you. How far it may interest you, I know not, but to the writer’s feelings I am bound to testify.”