Before he finished the sentence, Dolores, now arrayed in her European dress, entered the patio, followed by Doña Serafina and Eulalia uttering cries of admiration. In her hand she carried the Harlequin Opal, which glittered faintly in the dim light.
"See, uncle!" cried Dolores, placing the gem in Maraquando's hand, "I give you the luck of Tlatonac."
"So this is the famous stone?" said Miguel, gazing at the wonderful play of colours, "I do not wonder it is held sacred. So beautiful a jewel I have never yet beheld."
"There, Señor Maraquando, I disagree with you," observed Jack, in a nervous voice; "there is a jewel still more beautiful in my eyes—Dolores!"
Don Miguel started and stared in amazement at the young couple, who were now standing hand in hand before him. He could not understand the meaning of either the attitude or speech.
"My brother," whispered Serafina, seizing the situation with feminine quickness, "it is love!"
"Yes," said Jack, firmly, "it is love. I have worshipped your niece these many months, Señor Maraquando, but I dared not to tell you of that love, seeing I was an Englishman, a heretic. Now, however, if I have done anything to deserve your gratitude, I ask you, in the presence of my friends, to give your consent to the marriage of Dolores and myself."
Don Miguel was silent for a few moments, and then turned slowly towards his niece.
"Do you love Don Juan, Dolores?"
She raised her head and looked not at her questioner, but at Jack.