“In one sense I understand you, my charmer,” he said, kissing her beauteous head as it lay reclining on his bosom; “and that alone ought to be happiness sufficient for me! But I am greedy—I am covetous; and I demand more! Listen, adored Laura—grant me your patience for a few minutes.”
She raised her head, and gazed tenderly up into his animated countenance as he spoke.
“I am not a rich man,” he continued; “but I possess a competency—nay, a handsome competency; and I care not how soon I abandon the service of even so good and excellent a prince as his Sovereign Highness—in order to devote myself wholly and solely to you. I know not who you are—I only know that you are the loveliest creature on the face of God’s earth, and that your name is Laura Mortimer. Neither do I seek to know more. But I am ready and anxious to join my fortunes with yours—to marry you, if you will accept me as your husband,—or to become your slave—your menial! Tell me not, then, that we must part to-morrow: oh! let me remain with you, my charming Laura, until death shall separate us!”
“It cannot be, my handsome Barthelma!” murmured Laura. “But let me call you by your Christian name——”
“Lorenzo,” said the Castelcicalan.
“You are, then, my handsome Lorenzo for this night—and for this night only,” continued Laura, throwing her warm, plump, exquisitely modelled arms about his neck, and pressing her lips to his glowing cheek.
“Cruel—cruel Laura!” he exclaimed, returning the ardent caress.
“Oh! would that circumstances permitted——”
“No circumstances can separate us, if you should decide that we are to remain together,” interrupted the Castelcicalan, in an impassioned tone.
“Alas! you know not——”