"Good-bye, Don Blas, and thank you," the bomberos said, as they shook his hand.
[CHAPTER IX.]
DON SYLVIO D'ARENAL.
An hour before the bomberos' arrival at the estancia, a visitor had presented himself, who was eagerly greeted by Don Valentine and his daughter. This visitor, about eight-and-twenty years of age, and elegantly built, possessed the manners of a man of distinction, and a clever, noble face. His name was Don Sylvio d'Arenal, and he belonged to one of the richest and most respected families in Buenos Aires. The death of a relative had endowed him with a fortune of 500,000 piastres a year; that is to say, about one hundred thousand a year—a fortune large even for this country, where gold is so common.
The family of Don Sylvio and of Don Valentine, both originally from Spain, and connected by ancient ties, had ever lived on a footing of the greatest intimacy. The young man and the young lady were educated together, and hence, when her handsome cousin came to say good-bye to her, and told her of his departure for Europe, where he was to travel for some years to complete his education, and assume elegant manners, Doña Concha, who was at that time twelve years of age, felt a great vexation. Since their childhood, unconsciously, they loved each other with the simple gentle affection of youth, which only thinks of happiness.
Don Sylvio went away, bearing his love with him, and Conchita retained him in her heart.
Only a few days previously the young man had returned to Buenos Aires, and after making a tour through the most renowned cities of the civilized world, hastened to arrange his affairs. Then he freighted a schooner, and set sail for Carmen, burning with desire to see again the woman he loved, and whom he had not seen for three years—his Conchita, the pretty child who, he thought, had, doubtless, become a lovely and accomplished maiden.
At Carmen he found Don Valentine's house empty, and from the information he received from Tío Peralta, the old Negro, he rode at a gallop to the estancia of San Julian. The surprise and joy of Don Valentine and his daughter were extreme. Conchita was especially happy, for she thought daily of Sylvio, and saw him through her recollections, but at the same time she felt in her heart an emotion of mingled pleasure and sorrow. Sylvio perceived it, understood that he was still loved, and his happiness equalled that of Doña Concha.
"Come, come, children," the father said with a smile, "kiss each other; I permit it."