"Excuse me for the interruption, Estevan; but in all you have told me, there seems nothing that is not highly honourable to the men who devote themselves to this perilous trade."
"Your observation would be just, if these men—half savages from the life they lead, ceaselessly exposed to most serious danger, constantly obliged to strive, in defence of their lives, against the wild beast and the redskin, by whom they are perpetually threatened—had not contracted, perhaps in spite of themselves, the habit of shedding blood; a habit of such cold-blooded cruelty, in a word, that they set no value on human life,—kill a man with the same indifference as they smoke the bees from the tree, and often, for mere pastime, fire on the approaching stranger, white or redskin. For this reason, the Indians dread them more than the fiercest animals, and, unless they happen to be in force, fly before a bee-hunter with more terror and precipitation than from the grizzly bear, that redoubtable inhabitant of our American forests. Believe me, niña, I am not exaggerating. It results from what I have related, that when these men reappear upon the frontiers, their arrival creates a general panic; for their road is a bloody one, marked by the corpses of those whom they have slain under the most frivolous pretexts. In one word, niña, the bee-hunters are completely beyond the pale of humanity,—beings with all the vices of whites and redskins, and without the virtues of either: both races abjure and repudiate them with horror."
"Estevan," gravely replied Doña Hermosa, "I have listened seriously to what you have said. I thank you; but, in my opinion, it proves nothing either for or against the person about whom I questioned you. I grant you that the bee-hunters maybe semi-savages, of profound cruelty; yet, are there no noble and loyal hearts, no generous spirits, among them? You have spoken of the rule; who will tell me that Stoneheart is not the exception? His conduct compels me to think so. I am only a young, ignorant, and inexperienced girl; but were I bidden to open my heart, and speak frankly, I should answer: 'My friend, this man, condemned from infancy to a life of shame and trial, has striven valiantly against the current which was dragging him away, and the force of bad example assailing him on every side. Son of a criminal father, associated, against his will, with bandits to whom every restraint is an abomination, and by whom every sentiment of honour has been trodden under foot, this man, far from imitating their actions,—far from burning, pillaging and assassinating as they do,—has preferred to adopt a career of perpetual peril. His heart has remained pure; and when chance offered him an opportunity of doing a good deed, he seized it eagerly and gladly.' This is what I should say to you, Estevan,—and if, like me, you had studied this strange man for two whole days, you would be of my opinion,—which is, that he is more to be pitied than blamed; for, placed among ferocious brutes, he has retained his humanity."
Don Estevan remained for a time lost in thought; then he turned towards the girl, took her hand, pressed it in his own, and looked at her with tender compassion.
"I pity and admire you, Hermosa. You are just what I thought you—I, who have watched the development of your character from your infancy. The woman fulfils all the promise held out by the child and the girl. Your heart is noble, your sentiments are exalted; you are indeed perfect—a chosen soul. I do not blame you for following the impulse of your heart—you are only obeying the instinct for good or evil which sways you in spite of yourself; but, alas! Dear child, I am your elder brother, and my experience is larger than your own. To me, the horizon seems to be clouding over. Without prejudging what the future may be preparing for us, let me prefer one entreaty."
"An entreaty! You, Estevan! Oh, speak; I shall be so happy to do anything to please you."
"Thanks, Hermosa; but the entreaty has no connection with myself—it concerns you alone."
"So much the greater reason for my granting it," she said with a gracious smile.
"Listen, child: the events of the last two days have completely changed your life, and feelings have germinated in your mind of which you ignored the existence until now. You have always placed entire confidence in me: I demand the continuance of that confidence. My only desire is to see you happy; all my thoughts, all my actions, tend to that goal. Never believe that I dream of betraying you or thwarting your projects. If I am tenacious on this point, it is to aid you with my counsel and experience; it is to save you even from yourself; to insure your escape from the snares which the future may lay for your innocent frankness. Do you promise what I entreat?"
"Yes," she replied, without hesitation, and looking firmly in his face; "I promise, Estevan, my brother—for you are in truth a brother to me—whatever may happen, I will have no secrets from you."