She gazed on him fixedly, and remained silent for some minutes, the Mexican not daring to question her. At length she turned to him, and laid her hand on his shoulder; at this touch the young man started, and quickly raised his head.
"Listen, Don Pablo," she said, in her clear and harmonious voice.
"I am listening," he answered.
"Accident one day brought us together," she continued, with a sort of feverish animation, "under extraordinary circumstance. On seeing you, I felt a sensation at once sweet and painful: my heart contracted, and when, after defying my brothers, you set off, I looked after you so long as I could perceive you through the trees. At length I returned dreamily to our cabin, for I felt that my fate was decided; your words echoed in my ears, your image was in my heart, and yet you had appeared to me as an enemy: the words you uttered in my presence were threats. Whence arose the strange emotion that agitated me?"
She stopped.
"Oh, you loved me!" the young man exclaimed impetuously.
"Yes, did I not?" she continued. "It is what is called love," she added, in a quivering voice, while two tears fell from her long lashes and coursed down her pale cheeks; "in what will that love result? The daughter of a proscribed race, I am not so much your friend as your prisoner, or, at any; rate, your hostage. I inspire your comrade with contempt, perhaps with hatred; for I am the daughter of their implacable foe—of the man whom they have sworn to sacrifice to their vengeance."
Don Pablo bowed his head, with a sigh.
"What I say is true, is it not?" she continued; "you are forced to allow it."
"Oh, I will protect—I will save you," he exclaimed impetuously.