"Alas!" she sighed.
"That is enough," he said, "it is unnecessary to press you further: cousin you are free."
"What do you mean?" she exclaimed, anxiously.
"I mean, Dolores, that I give you back your promise. I renounce the honour of marrying you, though, with your permission, I still claim the right of watching over your happiness."
"Cousin!"
"Dolores, you do not love me; your heart is given to another; a marriage between us would cause the misery of both, poor girl. You have already been sufficiently tried by adversity, at an age when life should only be strewn with flowers, be happy with the man you love: it will not be my fault if your fate is not, ere long, united with his. I will justify the precious title of friend which you have given me by overthrowing the obstacles which possibly prevent the accomplishment of your dearest desires."
"Ah!" she exclaimed, with eyes bathed with tears, as she pressed the hand that held hers, "Why is it not you I love? You so worthy to inspire tender feelings."
"The heart has these anomalies, my cousin. Who knows, perhaps it is better that it is so? Now dry your tears, my querida Dolores; only see in me a devoted friend, a sure confidant to whom you could without fear, intrust all your charming love secrets, if I did not know them already."
"What?" she said, looking at him with surprise, "You know—"
"I know all, cousin, so reassure yourself; besides, he has not been so discreet as you; he has confessed everything to me."