For over half an hour the two girls had not exchanged a syllable. The whizz and strokes of the timepiece bestirred them at last.
"Eleven," muttered Doña Rosario, impatiently and mournfully. "Oh, your friend will never come."
"Stop, stop; he is here!" ejaculated Ulla, rising, and restraining her deep joy from loud expression.
The pretended guide stood in the doorway, holding up the screen, and contemplating the two lovely creatures, whose fate might be determined by his mission, with as much love for one as pity for the other. After his great excitement and the strain on his nerves, he was pale. His right hand came round upon his heart to compress its throbbings; but his eyes flashed brightly with bravery, and his manly face was covered with gladness. His gaze centred on Miss Maclan, and approaching the cushion which she quitted, he seemed about to fall on his knees, thankful that they were met again. Rosario drew herself away into the corner, smiling and thoughtful at this knightly reverence.
"I am afraid this captivity is chafing upon you," he said, clear-sighted as a lover is to the least trace of sorrow on beloved features.
"It is true," she answered softly, "but my misfortunes have but begun. Think rather of what this poor young lady must have endured for a year, all alone in misery with not one to share her burden; friendless, in a strange, desolate region, far from all that makes living sweet. She has to believe that she is absolutely ignored."
"No more than you has she been forgotten," returned Dearborn, though without looking away from the person he addressed.
"Alas, sir, this being true," observed the Spanish girl gently, "at least, grant that it is so much misfortune that makes me unjust. It makes anyone hard, though with the best of tempers. I daresay I am wilful, petulant. Oh, I am! And all that—but look at my having to keep up the struggle all the time with misfortune. And I am only a girl too—a child, they say in the North, whose early years were passed in joyous, happy peace, surrounded by dear schoolmates, very kind to me. When the storm unexpectedly burst upon me, I felt as if I should never outlive it."
"Don't talk so, dear," cried Miss Maclan, with that proneness of distressed females to forget the tangible danger in order to condole over a sentimental grievance, which, in this case, simply maddened the male bystander. "Your sorrows are well nigh at an end, I feel assured. You are going to save her, are you not, Mr. Dearborn; and I love you, Rosie, I love you very much."
"I am easier," said the Mexican girl, "ever since this gentleman came into the camp; but still, you must not be too confident! The men you are matched with are very wicked ones, and there are ever so many of them too."