"Is it not pain to love to the degree that one might kiss the earth that received the foot-print of its object—and yet to meet with no encouragement from fair words, no friendly glance of the eye, nor any sign or symbol to betoken that the being one hath enshrined in his heart's core, ever thinketh of her suitor except as a reckless rover and a hair-brained adventurer?"
"Luis de Bobadilla, no one that really knoweth thy character, can ever truly think thus of thee."
"A million of thanks for these few words, beloved girl, and ten millions for the gentle smile that hath accompanied them! Thou mightst mould me to all thy wishes"—
"My wishes, Don Luis?"
"To all thy severe opinions of sobriety and dignity of conduct, wouldst thou but feel sufficient interest in me to let me know that my acts can give thee either pain or pleasure."
"Can it be otherwise? Could'st thou, Luis, see with indifference the proceedings of one thou hast known from childhood, and esteemed as a friend?"
"Esteem! Blessed Mercedes! dost thou own even that little in my favor?"
"It is not little, Luis, to esteem—but much. They who prize virtue never esteem the unworthy; and it is not possible to know thy excellent heart and manly nature, without esteeming thee. Surely I have never concealed my esteem from thee or from any one else."
"Hast thou concealed aught? Ah! Mercedes, complete this heavenly condescension, and admit that one—as lightly as thou wilt—but that one soft sentiment hath, at times, mingled with this esteem."
Mercedes blushed brightly, but she would not make the often-solicited acknowledgment. It was some little time before she answered at all. When she did speak, it was hesitatingly, and with frequent pauses, as if she distrusted the propriety or the discretion of that which she was about to utter.