"And thou, Roque," continued Theodora, "thou hast to answer for a great share of the misery which ensued."
"Alas, my dear lady! I know that my courage failed me in that dreadful moment, but perhaps I am not wholly undeserving of pardon, for what other course could I then pursue?"
"To fight," resolutely said Theodora.
"Fight," returned the valet, "fight! good God! you would not have had me fight a host of ruffian Moors, would you, lady? A thousand they might have been, for aught I know. Indeed, at the time, I lost my talent for calculation, but they looked as many, and as for poor Roque, whom Heaven has been pleased to endow with a most pacific temperament, thinking of fighting a thousand Moors, he might as well be expected to engage against Satan, backed by a whole legion of his infernal subjects."
"But was it well," rejoined Theodora, "to abandon thy master in the hour of danger?"
"Abandon my master!" exclaimed Roque, "válgame el cielo! Under favor, Señora, it was my master that abandoned me."
"Out upon thee, fellow! I thought thee possessed of more manly feelings than to make light with so sad a subject, and introduce an unseemly jest."
"By all the saints in the calendar, lady—but I am in no mood for merriment. I am not in very truth, and may the first jest I attempt to utter strangulate me outright, before it escapes from my lips. But really, with respect to abandoning my master, thank the blessed virgin, that is a crime of which no one can accuse me. A man cannot help feeling shy at engaging in broils and combats, if his star doth not propel him thereto,—and that in verity is pretty nearly my case; but if any one is tempted to question my fidelity, this miserable carcass of mine can bear witness to the contrary, by displaying the honorable bruises I have reaped in the service of my master.—Alack! had I been less constant in following my Señor Gomez Arias, certain cudgellings and beatings without number would not so continually have fallen to the lot of Roque."
"Darest thou speak in this strain," interposed Theodora, "when thou betookest thyself to a shameful flight, at the very first appearance of the Moors, leaving thy gallant and unfortunate master to be murdered at their hands?"
At this unexpected accusation, Roque appeared astounded, and for some time could collect no adequate term to express his surprise. He cast a look of mixed amazement and compassion, shrugged up his shoulders, and, in a scarcely audible tone, muttered to himself:—"Poor thing! may the Lord preserve her—sorrow hath brought this about."