"He is not gone—no, no, I have him here—" The rest of her sentence was lost in a hysteric laugh.
"No, my love," tenderly said Gomez Arias, "I am not gone, nor ever will. I am a barbarian to treat you thus. I do not merit such excellence as thine, and, I crave thy forgiveness for the misery I have inflicted."
Theodora, now perfectly restored, saw the stain of blood on her lover's lip, then she felt the bandage on her forehead, and when Gomez Arias explained the nature of her wound, the fond girl rejoiced at a cause that had called forth her lover's anxiety and caresses.
They remained in profound silence, which they were both afraid to break, for they trembled to renew a subject which had produced such melancholy effects.
But time was swiftly flying, and Gomez Arias again urged the necessity of adopting some resolution.
"Theodora," he said, "the night is wearing fast away, her friendly shade will but for a short time longer favor us, and the morning must, alas! throw still darker shadows over our brightest hopes."
Theodora sighed deeply, but was unable to reply.
"What is to be done?" demanded Don Lope. "Is it your wish that we should part for ever?"
"Part for ever!" cried Theodora; "Oh Heavens! the idea is more than I can endure."
"There is no other alternative left us," said Gomez Arias, "unless you feel yourself courageous enough to—" and here he cast an inquiring glance, and waited her reply; for though the purport of his meaning was obvious, he felt almost afraid to convey it by language.