I have always had a profound reverence for woman—especially those favored ones to whom Nature has vouchsafed beauty in addition to the charm of womanhood. And here before me stood the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, a type of loveliness more sweet and delightful than any I had even dreamed could exist.
It was my fate to recognize this in the moments that I stood watching her lips tremble in the endeavor to form her first words to me.
“You are the American?” she asked, finally.
“Assuredly, donzella. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Robert Harcliffe.”
“My uncle expected you,” she said, shyly.
“Your uncle?”
“Dom Miguel is not really my uncle,” answered the girl; “but he permits me to call him so, since he is my guardian. Yet it was not from him I learned of your arrival, but from Francisco, who traveled from Rio on the same train.”
My face doubtless showed that I was puzzled, for she added, quickly:
“Francisco is my brother, senhor. We are both devoted heart and soul to the Cause. That is why I felt that I must speak with you, why I must welcome you to our fellowship, why I must implore you to be strong and steadfast in our behalf!”
I smiled at the vehemence that had vanquished her former hesitation, and to my delight her exquisite face lighted with an answering smile.