“Do you doubt it? You do not? But what help for it? He is so much against you. I think some one has been telling him something bad about you. When we go to matins he always sends Tia Josefa along with us, and I’m sure she has instructions to watch us. I know it’s only me. He’s not half so careful about sister. He allows her to drive out alone—to the Alameda—anywhere. If I go, I must be accompanied by Tia Josefa.”
“The deuce take Tia Josefa!”
“And do you know, Francisco, there’s something worse yet? I’ve only heard it this very day. Josefa told it me. I believe papa put it in her head to tell me. If I don’t consent to marry him—you know whom I mean—I’m to be shut up in a convent! Only think of it! Imprisoned for life in a dark cloister, or marry a man I can’t love—old enough to be my uncle! Ay Dios! What am I to do about it?”
“Neither one nor the other of those two things—if I can hinder it. Don’t be uneasy, love! I’ll find some way to save you from such a fate—which would be equally ruinous to myself. Your father can have nothing against me, except that I’m poor. Who knows but that I may become rich during this war. I have hopes of promotion, and—listen dearest!”
Here the voice of Francisco sank into a whisper, as if the communication he was making required peculiar secrecy.
The words were not audible across the street; neither were those murmured in response. I only heard some phrases that fell from the lady’s lips as she turned to go inside.
“Adios querido! Hasta la mañana!”
Far sweeter to my ear were some words spoken by Francisco himself.
“Stay! A moment, dear Dolores! one moment—”