I looked round, in hopes that the proposal might be heard and approved by another.
The Jarocha was standing in the entrance of the tent, her face beaming with gratitude. No doubt it was due to the assurance which the surgeon had given her of her brother’s speedy recovery; but I fancied I could perceive, in the sparkle of her beautiful eyes, a smile indicative of consent to what I had proposed.
The surgeon comprehended not the cause of my friendly interest in the welfare of the wounded Jarocho.
Did Lola comprehend it? Did she suspect it? Endowed with the keen, delicate instincts of her race, it was probable she did; at least, I fancied so, from the kindly look with which she had listened to my suggestion.
After all, it might have been gratitude for my friendly intentions, and nothing more.
“I see no objection to his going up the road,” said the surgeon, after having spent some little time in considering, “It is very kind on your part, cavallero,” added he—“a stranger and an enemy.” Here the medico smiled. “It is only a continuation of your humane exertions during the past night.”
A smile, almost imperceptible, accompanied this last observation, together with the slightest raising of his eyes towards the Jarocha.
“Suppose,” said he, continuing his speech, and relieving me from some little embarrassment, “suppose we consult the wishes of the invalid himself. What say you, señorita?”
“Gracias, ñores,” replied the girl. “I shall ask brother Calros.”
“Calros!” she called out, turning her face towards the tent. “The young officer who has been so kind to you proposes to have you carried up the road to Jalapa. Would you like to go there? The medico says the air of Jalapa will be better for you than this place.”