A tender tear—a tear of envy for the lot of this unknown, so passionately loved—glistened in his eye, as he made reply—
“Oh, Gertrudis!” said he, “no devotion could repay such a sacrifice as that; and the young girl you speak of, however beautiful she might be, could not be otherwise than an angel in the eyes of her lover.”
Gertrudis pressed her hand over her heart, to stay the flood of joyful emotion that was rushing through it.
After a pause she continued, her voice quivering as she spoke—
“Once more, and for the last time, I desire you to raise your eyes towards heaven. We have reason to be thankful to it.”
While Don Rafael obeyed the direction, Gertrudis permitted the reboso to fall from her shoulders; and with her fingers she removed the comb that imprisoned her shining hair, which, coiled up in two long plaited tresses, encircled her crown like a diadem. These she allowed to drop down at will, until they hung far below her waist. Then seizing in one hand the scissors she had just been using at her work, and with the other covering the crimson blush upon her cheek, she held forth the instrument, at the same time crying out—
“Now, Don Rafael! aid me in keeping my vow, by cutting for me the hair from my head.”
“I?” exclaimed Don Rafael, in whose ear her voice had sounded like the voice of an angel. “I?” repeated he, astounded at the proposal. “Gertrudis! Gertrudis!”
“I have promised it to the Virgin for saving you last night. Now do you comprehend, Don Rafael—my dearly beloved Rafael?”
“Oh, Gertrudis!” cried the lover, in an ecstasy of joy, “you should have prepared me more gradually for so much happiness.”