“I am.”
“Capitan, I presume?”
“That is my rank.”
“And now, Señor Capitan, am I your captive?”
The question took me by surprise, and, for the moment, I did not know what answer to make. The excitement of the chase, the encounter, and its curious developments—perhaps above all other things, the bewitching beauty of my captive—had driven out of my mind the whole purpose of the pursuit; and for some minutes I had not been thinking of any result. The interrogatory reminded me that I had a delicate duty to perform. Was this lady a spy?
Such a supposition was by no means improbable, as my old campaigner can testify. “Fair ladies—though never one so fair as she—have, ere now, served their country in this fashion. She may be the bearer of some important dispatch for the enemy. If so, and I permit her to go free, the consequences may be serious—unpleasant even to myself.” So ran my reflections.
On the other hand, I disliked the duty of taking her back a prisoner. I feared to execute it; I dreaded her displeasure. I wished to be friends with her. I felt the influence of that mysterious power which transcends all strength—the power of beauty. I had been but ten minutes in the company of this brown-skinned maiden, and already she controlled my heart as though she had been its mistress for life!
I knew not how to reply. She saw that I hesitated, and again put the question—
“Am I your captive?”
“I fear, señorita, I am yours.”