“Cyprio! Ha, ha, ha! Who should Cyprio be but my mozo; he who carried my message to you. Why do you put such a question?”
“He who carried your message to me?”
“Of course. Yonder is the muchaco himself. Hola, Cyprio! you may return to the house. Carrambo capitan! both he and you must have sped well. I did not expect you for half-an-hour; but you soldiers are soon in the saddle. So much the better, for it is getting late, and I have a great deal to say to you.”
A light had broken upon me. ’Twas Cyprio I had passed in the forest shade; the boy was the bearer of a message—hence his having hailed me. ’Twas I who was expected to keep the assignation; ’twas I for whom the timepiece had been consulted—for whom those earnest glances had been given!
The bitter moments were past, and my heart swelled anew with proud and pleasant emotions.
As yet she knew not that I had come without invitation. Cyprio, at the word of command, had gone off without making any reply, and my prompt appearance upon the ground was still unexplained.
I was about to account for it, and offer some apology for my brusque behaviour, when I was challenged to the confession I had just promised.
Minor thoughts gave way before the important purpose I had formed, and to which the banter now recalled me. So fair an opportunity might never offer again. In the vicissitudes of a soldier’s life, the chance of to-day should not be disregarded—to-morrow may bring change either in the scene or the circumstances; and I was skilled enough in love-lore to know that an hour unimproved is often followed by an age of regrets.
But, in truth, I do some wrong to my character; I was but little under the influence of such cunning cognisance at that moment. I acted not by volition, but rather under pressure of a passion that held complete mastery over my will, and compelled me to the declaration I was about to make.
It was simple enough—three little words in either of the two sweet tongues in which we understood each other. I chose the one—of all others most attuned to the tones of the loving heart—and bending low to that fair face, and gazing into the liquid depths of those large inquiring eyes, I whispered the sweet, though oft-repeated phrase—