The countenance of the Spaniard turned livid pale at this unexpected accusation. He instantly drew his dagger, and crying out:—“Down with him, Cuchillo!” rushed furiously forward to the attack.
No doubt Tiburcio would soon have succumbed before two such formidable antagonists, but at this moment a red light flashed upon the combatants, as Doña Rosarita, with a flaming torch in her hand, rushed forward between them.
The aspect of Tiburcio, who, despite the odds against him, and the blood that was running from his arm, still fearlessly maintained his defensive attitude, caused the heart of Rosarita to beat with sympathetic admiration. This sanguinary dénouement to their interview, was pleading the cause of the lover far more eloquently than either his reproaches or promises!
The first impulse of Rosarita was to fling herself into the arms of the young man so daring and beautiful. She was restrained only from following this impulse, by a feeling of feminine delicacy; and for an instant Tiburcio seemed the one about whom she was least concerned.
“Oh! my God!” cried she, “are you wounded? Don Estevan? Señor Cuchillo? Señor Arechiza! retire; for the love of the Virgin, let not the world know that a crime has been committed in our house.”
The excited bearing of the young girl, her bosom heaving under the light tissue of her dress, her reboso floating behind her, mingled with the long dark tresses of her dishevelled hair—all these, added to the proud savage beauty of her countenance—commanded respect; and as if by enchantment, the weapons of the combatants were restored to their sheaths.
Cuchillo growled like a dog newly muzzled, while Don Estevan preserved a sombre silence. Both walked away from the ground, and their forms were soon lost in the darkness.
Tiburcio, with face upturned, his eyes still flashing with rage, his features illuminated with the red light of the torch, remained for some moments without changing his attitude. His features exhibited that superb expression that danger only magnifies into grandeur. Gradually, however, their tone became softened, and an air of melancholy succeeded it, as his eyes rested upon Rosarita. The young girl had suddenly become pale, under the reaction of such vivid emotions, as well as under the influence of the powerful sentiment now rekindled within her heart. Acting under this influence as well, she hastily arranged her scarf in order to cover her nude shoulders, and the palpitating movements of her bosom. Even her motive for this was misunderstood by Tiburcio.
“Rosarita!” he said, speaking with perfect calmness, “I might have doubted your words, but your actions have spoken more plainly. It was to my enemies you first ran, though my blood was spilling; all your fears appeared to be for Don Estevan.”
“God knows that I do not deserve this reproach,” said the young girl, as with a look of terror she saw the blood streaming to the ground. At the same instant she advanced to examine the wound.