Tiburcio repulsed her by stepping backward.
“It is too late,” said he with a bitter smile, “the evil is done. Adieu! I have been too long your guest. The hospitality of your house is fatal to me. Under your roof my life has been threatened, my dearest hopes have been crushed! Adieu, Rosarita! Adieu!”
As he pronounced the last words, he turned and walked hastily away. There was a broken place in the wall of the enclosure, and towards this he directed his steps. A hundred paces beyond, the forest commenced, and the dark sombre trees were visible through the opening. The mysterious light he had already noticed, was still glimmering feebly above their tops.
“Where are you going, Tiburcio?” cried the young girl, her hands joined and her eyes filling with tears, “my father’s roof will protect you.”
Tiburcio only answered by a negative shake of the head.
“But yonder,” continued Rosarita, pointing to the woods, “yonder, alone and without defence—danger—death will await you.”
“God will send me friends,” answered Tiburcio, glancing towards the distant light. “The hospitality of the wandering traveller—a sleep by his camp-fire—will be safer for me than that of your father’s roof.” And Tiburcio continued to advance towards the breach with a gentle but resolute step.
“For the love of heaven do not expose yourself to dangers that may perhaps arise when I am no longer present to protect you! I tell you out yonder you will be risking your life;” then giving to her voice a tone of persuasive softness, she continued, “In what place, Tiburcio, will you be safer than with me?”
Tiburcio’s resolution was for a moment shaken, and he paused to make answer.
“One word, Rosarita!” said he; “say that you hate my rival as I hate him—say this, and I remain.”