“What!” he cried with some warmth, “did you not yourself consent to this marriage only a month ago? Did you not agree that it should be consummated when we knew that Don Estevan could not return? He is dead; what then do you wish?”
“It is true, father; I did fix that period, but—”
“Well!”
“But I did not know that he still lived.”
“Don Antonio de Mediana?”
“No; Don Fabian de Mediana,” replied Rosarita, in a low voice.
“Don Fabian? who is this Fabian of whom you speak?”
“He whom we called Tiburcio Arellanos.”
Don Augustin remained mute with surprise: his daughter took advantage of his silence.
“When I consented to this marriage,” said she, “I believed that Don Fabian was forever lost to us. I did not know that he still loved me; and yet—consider whether I do not love you, my father; consider what a grievous sacrifice I made in my affection for you—I knew well—”