“It is I,” said the voice; “I am indeed here.”
“O God! the trial will be more terrible than I dared to think,” said Fabian, inwardly.
And he advanced a step forward, then paused; the poor young man did not entertain a hope.
“By what miracle of heaven do I find you here?” he cried.
“I come every evening, Tiburcio,” replied the young girl.
This time Fabian began to tremble more with love than hope.
We have seen that Rosarita, in her last interview with Fabian, chose rather to run the risk of death than confess that she loved him. Since then she had suffered so much, she had shed so many tears, that now love was stronger than virgin purity.
A young girl may sometimes, by such courage, sanctify and enhance her modesty.
“Come nearer, Tiburcio,” she said; “see! here is my hand.”
Fabian rushed forward to her feet. He seized the hand she offered convulsively, but he tried in vain to speak.