“I and Pepé,” he continued, “will build a hut of the trunks and bark of trees upon the spot of ground where I found you again. We shall not always be at home, it is true, but perhaps some time hence should you wish to claim the name and fortune of your ancestors in Spain, you will find two friends ready to follow you to the end of the world. Come, my Fabian, I have no doubt that I shall be even happier than you, for I shall experience a double bliss in my happiness and yours.”
But why dwell longer upon such scenes? happiness is so transitory and impalpable that it will not bear either analysis or description.
“There remains but one obstacle now,” resumed the hunter. “This sweet lady’s father.”
“To-morrow he will expect his son,” interrupted Rosarita, who stood by, listening with singular interest to the dialogue.
“Then let me bless mine,” said the Canadian.
Fabian knelt before the hunter.
The latter removed his fur cap, and with moist eyes raised to the starry heavens, he said—
“Oh! my God! bless my son, and grant that his children may love him as he has been loved by old Bois-Rose.”
The following day the illustrious Senator returned in sadness to Arispe.
“I was sure,” he said, “that I should unceasingly mourn for poor Don Estevan. I might at least have possessed, besides my wife’s marriage portion, a title of honour and half a million of money. It is certainly a great misfortune that poor Don Estevan is dead.”