"I see no cause for haste," said Agueda.
"It is right," said Beltran, "and why should we wait? What is there to wait for? I want you for my wife. I have never seen any one who could take me from you, and there is no such person in all the world. All the same, you must be my wife."
"I think the padre is away," said Agueda, looking down.
"He will be back before long, and then, if the river is still low, we will go to Haldez some fine morning and be married. Your uncle can give you away. He will be very glad, doubtless!" Don Beltran laughed as he spoke. He was not unconscious of Uncle Adan's plans, but as they happened to fall in with his own, he took them good-naturedly.
"Do you know, Agueda," he said presently, looking steadily at her, "that you are better born than I?"
"What does the Señor mean?" laughed Agueda.
"The Señor?"
"Well, then, Señor—Beltran. What do you mean by that?"
"I mean what I say, Agueda. Your grandfather, Don Estevan, is a count in his own country—in old Spain. That is where you get your pretty slim figure, child, your height, and your arched instep. You are descended from a long line of noble ladies, Agueda. I have seen many a Spanish gran' Señora darker than you, my Agueda. When shall our wedding-day be, child?"
Agueda shook her head and looked down at the little garment which she was stitching. She had no wish to bind him. That was not the way to treat a noble nature like his. Agueda had no calculation in her composition. Beltran could never love her better were they fifty times married. She was happy as the day. What could make her more so?