The house oppressed her, and sleep being impossible, she opened the door and stepped out into the garden and wandered along the paths that led in and out among the flowers and shrubs, inhaling the delicious night air, faintly perfumed with the delicate fragrance of mignonette and heliotrope and a few last roses.
The fresh air and the beauty and quiet of the night soothed her. She felt her strength return, and a great calm took possession of her as she moved to and fro in the moonlight, now casting her eyes toward the stars, now downward at the wan, drooping heads of the flowers which swayed gently in the faint night breeze. Her face radiantly beautiful, her jewels flashing against the pale white setting of her dress and her tawny skin, she resembled more the lovely ghost of some long-departed Spanish woman that had returned to earth to revisit familiar haunts, than one still among the living.
What was he doing now? she asked herself. It was impossible that he should continue to believe in her. It was more than could be expected; no one but Padre Antonio was capable of that. Just then she heard the sound of footsteps on the walk outside the wall and a moment later, the click of the latch on the gate as it swung open. She thought it must be Padre Antonio come back again, and she turned to meet him. A faint, suppressed cry escaped her, for there, just inside the gate, stood Captain Forest.
He had evidently not yet seen her and paused as if uncertain whether to advance. She stood in the open space beside the bench, just off the pathway leading from the gate to the house, along which he must advance should he decide to proceed farther. A pale, plumy spray of tamarisk intervened between them, otherwise he must have seen her. For some time he stood silent and motionless as if uncertain what to do, then he began to advance slowly in her direction.
What did he want? Why had he come at this hour? Her heart beat high and she began to tremble with excitement as she watched him coming toward her.
Her wan, pale dress so closely resembled the moonlight in the shadow of the tamarisk that he might have passed her unnoticed had she not unconsciously closed her half-open fan which she was nervously clasping in both hands. It shut with a soft, faint snap, causing him to stop and turn in her direction.
"Chiquita!" he cried, and springing forward, had her in his arms before she could prevent it.
"No, no; you must not!" she cried, overcome by his suddenness and vainly struggling to free herself.
"Chiquita," he went on without heeding her, "I could not wait until morning, and came to tell you again that I believe in you—that I love you—that nothing but death can separate us in this life!"
She saw and felt the uselessness of struggling against his great strength and will, so she relaxed her efforts and became quite passive in his arms, her face cast down. Besides, it seemed as though all her strength had left her. She trembled so violently and felt so weak that she must have sunk to the ground had he not supported her.