To complete this costume which only a Gypsy or one of Chiquita's tawny complexion would have dared essay to wear, a small pale red silken fan ornamented with gold and silver spangles, hung suspended from her wrist by a satin ribbon of deep orange which flashed in the sunlight like a splash of gold on a humming-bird's throat.
It was not by some happy chance that the Captain found her arrayed in such finery, as is so often the case with heroines of romance, but the result of much premeditation and studied effect. Ever since her meeting with Blanch she had dressed herself daily with terrible deliberation and nicety of precision, the same as every woman of flesh and blood would have done under the circumstances, on the chance of Captain Forest finding her at home when he came to pay his respects to the Padre as he had intimated he would do.
The thought of the innumerable dresses possessed by her rival, and the scantiness of her own wardrobe, composed though it was of the richest laces, silks and satins in the style of a past era, was something appalling; enough to turn a stouter heart than hers. And had she been anything else than an Indian, she would have sat down on the floor of her room in the midst of her finery and wept copious and bitter tears like the daughters of Babylon of old. The thought of the old dress which she had worn on the day of their meeting was not alone mortifying—it was excruciating. One of those things which we hasten to forget.
Dios! how she must have looked to him in the regal presence of Blanch, gowned in her stylish traveling costume!
Don Felipe Ramirez would have kissed the dust from off the hem of such an old garment, but would Captain Forest do the same? She could not afford to take any more risks with a rival like Blanch in the field.
There is no knowing how long Captain Forest would have remained a silent spectator of the charming picture she presented, had not her attention been attracted by the sound of Starlight's hoofs as he began to paw the ground impatiently. She raised her head from the bush over which she was bending and turned her gaze in the direction of the gate.
"Oh!" she cried with a little start, silently regarding the Captain for some moments. Then a smile slowly wreathed her lips and she broke into a light laugh. Her right hand involuntarily sought her fan which slowly opened across the lower half of her face and she shot a glance at him over its rim with an ease and grace which only Spanish women have ever succeeded in mastering. The effect of this deft bit of coquetry, simple and natural as were all her actions, was not lost upon the Captain.
"I don't know whether I love you or not," it said plainly as words, "but henceforth you shall be my slave."
"How long have you been there?" she asked at length, slowly lowering her fan.
"Only an instant, Señorita," he replied, raising his hat. "I was wondering," he continued, "whether it would be too much to ask you for one of those roses? One would not be missed among so many."