"Senora, is it you?" he whispered, eagerly.
"Si, senor," came the low reply from the figure dressed in masculine garments.
"Good. We are both on time. The night favors us as much as we could hope for. Let us then go to work without delay."
"Heaven bless you, senor—"
"Not a word in that line—it is useless, and dangerous as well, since sentries are on the ramparts and they have keen ears. I feared you might not come, for the danger would appall many."
"Ah! senor, what is danger to me—what would I not risk if by so doing I could save his life, my beloved Leon? Fire and blood could not hold me in check if he called. My life is his alone, for without him all else would be dead. That is the love a Spanish woman gives, senor. Do not forget it when you think of Georgia."
Roderic was thrilled by her words, so intense so full of devotion—yes, few nationalities can love with the fire and enthusiasm shown by Spain's sons and daughters, and if their affection does not always stand the test of time, lay it to the burning zeal that eats up the heart.
He remembered that he too was beloved by just such an impulsive, beautiful girl, who at this hour was doubtless wrestling with the deep wounds wrought by jealousy's fingers; and the recollection gave him both ecstasy and keen pain.
At least he said no more to her of the danger she ran—in the service of love what matters it where peril lies; the sacred nature of the duty renders every obligation a privilege.