Perhaps there came up before them a vision of Paradise Lost—of sweet scented flowers, flashing fountains, caroling birds—of a West Indian garden where the God of Love reigned, where the soft tinkle of magic mandolin accompanied songs of hottest devotion, where eyes looked into eyes and drank to the fill of heaven's nectar, where vows of constancy were fervently breathed and returned. Alas! how many times these same maddening memories arise to haunt broken hearts, for human nature is weak, and prone to wander afar after strange idols.
Roderic recovered his voice, and while he still kept his eyes on her glowing face he said, quietly:
"You expected me—you knew I would come?"
"I believed you would when I saw you look this way," she admitted; and then added: "but I do not know why you are here, Senor Roderic."
"Perhaps to thank you."
"For what?" confused.
"Your garb deceived me last night, but I knew the voice which you could not wholly disguise. I wish to tell you how—"
"Stop. I do not desire to hear your gratitude. It was a duty with me. By chance I learned of the miserable plot. I could not bear to even see an enemy so badly used, much less one whom I once delighted to call—my friend."
"Once—are we then no longer such?"
"Senor, your welfare will always be regarded with interest by me," coldly.