"Oh, friend, how shall I thank you for these words!" cried the unhappy man, seizing and pressing the Niño's hand.
"Tell me her name—describe her to me."
"Torcuata is her name—Torcuata de la Rosa. She is one finger's width taller than this young woman," indicating one of the twins who was standing. "But not dark; her cheeks are rosy—no, no, I forget, they will be pale now, white than the grass plumes, with stains of dark colour under the eyes. Brown hair and blue eyes, but very deep blue. Look well, friend lest you think them black and leave her to perish."
"Never!" remarked Gregory, shaking his head.
"Enough—you have told me enough, friend," said the Niño, rolling up a cigarette.
"Enough!" repeated the other, surprised. "But you do not know; she is my life; my life is in your hands. How can I persuade you to be with me? Cattle I have. I had gone to pay the herdsmen their wages when the Indians came unexpectedly; and my house at La Chilca, on the banks of the Langueyú, was burnt, and my wife taken away during my absence. Eight hundred head of cattle have escaped the savages, and half of them shall be yours; and half of all I possess in money and land."
"Cattle!" returned the Niño smiling, and holding a lighted stick to his cigarette. "I have enough to eat without molesting myself with the care of cattle."
"But I told you that I had other things," said the stranger full of distress.
The young man laughed, and rose from his seat.