"That's pure nonsense. For that matter, I don't believe he's dead at all. We'll find him, as gay and insolent as ever, I promise you."
Hope was buoyant in the young man's heart. For the first time he held his sweetheart in his arms. She clung to him, as a woman ought to her lover, palpitant, warm, and helpless. Of course they would find this pestiferous American who had caused her so much worry. And then he—Manuel—would claim his reward.
"Do you think so ... really? You're not just saying so because ...?" Her olive cheek turned the least in the world toward him.
Manuel trod on air. He felt that he could have flown across the range on the wings of his joy.
"I feel sure of it, niña." Daring much, his hand caressed gently the waves of heavy black hair that brushed his cheek.
Almost in a murmur she answered him. "Manuel, find him and save him. Afterward ..."
"Afterward, alma mia?"
She nodded. "I'll ... do what you ask."
"You will marry me?" he cried, afraid to believe that his happiness had come at last.
"Yes."