"Cyprio!"

"Cyprio--yes, Cyprio."

"Senorita! if this be another name for your Protean cousin, I have to say it will be better for him he should not arrive at all."

"My cousin?--better not arrive? Holy Trinity, capitan! I do not comprehend you!"

Her large brown eyes were rolling in astonishment. I was as much puzzled as she, but I had begun my explanation, and was determined to carry it to the end.

"Then, Senorita de Vargas, I shall be more explicit. If Rafael Ijurra appear upon this ground, either he or I leave it not alive. He has attempted my life, and I have vowed to take his, whenever and wherever I may meet him."

"Pray heaven you may keep your vow!"

"Your cousin?"

"My cousin--Rafael Ijurra--my worst foe--the direst enemy of our house!"

"Ha! and were you not waiting him?"

"Awaiting _him_! Ha, ha, ha! No. Little timid though I be, I should not desire to be here alone with Rafael Ijurra."

"Lady! you astonish me; pray explain--"

"_Por dios_! gallant capitan, 'tis you who need explain. I sought this interview to thank you for your noble gift. You meet me with anger in your eye, and bitter words upon your tongue."

"You sought this interview?--say you so, lady?"

"Certainly I did. For reasons already known to you, I dared not invite you to our house; so I have chosen this pretty glade for my drawing-room. How do you like it, cavallero?"

"In your society, senorita, the rudest spot would appear a paradise."

"Again the poet's tongue! Ah, capitan, remember the yellow domino! No more flattery, I pray; we are no longer _en masque_. Face to face, let us be candid with each other."

"With all my heart I accept the conditions. Candour is the very thing I desire, for, to say the truth, I came prepared for a confession."

"A confession!"

"Precisely so; but since you are an advocate for candour, may I first ask a question?"

"Ho! you wish to play the confessor with me?"

"I do, senorita."

"Bravo, capitan! Proceed! I shall answer you in all sincerity."

"Then, lady, what I would ask first--Who is this Cyprio whom you expected?"

"Cyprio! Ha, ha, ha! Who should Cyprio be but my mozo; he who carried my message to you. Why do you put such a question?"

"He who carried your message to me?"

"Of course. Yonder is the _muchaco_ himself. Hola, Cyprio! you may return to the house. _Carrambo_ capitan! both he and you must have sped well. I did not expect you for half-an-hour; but you soldiers are soon in the saddle. So much the better, for it is getting late, and I have a great deal to say to you."

A light had broken upon me. 'Twas Cyprio I had passed in the forest shade; the boy was the bearer of a message--hence his having hailed me.

'Twas I who was expected to keep the assignation; 'twas I for whom the timepiece had been consulted--for whom those earnest glances had been given!

The bitter moments were past, and my heart swelled anew with proud and pleasant emotions.

As yet she knew not that I had come without invitation. Cyprio, at the word of command, had gone off without making any reply, and my prompt appearance upon the ground was still unexplained.

I was about to account for it, and offer some apology for my brusque behaviour, when I was challenged to the confession I had just promised.

Minor thoughts gave way before the important purpose I had formed, and to which the banter now recalled me. So fair an opportunity might never offer again. In the vicissitudes of a soldier's life, the chance of to-day should not be disregarded--to-morrow may bring change either in the scene or the circumstances; and I was skilled enough in love-lore to know that an hour unimproved is often followed by an age of regrets.

But, in truth, I do some wrong to my character; I was but little under the influence of such cunning cognisance at that moment. I acted not by volition, but rather under pressure of a passion that held complete mastery over my will, and compelled me to the declaration I was about to make.

It was simple enough--three little words in either of the two sweet tongues in which we understood each other. I chose the one--of all others most attuned to the tones of the loving heart--and bending low to that fair face, and gazing into the liquid depths of those large inquiring eyes, I whispered the sweet, though oft-repeated phrase--

"_Yo te amo_."

The words quivered upon my lips, but their tone proved the sincerity in which I had spoken. No doubt it was further manifest by the earnestness of my manner as I awaited her reply.

The habitual smile had departed from her lips; the damask red deepened and mounted higher upon her cheeks; the dark fringes drooped downward, and half-concealed the burning orbs beneath: the face of the gay girl had suddenly assumed the serious air of womanhood.

At first, I was terrified by the expression, and could scarcely control my dread; but I drew hope from the flushed cheek, the roseate neck, the swelling panting bosom. Strong emotions were stirring in that breast.

Oh, what emotions! will she not speak? Will she not declare them?

There was a long interval of silence--to me, it seemed an age.

"Senor," she said at length--'twas the first time I had heard that voice tremble--"Senor, you promised to be candid; you have been so: are you equally _sincere_?"

"I have spoken from the depth of my soul."

The long lashes were raised, and the love-light gleamed in her liquid eyes; for a moment it burned steadily, bathing my heart as with balm.

Heaven itself could not have shed a brighter beam upon my spirit.

All at once a smile played upon her features, in which I detected, or fancied so, the gay _insouciance_ that springs from indifference. To me it was another moment of pain. She continued--

"And pray, capitan, what would you have _me_ do?"

I felt embarrassed, and replied not.

"Would you have me declare that I love you?"

"Oh! you cannot--you do not--"

"You have not asked the question!"