"Ah, Senorita!" added the narrator, addressing himself to Dona Rosarita, "it was one of those opportunities fraught with danger, which the poor young man sought with so much avidity; and your heart, like mine, would have been torn at beholding the sad joy which sparkled in his eyes; for the further we travelled in this direction the more his melancholy seemed to increase.
""Let us wake our friends," I suggested.
""No; let me go alone. These two men have done enough for me. It is now my turn to run a risk for them and, if I die, I shall forget--"
"As he spoke these words the young man quitted me, made a detour, and I lost sight of him--without, however, ceasing to behold the frightful apparition which continued immovable in the same spot.
"All at once I saw another dusky shape, which rushed towards the phantom and seized it by the throat. The two forms grappled with one another.
The struggle was short and noiseless, and one might have believed them two spirits. I prayed to G.o.d in behalf of the poor young man who thus exposed his life with so much indifference and intrepidity. A short time afterwards I saw him return; the blood was flowing over his face from a large wound on his head.
""Oh, Heavens!" I cried; "you are wounded."
""It is nothing," he said; "I will now wake our companions."
"What do you think, Senorita?" continued the narrator. "Was not my dream a warning from G.o.d? A party of Indians, whom we had put to flight on the other side of the mountains--had followed our track in order to revenge the blood of their companions, which had been spilt upon the banks of the Gila--at the place where we had rescued the young man.
"But the Indians had to contend with terrible adversaries. Their sentinel was the phantom who had been killed by the courageous hunter before he had time to utter a cry of alarm, and the rest, surprised in their sleep, were nearly all stabbed; a few sought safety in flight.
"The night had not pa.s.sed before this new exploit was accomplished.
"The tall hunter hastened to dress the wound of the young man, whom he loved as a son; and the latter, overcome with fatigue, stretched himself upon the ground and slept.
"In the mean time his two friends watched by his side to guide his sleep, whilst I in sadness contemplated his altered countenance, his reduced figure, and the bloodstained bandage with which his head was bound."
"Poor youth," interrupted Dona Rosarita, gently, "still so young, and yet compelled to lead a life of incessant danger. And his father, also, he must have trembled for the life of a beloved son?"
"Beloved, as you say, Senorita," continued the narrator.
"During a period of six months I was a daily witness to the infinite tenderness of this father for his child.
"The young man slept tranquilly, and his lips softly murmured a name-- that of a woman--the same which had lately been revealed to me in his slumber."
Rosarita"s dark eyes seemed to question the narrator, but her words expired upon her parted lips; she dared not utter the name her heart was whispering in her ears.
"But I encroach upon your time," continued Gayferos, without appearing to notice the young girl"s agitation. "I draw towards the close of my narrative.
"The young man woke just as day began to dawn. "Comrade," said the giant to me, "go down yonder and count the dead which these dogs have left behind them."
"Eleven corpses stretched upon the ground," continued Gayferos, "and two captured horses, attested the victory of these intrepid hunters."
"Let all due honour be given to these formidable men," cried Don Augustin, with enthusiasm, whilst his daughter, clapping her little hands together, exclaimed, with sparkling eyes, and an enthusiasm which equalled that of her father--
"That is splendid! that is sublime! so young, and yet so brave."
Rosarita only lavished her praises upon the young unknown--though perhaps the acute perception which belongs to a woman, and which almost resembles a second sight, may have revealed to her his name.
The narrator seemed to appreciate the praises bestowed upon his friends.
"But did you not learn their names?" asked Dona Rosarita, timidly.
"The elder was called Bois-Rose, the second Pepe. As to the young man--"
Gayferos appeared vainly endeavouring to recall the name without remarking the anguish which was depicted in the young girl"s agitated frame, and visible in her anxious eyes.
By the similarity of position between Tiburcio and the unknown, she could not doubt but that it was he; and the poor child was collecting all her strength to listen to his name, and not to utter, on hearing it, a cry of happiness and love.
"As to the young man," continued the narrator, "he was called Fabian."
At this name, which was unknown to the young girl, and which at once destroyed her pleasant delusions, she pressed her hand upon her heart, her lips became white, and the colour which hope had revived in her cheek faded away. She could only repeat mechanically.
"Fabian!"
At this moment the recital was interrupted by the entrance of a servant.
The Chaplain begged the haciendado to come to him for an instant, upon some business he had to communicate to him.
Don Augustin quitted the apartment, saying that he should speedily return.
Gayferos and the young girl were now left alone; the former observed her some moments in silence, and with a delight he could scarcely conceal, saw that Rosarita trembled beneath the folds of her silk scarf. By a secret feeling the poor child divined that Gayferos had not yet finished. At length the latter said gently, "Fabian bore another name, Senorita; do you wish to hear it, while we are alone and without witnesses?"
Rosarita turned pale.
"Another name! oh, speak it?" she cried, in a trembling voice.
"He was long known as Tiburcio Arellanos."
A cry of joy escaped the young girl, who rose from her seat, and approaching the bearer of this good news, seized his hand.
"Thanks! thanks!" she exclaimed, "if my heart has not already spoken them."
Then she tottered across the chamber, and knelt at the feet of a Madonna, which, framed in gold, hung against the wall.
"Tiburcio Arellanos," continued the narrator, "is now Fabian, and Fabian is the last descendant of the Counts of Mediana--a n.o.ble and powerful Spanish family."
The young girl continued on her knees in prayer without appearing to listen to Gayferos" words.
"Immense possessions, a lofty name, t.i.tles and honours. All these he will lay at the feet of the woman who shall accept his hand."
The young girl continued her fervent prayer without turning her head.
"And, moreover," resumed the narrator, "the heart of Don Fabian de Mediana still retains a feeling which was dear to the heart of Tiburcio Arellanos."
Rosarita paused in her prayer.
"Tiburcio Arellanos will be here to-night."
This time the young girl no longer prayed. It was Tiburcio and not Fabian, Count of Mediana. Tiburcio, poor, and unknown, for whom she had wept. At the sound of this name, she listened. Honours, t.i.tles, wealth. What were they to her? Fabian lived, and loved her still, what more could she desire?
"If you will come to the breach in the wall, where, full of despair, he parted from you, you will find him there this very evening. Do you remember the place?"