Love is a feeling of anxiety--of
expectation. The harp is set aside. The guitar lies untouched for a
sweeter music--the music that vibrates from the strings of the heart.
Are our eyes not held together by some invisible chain? Are not our
souls in communion through some mysterious means? It is not language--
at least, not the language of words; for we are conversing upon
indifferent things--not indifferent, either. Narcisso, Narcisso--a
theme fraternal. His peril casts a cloud over our happiness.

"Oh! that he were here--then we could be happy indeed."

"He will return; fear not--grieve not; to-morrow your father will easily
find him. I shall leave no means untried to restore him to so fond a
sister."

"Thanks! thanks! Oh! we are already indebted to you so much."

Are those eyes swimming with love, or gratitude, or both at once?
Surely gratitude alone does not speak so wildly. Could this scene not
last for ever?

"Good-night--good-night!"

"_Senores, pasan Vds. buena noche_!" (Gentlemen, may you pass a
pleasant night!)

They are gone, and those oval developments of face and figure are
floating before me, as though the body itself were still present. It is
the soft memory of love in all its growing distinctness!

We were shown to our sleeping apartments. Our men picketed their horses
under the olives, and slept in the bamboo rancho, a single sentry
walking his rounds during the night.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note. Vds. _Usted_, contraction of _Vuestra merced_, "your grace",
usually written as Vd., is the polite form of address in Spanish.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

A TOUGH NIGHT OF IT AFTER ALL.

I entered my chamber--to sleep? No. And yet it contained a bed fit for
Morpheus--a bed canopied and curtained with cloth from the looms of
Damascus: shining rods roofed upwards, that met in an ornamental design,
where the god of sleep, fanned by virgins of silver, reclined upon a
couch of roses.

I drew aside the curtains--a bank of snow--pillows, as if prepared for
the cheek of a beautiful bride. I had not slept in a bed for two
months. A close crib in a transport ship--a "shake-down" among the
scorpions and spiders of Lobos--a single blanket among the sand-hills,
where it was not unusual to wake up half-buried by the drift.

These were my _souvenirs_. Fancy the prospect! It certainly invited
repose; and yet I was in no humour to sleep. M