iness and
confusion, both of which are betraying themselves in full blush upon her
cheeks, hitherto so wan and pale.

Impelled by the strength of her love, from time to time she casts a
furtive glance upon the face of her lover. It is a glance of strange
significance; its object being to discover whether upon his features the
tortures of long absence have not also left their imprint.

But the passion which Don Rafael has suffered under, although as
incurable as her own, has left no other trace upon his countenance than
that of a profound melancholy, and at the moment, his heart filled with
exquisite happiness, all traces of this melancholy have disappeared.
Gertrudis only looks upon a countenance that shows not a souvenir of
suffering.

Don Rafael no longer doubts the love of Gertrudis. She has given him
proofs no more to be questioned. But of his? What proof has he offered
in return? Gertrudis cannot yet hinder herself from doubting!

The young girl endeavours to conceal the sigh which these thoughts have
summoned up, and though the moon is still bright enough for her to
perceive upon the countenance of Don Rafael an expression of the most
loyal love, she cannot rest satisfied. Unable to restrain herself,
again and again she repeats the interrogatory, "Do you still love me,
Rafael?" Again and again she receives the same affirmative answer
without being assured!

"Oh, it is too much happiness!" cries she, suddenly raising her head
from the pillow, "I cannot believe it, Rafael. As for the sincerity of
my words, you could not doubt them. The messenger has told you--
plainly, has he not?--that I could not live without you? Then you came
to me--yes, you have come," continues she, with a sigh that betokens the
mingling of sorrow with her new-sprung joy; "but for all that, oh!
Rafael, what can you say to me that will convince me you still love me?"

"What shall I say?" rejoins Don Rafael, repeating her words. "Only
this, Gertrudis. I vowed to you that whenever I should receive this
sacred message," at this drawing the tress from his bosom, and pressing
it proudly to his lips, "I vowed that though my arm at the moment might
be raised to strike my deadliest enemy, it should fall without
inflicting the blow. I have come, Gertrudis--I am here!"

"You are generous, Rafael. I know that. You swore it! and--oh! my God;
what do I hear?"

The interruption was caused by a wild cry that seemed to rise out of the