uancy its actual enjoyment.

Let memory not be forgotten; it, too, has its joys; and oh, how sweet
the retrospect of those blissful hours! If there was monotony, it was a
monotone of which my heart could never tire. It was an intoxication I
could have endured for life. There is no surfeit of such sweets. Why
are we not permitted to enjoy them for ever? Alas! there is an ending.

There was so. A crisis came, and we must part--not with the pretty
promise upon our lips--"until the morning", "until the evening," but for
long weeks, months, maybe years--an uncertain time--"_hasta se acabo la
guerra_" (until the war is over).

Oh, the misery of that parting! Cruel destiny of war! Never felt I so
weary of wearing a sword.

There was a struggle 'twixt love and duty. No, not duty: I might have
sheathed my sword, and wronged no one; I was but a cipher among
thousands, whose blade would scarcely have been missed. Nor would I
have wronged myself. I was simply, as I have already declared, an
adventurer. The country for which I fought could not claim me; I was
bound by no political conscience, no patriotic _esprit_. Perhaps, now
and then, I entertained the idea that I was aiding the designs of
"manifest destiny"--that I was doing God's work in battling against the
despotic form. Yes, I may confess that such sparks glowed within me at
intervals, and at such intervals only did I feel enthusiasm in the
cause. But it was no consideration of this kind that hindered me from
deserting my banner. Far otherwise: I was influenced by a motive purely
selfish--pride.

I could not--an adventurer almost penniless--I _would_ not presume to
claim that richly dowried hand. Fortune I might never have to equal
hers, but fame is worthy wealth, and glory mates with beauty. I knew
that I was gifted with an apt head and bold aspiring heart; I knew that
I carried a keen blade, and hoped to hew my way to rank and fame.
Perhaps I might return with a star upon my shoulder, and a better handle
to my name, and then--

Ah, for all that, it was a bitter parting! It was hard to list
unheeding to those earnest entreaties, adjuring me to stay--terrible to
entwine those tender arms--terrible to utter that last _adios_!

Our troth was plighted within that same glade that had echoed our first
vows. It had been plighted a hundred times, but never sadly as now,
amidst sobs and tears. When the bright form, screened by the frondage,
had passed ou