My discovery of the real relationship existing between Calros and Lola
at once cured me of an incipient jealousy, which, though slight, had
promised to become sufficiently painful.
Its very existence, however, would have proved to me that I was already
in love, had such proof been required to convince me.
But I needed not to reason on that head. I knew that I was enamoured
with Lola Vergara--had fallen in love with her at first sight--at that
very moment when her accusing eyes flashed fiercely upon me, and through
her dazzling teeth was hissed forth that angry epithet, proclaiming me a
_murderer_! In the full tide of anger, with frowning face and furious
look, had she appeared lovely--scarcely less lovely than now in her
smiles!
I had since beheld these. She smiled on learning that Calros was in no
danger of death. She smiled on me as the preserver of his life,
gratefully--I fancied _graciously_. On that fancy I had founded a hope;
and hence the jealousy that had so quickly and causelessly arisen.
The hope became strengthened on hearing that fraternal apostrophe,
"_Hermanita Calros_!" pronounced in a language unequalled in the
phraseology of affectionate endearment.
The words bespoke a relationship far different from that I had supposed
to exist between them--leaving her bosom free for another affection--a
passion compatible, if not kindred.
Was it my destiny to inspire this passion? Was that grand triumph to be
mine?
Her singular speeches, not very honestly overheard, filled me with hope.
I hesitated about entering the tent. I no longer desired to interrupt a
dialogue that had caused me such supreme pleasure; and yet I yearned to
proffer my devotion--to stand once more face to face, and eye to eye,
with the beautiful Jarocha.
In any case I could not continue to play the part of an eavesdropper. I
could now perceive the indelicacy of the act--especially as my satisfied
heart no longer needed soothing.