Calros looked puzzled; as if not very clearly comprehending me.
"You forget," I said, "that in the conversation which occurred between
you and this Ramon Rayas, you repeatedly addressed each other by name;
and also mentioned a third individual, whose acquaintance I have since
had the pleasure of making--your sister, is she not?"
"_Si, nor capitan_. Na Lola is my sister."
"She is worthy to be your sister, senor Calros. She who follows a
brother to the field of battle--seeks for him among the slain--risking
life to alleviate the pain of his wounds--ah! that is a sister for a
soldier. Would that I had such an one!"
While speaking I regarded the countenance of the girl. I regarded it
with a tender gaze. I fancied that she returned my thought, but so
slightly as to have been perceptible only to the keen scrutiny of love.
It was only a single glance she gave me; and then the long lashes fell
over her eyes, hiding their sweet scintillation.
When I had finished speaking, she turned towards me, but without raising
her eyes. Then pronouncing the formal phrase, "_Mil gracius senor_" she
stepped silently towards the entrance of the tent.
Before passing out, she paused a moment to state apologetically the
object of her departure--some trifling errand relating to the invalid.
But for this I might have fancied that my flattery had offended, or
perhaps the glance of gallantry with which I had regarded her. Even had
it been so, I could not then have apologised: for in another instant she
was gone.
Story 1, Chapter X.