THE General heard of it the next morning, and it was even
the Archbishop brought him the news. The priest besought del Torre to
marry his ward, but he was obdurate; the crafty priest wrestled with
the soldier’s will all through that day, and neither conquered. But the
General’s face looked worn; he argued, only sadly, of the hot blood
of youth, of the hope in her love for the nephew, and of his bravery.
Then late in the day came the young officer, wounded, the bandage on
his breast half stanching the heart’s blood he had shed for her, and
besought the general not to give her to Don Ramon. Del Torre stood as
if at bay. “You love her too?” he cried.
“Ay, and would save her,” said the young man, faintly.
“You must protect her from this libertine,” then said the priest. For
he wished her to marry the one he thought she loved not.
“She loves him!” sighed the General.
“You must save her----”
“I will live with her, and guard her as my own----”
“You may not,” said the priest.
“I am her guardian----”
“You may not--you must marry her.”
“I am old and she is young----”
“The holy Church demands it!”
“I love her not--I----” the lie stuck in his lips.
Late in the afternoon del Torre went to see Dolores. She was at vesper
service, and he waited until she came back, pale. He began to speak. “I
have heard all,” she interrupted; “Jacinta told me.” And again he saw
her blush.
Del Torre groaned; he turned aside. Then he strode back to her, his
sabre clanking as he walked. “God forgive me if I err. Dolores, you may
not marry this man--you--you must--Señorita Condesa, will you marry me?”
Dolores looked up; she had been red, she was now pale. So blushes lie.
“Santissima Maria,” she said, below her breath.
“The Church--the Archbishop--demand it,” del Torre hurried on, not
looking at her, for he heard her exclamation. “I love you--well
enough--to wed you.” The soldier’s voice broke, too feeble now to cry a
charge. He never saw her look at him. God pardon him for looking down.
“You love me--well enough to wed me----” She had turned red again, and
her voice was low. He looked, and saw it.
“I will keep you, and watch over you, Dolores, with my life. The Church
demands it--I am but a soldier--will you marry me?”
Her dark head was bowed, and the purple of her eyes he saw not.
“Yes,” she said; but, oh, so gravely, so coldly!
He bowed ceremoniously, and touched her hand to his lips; then he
turned and left the stone-walled tropic garden. And as his sabre
clanked in the passage-way, she threw herself on the hammock in a flood
of tears.
And that is how they were affianced.