The Pirates of the Prairies Part 48

He then rea.s.sumed his indifferent look; but at times he gazed with a feeling of sorrowful pleasure on the young people who had renewed their conversation.

"Is he not a glorious fellow?" Ellen said to the young man as she pointed to the hunter.

"I think so."

"And I have been certain of it for a long time. Harry watches over me; I have always found him at my side in the hour of danger: to follow me he has abandoned everything, country, friends, family, without hesitation or reflection, and has done it without any hope of ever being rewarded for such abnegation and devotion."

Don Pablo sighed.

"You love him," he murmured.

The maiden smiled.

"If you mean by those words that I place an unbounded confidence in him, that I feel a sincere and deep affection for him, in that sense, yes, I do love him."

Don Pablo shook his head.

"That is not what I mean," he said.

She gazed on him fixedly, and remained silent for some minutes, the Mexican not daring to question her. At length she turned to him, and laid her hand on his shoulder; at this touch the young man started, and quickly raised his head.

"Listen, Don Pablo," she said, in her clear and harmonious voice.

"I am listening," he answered.

"Accident one day brought us together," she continued, with a sort of feverish animation, "under extraordinary circ.u.mstance. On seeing you, I felt a sensation at once sweet and painful: my heart contracted, and when, after defying my brothers, you set off, I looked after you so long as I could perceive you through the trees. At length I returned dreamily to our cabin, for I felt that my fate was decided; your words echoed in my ears, your image was in my heart, and yet you had appeared to me as an enemy: the words you uttered in my presence were threats. Whence arose the strange emotion that agitated me?"

She stopped.

"Oh, you loved me!" the young man exclaimed impetuously.

"Yes, did I not?" she continued. "It is what is called love," she added, in a quivering voice, while two tears fell from her long lashes and coursed down her pale cheeks; "in what will that love result? The daughter of a proscribed race, I am not so much your friend as your prisoner, or, at any; rate, your hostage. I inspire your comrade with contempt, perhaps with hatred; for I am the daughter of their implacable foe--of the man whom they have sworn to sacrifice to their vengeance."

Don Pablo bowed his head, with a sigh.

"What I say is true, is it not?" she continued; "you are forced to allow it."

"Oh, I will protect--I will save you," he exclaimed impetuously.

"No," she said firmly; "no, Don Pablo, for you must defend me against your own father; you would not dare do it; and if you did," she added, with a flashing eye, "I would not suffer it."

There was a moment's silence: then Ellen continued--

"Leave me to accomplish my destiny, Don Pablo; renounce this love, which can have only one result--our mutual wretchedness: forget me!"

"Never," he exclaimed; "never! I love you, Ellen, so greatly as to sacrifice all for you--my life, if you order it."

"And I," she replied--"do you fancy that I do not love you?--have I not given you sufficient proof of that love?--I who betrayed my father for your sake. But you see, I am strong; imitate me, and do not enter on a mad struggle."

"Whatever happens, I shall ever love you. Ellen! What do I care for your family! Children are not responsible for the faults of their parents.

You are n.o.ble, you are holy: I love you, Ellen, I love you!"

"And do you think I doubt it?" she replied. "Yes, you love me, Don Pablo; I know it; I am sure of it; and, shall I confess it? This love, which causes my despair, renders me at the same time happy. Well, you must forget me; it must be so."

"Never," he repeated wildly.

"Listen, Don Pablo; you and your comrades are on my father's trail; if, as is almost certain, you find him, nothing will save him, neither tears nor entreaties, but you will kill him."

"Alas!" the young man murmured.

"You understand," she said, with great agitation, "that I cannot be an unmoved witness of the death of the man to whom I owe my life. This man, whom you hate, on whom you wish to revenge yourself, is my father; he has always been kind to me. Be merciful, Don Pablo!"

"Speak, Ellen; whatever you may ask I will swear to do."

Ellen fixed on him a glance of strange meaning.

"Is it true? Can I really trust to your word?" she said, with marked hesitation.

"Order, and I will obey."

"This evening, when we reach the spot where we are to bivouac, when your comrades are asleep--"

"Well?" he said, seeing that she stopped.

"Let me fly, Don Pablo, I implore you."

"Oh, my poor child," he exclaimed; "let you fly! But what will become of you alone, and lost in this desert?"

"Heaven will guard me."

"Alas! It is death that you ask."

"What matter, if I have done my duty."

"Your duty, Ellen?"

"Must I not save my father?"

Don Pablo made no reply.

"You hesitate--you refuse," she said, bitterly.

"No," he answered. "You ask, and your will shall be accomplished; you shall go."

"Thanks," she said, joyfully, as she offered the young man her hand, which he pressed to his lips.

"And now," she said, "one last service."

"Speak, Ellen."