“Elena, Elena,” he murmured passionately, “I love thee.  Dost thou not know it?  Dost thou not love me a little?  Ay, Elena!  I have not slept one hour since I saw thee.”

She raised her eyes to his face.  The sadness still dwelt in their depths, but above floated the soft flame of love and trust.  She had no coquetry in her straightforward and simple nature.

“Yes,” she whispered, “I love thee.”

“And thou art happy, querida mia?  Thou art happy here in my arms?”

She let her cheek rest for a moment against his shoulder.  “Yes, I am very happy.”

“And thou wilt marry me?”

The words brought her back to reality, and the light left her face.

“Ay,” she said, “why did you say that?  It cannot ever be.”

“But it shall be!  Why not?  I will speak with Don Roberto in the morning.”

The hand that lay on his shoulder clutched him suddenly.  “No, no,” she said hurriedly; “promise me that you will not speak to him for two or three days at least.  My father wants us all to marry Englishmen.  He is kind, and he loves me, but he is mad for Englishmen.  And we can be happy meanwhile.”

The music stopped, and he could only murmur his promises before leading her back to her mother.

He dared not take her out again, but he danced with no one else in spite of many inviting eyes, and spent the rest of the night on the corridor, where he could watch her unobserved.  The walls were so thick at Los Quervos that each window had a deep seat within and without.  Dario ensconced himself, and was comfortable, if tumultuous.

VI

With dawn the dancing ended, and quiet fell upon Los Quervos.  But at twelve gay voices and laughter came through every window.  The family and guests were taking their cold bath, ready for another eighteen hours of pleasure.

Shortly after the long dinner, the iron-barred gates of the corral were thrown open and a band of horses, golden bronze in colour, with silvern mane and tail, silken embroidered saddles on their slender backs, trotted up to the door.  The beautiful creatures shone in the sun like burnished armour; they arched their haughty necks and lifted their small feet as if they were Californian beauties about to dance El Son.

The girls wore short riding-skirts, gay sashes, and little round hats.  The men wore thin jackets of brightly coloured silk, gold-laced knee-breeches, and silver spurs.  They tossed the girls upon their saddles, vaulted into their own, and all started on a wild gallop for the races.

Dario, with much manoeuvring, managed to ride by Elena’s side.  It was impossible to exchange a word with her, for keen and mischievous ears were about them; but they were close together, and a kind of ecstasy possessed them both.  The sunshine was so golden, the quivering visible air so full of soft intoxication!  They were filled with a reckless animal joy of living—­the divine right of youth to exist and be happy.  The bars of Elena’s cage sank into the warm resounding earth; she wanted to cry aloud her joy to the birds, to hold and kiss the air as it passed.  Her face sparkled, her mouth grew full.  She looked at Dario, and he dug his spurs into his horse’s flanks.