The Two Captains | Page 7

although pressing hard upon his adversary,
had generously avoided wounding him, and when at last by a dexterous
movement he wrested his sword from him. Lucila's husband, surprised
at the unexpected advantage, and in alarm at being thus disarmed,
retreated a few steps. But Fadrique threw the weapon adroitly into the
air, and catching it again near the point of the blade, he said, as he
gracefully presented the hilt to his opponent, "Take it, Senor, and I
hope our affair of honor is now settled, as you will grant under these
circumstances that I am only here to show that I fear no sword-thrust in
the world. The bell of the old cathedral is now ringing twelve o'clock,
and I give you my word of honor as a knight and a soldier that neither
is Dona Lucila pleased with my attentions nor am I pleased with paying
them; from henceforth, and were I to remain a hundred years in Malaga,
I would not continue to serenade her in this spot. So proceed on your
journey, and God be with you." He then once more greeted his
conquered adversary with serious and solemn courtesy, and withdrew.
Heimbert followed him, after having cordially shaken hands with the
two youths, saying, "No, dear young sirs, do not let it ever again enter
your heads to interfere in any honorable contest. Do you understand
me?"
He soon overtook his companion, and walked on by his side so full of

ardent expectation, and with his heart beating so joyfully and yet so
painfully, that he could not utter a single word. Don Fadrique Mendez
was also silent; it was not till Heimbert paused before an ornamented
garden-gate, and pointed cheerfully to the pomegranate boughs richly
laden with fruits which overhung it, saying, "This is the place, dear
comrade," that the Spaniard appeared as if about to ask a question, but
turning quickly round he merely said, "I am pledged to guard this
entrance for you till dawn. You have my word of honor for it." So
saying he began walking to and fro before the gate, with drawn sword,
like a sentinel, and Heimbert, trembling with joy, glided within the
gloomy and aromatic shrubberies.
CHAPTER III

He was not long in seeking the bright star, which he indeed felt was
destined henceforth to guide the course of his whole life. The delicate
form approached him not far from the entrance; weeping softly, it
seemed to him, in the light of the full moon which was just rising, and
yet smiling with such infinite grace, that her tears were rather like a
pearly ornament than a veil of sorrow. In deep and infinite joy and
sorrow the two lovers wandered silently together through the flowery
groves; now and then a branch waving in the night-air would touch the
guitar on the lady's arm, and it would breathe forth a slight murmur
which blended with the song of the nightingale, or the delicate fingers
of the girl would tremble over the strings and awaken a few scattered
chords, while the shooting stars seemed as if following the tones of the
instrument as they died away. Oh, truly happy was this night both to
the youth and the maiden, for no rash wish or impure desire passed
even fleetingly across their minds. They walked on side by side, happy
that Providence had allowed them this delight, and so little desiring any
other blessing that even the transitoriness of that they were now
enjoying floated away into the background of their thoughts.
In the middle ot the beautiful garden there was a large open lawn,
ornamented with statues and surrounding a beautiful and splashing
fountain. The two lovers sat down on its brink, now gazing at the

waters sparkling in the moonlight, and now delighting in the
contemplation of each other's beauty. The maiden touched her guitar,
and Heimbert, impelled by a feeling scarcely intelligible to himself,
sang the following words to it:
"There is a sweet life linked with mine, But I cannot tell its name; Oh,
would it but to me consign The secret of that life divine, That so my
lips in whispers sweet And gentle songs might e'en repeat All that my
heart would fain proclaim!"
He suddenly paused, and blushed deeply, fearing he had been too bold.
The lady blushed also, touched her guitar-strings with a half- abstracted
air, and at last sang as if dreamily:
"By the spring where moonlight's gleams O'er the sparkling waters pass,
Who is sitting by the youth, Singing on the soft green grass? Shall the
maiden tell her name, When though all unknown it be, Her heart is
glowing with her shame, And her cheeks burn anxiously, First, let the
youthful knight be named. 'Tis he that on