She started and rose up when I entered, the extreme pallor of her face heightened by contrast with her long, raven-black hair hanging unbound on her shoulders. “Dolores, do I find you here at this hour?” I exclaimed. “Yes,” she returned coldly, sitting down again. “Do you think it very strange, Richard?” “Pardon me for disturbing you,” I said; “I came here to find out the time from your clock.” “It is two o'clock. Is that all you came for? Did you imagine I could retire to sleep without first knowing what your motive was in returning to this house? Have you then forgotten everything?” I came to her and sat down by the window before speaking. “No, Dolores,” I said; “had I forgotten, you would not have seen me here enlisted in a cause which I looked on only as your cause.” “Ah, then you have honoured the Casa Blanca with this visit not to speak to me--that you considered unnecessary--but merely to exhibit yourself wearing a sword!” I was stung by the extreme bitterness of her tone. “You are unjust to me,” I said. “Since that fatal moment when my passion overcame me I have not ceased thinking of you, grieving that I had offended you. No, I did not come to exhibit my sword, which is not worn for ornament; I came only to speak to you, Dolores, and you purposely avoided me.” “Not without reason,” she retorted quickly. “Did I not sit quietly by you after you had acted in that way towards me, waiting for you to speak--to explain, and you were silent? Well, señor, I am here now, waiting again.” “This, then, is what I have to say,” I replied. “After what passed I considered myself bound in honour to join your cause, Dolores. What more can I say except to implore your forgiveness? Believe me, dear friend, in that moment of passion I forgot everything--forgot that I--forgot that your hand was already given to another.” “Given to another? What do you mean, Richard? Who told you that?” “General Santa Coloma.” “The General? What right has he to occupy himself with my affairs? This is a matter that concerns myself only, and it is presumption on his part to interfere in it.” “Do you speak in that tone of your hero, Dolores? Remember that he only warned me of my danger out of pure friendship. But his warning was thrown away; my unhappy passion, the sight of your loveliness, your own incautious words, were too much for my heart.” She dropped her face on her hands and remained silent. “I have suffered for my fault, and must suffer more. Will you not say you forgive me, Dolores?” I said, offering my hand. She took it, but continued silent. “Say, dearest friend, that you forgive me, that we part friends.” “Oh, Richard, must we part then?” she murmured. “Yes--now, Dolores; for, before you are up, I must be on horseback and on my way to join the troops. The march to Montevideo will probably commence almost immediately.”