Volume I Part 30 (1/2)
”Never.”
”Very well, uncle--I do not love Cecilia.”
”You do not love Cecilia?” exclaimed the old gentleman in horror.
It must be said that Don Melchor had a blind affection, almost adoration, for his nephew's betrothed--the girl was sacred to him. From the time that he knew Gonzalo's affections were set in that quarter he inspected her as carefully as if he were examining the hulk of a s.h.i.+p before masting her. He had considered her kind, quiet, intelligent, and capable, and his delight at the marriage was only embittered by hearing that the engaged couple were not going to live with him.
He seldom visited Belinchon's house, but when he met the girl in the street he made a point of stopping her and treating her with exceptional courtesy and attention.
”You do not love her?” he repeated. ”And why don't you love her, you dunderhead?”
”I don't know. I have made superhuman efforts to love her, and I have not succeeded.”
”And you have just found that out--a month before your marriage? Come, Gonzalo, you have got a screw loose.”
”It is shameful--I grant it--but I can't resign myself to being unhappy for life.”
”Unhappy! And you call it unhappiness, you great fool, to marry the nicest and prettiest girl in Sarrio, for no other can hold a candle to her.”
Gonzalo could not forbear smiling.
”Cecilia is a good girl, and worthy of marrying a better man than I am, but pretty, uncle--”
”Pretty, yes, pretty, you fool!” exclaimed the Senor de las Cuevas in a rage; ”you would find fault with an angel.”
Surprising as the statement may be, the old man was at that time of life when one is more impressed by the poetry of womanhood, seen in exquisite sensibility, resignation, sweetness, and self-sacrifice, than by the ephemeral physical charms before which impetuous youth is so p.r.o.ne to fall captive.
”Do not let us quarrel about it.”
”But we will quarrel about it--I won't have Cecilia spoken of like that--so there!”
”All right; then I'll say that Cecilia is a very pretty girl--but--”
”But what?”
”But I can not love her, because I love another.”
”What thousand deviltries are you saying now, boy?” returned Don Melchor, taking his nephew by the arm and shaking him.
”I can not help it, uncle. I am madly in love with her sister, Venturita.”
”Are you in your senses or out of them, you madman?”
”I am speaking seriously--I love her, and she loves me.”
”And you think that this is all there is to be said?” said the old man, getting more and more angry. ”Do you think a solemn promise can be broken in that way? Do you think a girl can be made the laughing-stock of a place like this? Do you think any parents will tolerate such infamous conduct?”
”Uncle,” returned Gonzalo quietly, ”before daring to tell you this, things have occurred which have made me take this step. My position with Venturita is an established fact; her mother knows it, and has authorized it, and by this time her father has also been made acquainted with the circ.u.mstances.”
”And will give his consent?”