"Ay, love, Isabella Gonzales. For years I have loved you in secret.
Too humble to become known to you, or to attract your eye, even, I
have yet nursed that love, like the better angel of my nature; have
dreamed of it nightly; have prayed for the object of it nightly;
have watched the starry heavens, and begged for some noble
inspiration that would make me more worthy of thy affection; I have
read nothing that I did not couple in some tender way with thee;
have nursed no hope of ambition or fame that was not the nearer to
raise me to thee, and over the midnight lamp have bent in
earnestness year after year, that I might gain those jewels of the
mind that in intelligence, at least, would place me by thy side. At
last fortune befriended me, and I was able by a mischance to him,
thy brother, to serve thee. Perhaps even then it might have ended,
and my respect would still have curbed the promptings of my passion,
had you not so kindly noticed me on the Paseo. O, how wildly did my
heart beat at that gentle, kind and thoughtful recognition of the
poor soldier, and no less quickly beats that heart, when you listen
thus to me, and hear me tell how deeply I love."

"Audacity!" said Isabella Gonzales, really not a little aroused at
the plainness of his speech. "How dare you, sir, to address such
language to me?"

"Love dares do anything but dishonor the being that it loves. A
year, lady, a month ago, how hopeless was my love-how far off in the
blue ether was the star I worshipped. Little did I then think that I
should now stand so near to you-should thus pour out of the fullness
of my enslaved and devoted heart, ay, thus look into those glorious
eyes."