"Sir, you are impertinent!" said Isabella, shrinking from the ardor
of his expression.

"Nay, lady," said the young officer, profoundly humble, "it is
impossible for such love as mine to lead to impertinence to one whom
I little less than worship."

"Leave me, sir!"

"Yes, Isabella Gonzales, if you will repeat those words calmly; if
you will deliberately bid me, who have so often prayed for, so hoped
for such a moment as this, to go, I will go."

"But, sir, you will compromise me by this protracted conversation."

"Heaven forbid. But for you I would risk all things-life,
reputation, all that is valuable to me in life; yet perhaps I am
forgetful, perhaps a thoughtless."

"What strange power and music there is in his voice," whispered
Isabella, to herself.

Completely puzzled by his deep respect, his gallant and noble
bearing, the memory of his late noble conduct in saving Ruez's life,
Isabella hardly knew what to say, and she stood thus half confused,
trotting her pretty foot upon the path of the Plato with a vexed
air. At last, as if struggling to break the spell that seemed to be
hanging over them, she said: