We, too, will leave Isabella
Gonzales, for a brief period, while we turn to another point of our
story, whither the patient reader will please to follow.
CHAPTER XVI.
A DISCOVERY.
"SHE never loved me," said Lorenzo Bezan, in the privacy of his own
room, on the morning subsequent to that of the serenade. "It was
only my own insufferable egotism and self-conceit that gave me such
confidence. Now I review the past, what single token or evidence has
she given to me of particular regard? what has she done that any
lady might not do for a gentleman friend? I can recall nothing.
True, she has smiled kindly-O how dearly I have cherished these
smiles! But what are they? Coquettes smile on every one! Alas, how
miserable am I, after all the glory and fame I have won!"
Lorenzo Bezan was truly affected, as his words have shown him to be.
He doubted whether Isabella Gonzales had ever loved him; her scream
and fainting might have been caused by surprise, or even the heat.
He had been too ready to attribute it to that which his own heart
had first suggested. O, if he only dared to address her now-to see
her, and once more to tell how dearly and ardently he loved her
still-how he had cherished her by the camp fires, in the battle-
field, and the deprivations of war and the sufferings of a soldier's
wounds.
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