It would be impossible to justly describe the feelings that actuated
the spirit of the lieutenant-governor. His soul was once more
buoyant with hope; he loved deeply, ay, more dearly than ever
before, and he believed that he was now indeed loved in return. How
light was his heart, how brilliant the expression of his face, as he
turned his steps towards the spot where his heart had so often
returned when the expanse of ocean rolled between him and the spot
so dear to him from association. He hurried forward to the steps
that ascended from near the end of the Calle de Mercaderes, on to
the Plato, but before he had reached it, there came bounding towards
him a large dog, which he instantly recognized to be the hound that
had so materially aided him in saving the life of Ruez Gonzales,
long before.
At the same moment a hand was laid roughly upon his shoulder, but
was instantly removed and on turning to see what was the meaning of
this rude salutation, the young general discovered a large, dark
figure struggling with the hound, who, upon his calling to him,
seemed to relinquish the hold he had of the man's throat, and sprang
to his side, while the person whom the dog had thus attacked,
disappeared suddenly round an angle of the Cathedral, and left
Lorenzo Bezan vastly puzzled to understand the meaning of all this.
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