Dolores, seating herself
near me with her guitar, said, "Now let me play and sing you to sleep
with something very soft." But the more she played and sang the further
was I from un-needed slumber.
"What, not sleeping yet, Richard!" she would say, with a little laugh
after each song.
"Not yet, Dolores," I would reply, pretending to get drowsy. "But my
eyes are getting heavy now. One more song will send me to the region
of dreams. Sing me that sweet favourite---
_Desde aquel doloroso momento_."
At length, finding that my sleepiness was all pretence, she refused
to sing any more, and presently we drifted once more into the old
subject.
"Ah, yes," she replied to that argument about my nationality, which
was my only shield, "I have always been taught to believe foreigners
a cold, practical, calculating kind of people--so different from us.
You never seemed to me like a foreigner; ah, Richard, why will you
make me remember that you are not one of us! Tell me, dear friend, if
a beautiful woman cried out to you to deliver her from some great
misfortune or danger, would you stop to ask her nationality before
going to her rescue?"
"No, Dolores; you know that if you, for instance, were in distress or
danger I would fly to your side and risk my life to save you."
"I believe you, Richard. But tell me, is it less noble to help a
suffering people cruelly oppressed by wicked men who have succeeded
by crimes and treachery and foreign aid in climbing into power? Will
you tell me that no Englishman has drawn a sword in a cause like that?
Oh, friend, is not my mother-country more beautiful and worthy to be
helped than any woman? Has not God given her spiritual eyes that shed
tears and look for comfort; lips sweeter than any woman's lips, that
cry bitterly every day for deliverance? Can you look on the blue skies
above you and walk on the green grass where the white and purple flowers
smile up at you and be deaf and blind to her beauty and to her great
need? Oh, no, no, it is impossible!"
"Ah, if you were a man, Dolores, what a flame you would kindle in the
hearts of your countrymen!"
"Yes, if I were a man!" she exclaimed, starting to her feet; "then I
should serve my country not with words only; then I would strike and
bleed for her--how willingly! Being only a weak woman, I would give
my heart's blood to win one arm to aid in the sacred cause.
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