“Lord, do not strike me; I will do nothing wrong.”

At the same moment Rosario took the young man’s hand and pressed it against her heart.  A voice was heard, a pure, grave, angelic voice, full of feeling, saying: 

“Lord whom I adore, Lord God of the world, and guardian of my house and of my family; Lord whom Pepe also adores; holy and blessed Christ who died on the cross for our sins; before thee, before thy wounded body, before thy forehead crowned with thorns, I say that this man is my husband, and that, after thee, he is the being whom my heart loves most; I say that I declare him to be my husband, and that I will die before I belong to another.  My heart and my soul are his.  Let not the world oppose our happiness, and grant me the favor of this union, which I swear to be true and good before the world, as it is in my conscience.”

“Rosario, you are mine!” exclaimed Pepe Rey, with exaltation.  “Neither your mother nor any one else shall prevent it.”

Rosario sank powerless into her cousin’s arms.  She trembled in his manly embrace, as the dove trembles in the talons of the eagle.

Through the engineer’s mind the thought flashed that the devil existed; but the devil then was he.  Rosario made a slight movement of fear; she felt the thrill of surprise, so to say, that gives warning that danger is near.

“Swear to me that you will not yield to them,” said Pepe Rey, with confusion, observing the movement.

“I swear it to you by my father’s ashes that are—­”

“Where?”

“Under our feet.”

The mathematician felt the stone rise under his feet—­but no, it was not rising; he only fancied, mathematician though he was, that he felt it rise.

“I swear it to you,” repeated Rosario, “by my father’s ashes, and by the God who is looking at us——­May our bodies, united as they are, repose under those stones when God wills to take us out of this world.”

“Yes,” repeated the Pepe Rey, with profound emotion, feeling his soul filled with an inexplicable trouble.

Both remained silent for a short time.  Rosario had risen.

“Already?” he said.

She sat down again.

“You are trembling again,” said Pepe.  “Rosario, you are ill; your forehead is burning.”

“I think I am dying,” murmured the young girl faintly.  “I don’t know what is the matter with me.”

She fell senseless into her cousin’s arms.  Caressing her, he noticed that her face was covered with a cold perspiration.

“She is really ill,” he said to himself.  “It was a piece of great imprudence to have come down stairs.”

He lifted her up in his arms, endeavoring to restore her to consciousness, but neither the trembling that had seized her nor her insensibility passed away; and he resolved to carry her out of the chapel, in the hope that the fresh air would revive her.  And so it was.  When she recovered consciousness Rosario manifested great disquietude at finding herself at such an hour out of her own room.  The clock of the cathedral struck four.