Felipe lay down
on his couch; his mother, bending over, kissed him, bade him
good-night, and went into her own room.
It had been some time now since Alessandro had left off sleeping
on the veranda floor by Felipe's side. Felipe was so well it was not
needful. But Felipe felt sure he would come to-night, and was not
surprised when, a few minutes after the Senora's door closed, he
heard a low voice through the vines, "Senor Felipe?"
"Hush, Alessandro," whispered Felipe. "Do not make a sound.
To-morrow morning early I will see you, behind the little
sheepfold. It is not safe to talk here."
"Where is the Senorita?" Alessandro breathed rather than said.
"In her room," answered Felipe.
"Well?" said Alessandro.
"Yes," said Felipe, hoping he was not lying; and this was all
Alessandro had to comfort himself with, through his long night of
watching. No, not all; one other thing comforted him,-- the notes
of two wood-doves, that at intervals he heard, cooing to each
other; just the two notes, the call and the answer, "Love?" "Here."
"Love?" "Here," -- and long intervals of silence between.
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