I noticed that she halted a moment on the edge of the woods, and fancied that she gazed earnestly towards the village; but the road she had taken led almost in the opposite direction.

I chafed with impatience for my horse. My resolve, made on the impulse of the moment, was to follow the white steed and his scarlet-clad rider.

Once in the saddle I hurried out of the piazza, passed the ranchos of yucca, and reaching the open country, pressed my horse into a gallop.

My road lay up the river, through a heavily timbered bottom of gum and cotton-woods. These were thickly beset with the curious _tillandsia_, whose silvery festoons, stretching from branch to branch, shrouded the sun, causing amongst the tree-trunks the obscurity of twilight.

In the midst of one of these shadowy aisles, I met or passed some one: I saw that it was a Mexican boy; but the sombre light, and the rapidity with which I was riding, prevented me from noting anything more. The lad shouted after me, uttering some words, which were drowned by the hoof-strokes of my horse. I deemed it some expression of boyish _esprit_, and, without heeding it, rode on.

Not until far out of sight and hearing did it occur to me that I knew the voice and the lad. I recollected a sort of errand-boy attached to the hacienda, and whom I had seen more than once at the rancheria. I now remembered the badinage of Wheatley, and would have returned to question the youth; but I had left him too far in the rear. After a moment's reflection, I spurred on.

I soon arrived at the base of the hill on which stood the hacienda; and here leaving the main road, I followed a bridle-path that skirted the hill.

A few hundred yards brought me to the spot where I had last observed the object of my pursuit.

The hoof-track of the white horse now guided me, and upon his trail I entered the woods.

For some distance, it followed a well-trodden path--a cattle-track--but all at once it diverged from this, and struck off into a heavily timbered bottom, where not the semblance of path existed.

Keeping the trace in view, I rode after.

As I advanced, the timber grew thicker, and the path more difficult. A close underwood of arundinaria and sabal palms shut up the way and the view; trailing roots obstructed progress below; while higher up, the trelliswork of llianas, bamboo briars, sarsaparilla, and gigantic grape-vines, rendered it necessary to bend down in the saddle in order to pass onward.

To my surprise I noticed all this. For what purpose could she have chosen such a path? Was it indeed Isolina I had seen? A white horse and a scarlet manga are not uncommon things in Mexico. It might not be--But the hoof-print--

I dismounted and examined it: I knew it at a glance--it was that of the noble steed, and the rider could be no other than Isolina de Vargas.

No longer in doubt, though still wondering, I followed the tracks.

For a half-mile or more, the path meandered through thick forest, here turning around some giant trunk, there diverging to the right or left, to avoid the impervious network of canes and llianas.

At length it began to slope upwards; and I perceived by the ascent that I was climbing a hill. The woods became more open as I advanced--here and there alternating with glades--the trees were of slender growth, and the foliage lighter and thinner. I was no longer among the heavy trunks of platanus and liquidambar. The _leguminoseae_ were the prevailing trees; and many beautiful forms of inga, acacia, and mimosa, grew around. Myrtles, too, mingled their foliage with wild limes, their branches twined with flowering parasites, as the climbing _combretum_, with its long flame-like clusters, convolvuli, with large white blossoms, and the beautiful twin-leaved bauhinia.

It was a wild garden of flowers--a shrubbery of nature's own planting.

The eye, wandering through the vistas and glades, beheld almost every form of inflorescence. There were the trumpet-shaped bignonias-- convolvuli in pendulous bells--syngenesists disposed in spreading umbels; and over them, closely set upon tall spikes, rose the showy blossoms of the bromelias--aloes and _dasylyrium_. Even from the tops of the highest trees hung gaudy catkins, wafted to and fro by the light breeze, mingling their sheen and their perfume with the floral _epiphytes_ and parasites that clustered around the branches.

I could not help thinking that these flowers are gifted with life, and enjoy, during their short and transient existence, both pleasure and pain. The bright warm sun is their happiness, while the cold cloudy sky is the reflection of their misery.

As I rode onward, another reflection passed through my mind; it was caused by my perceiving that the atmosphere was charged with pleasant perfumes--literally loaded with fragrance. I perceived, moreover, that the same breeze carried upon its breath the sweet music of birds, whose notes sounded clear, soft, and harmonious.

What closet-slanderer hath asserted that the flowers of this fair land are devoid of fragrance--that its birds, though brightly plumed, are songless?

Ah, Monsieur Buffon! with all your eloquence, such presumptive assertion will one day strip you of half your fame. You could never have approached within two hundred paces of a _Stanhopea_, of the _epidendrum odoratum_, of the _datura grandiflora_, with its mantle of snow-white blossoms? You could never have passed near the pothos plant, the serbereae, and tabernamon taneae, the callas, eugenias, ocotas, and nictiginas?--you could never have ridden through a chapparal of acacias and mimosas--among orchids whose presence fills whole forests with fragrant aroma?

And more, Monsieur! you could never have listened to the incomparable melody of the mock-bird--the full, charming notes of the blue song-thrush--the sweet warbling voices of the silvias, finches, and tanagers, that not only adorn the American woods with their gorgeous colours, but make them vocal with never-ending song?

No, Monsieur! you could never have inhaled the perfume of these flowers, nor listed to the melody of these sweet songsters; and sad it was of you, and silly as sad, to have yielded to the prejudice of a slender spirit, and denied their existence. Both exist--the singing birds and the fragrant flowers--both exist, and thou art gone.

On such reflections I dwelt but for a moment; they were merely the natural impressions of surrounding objects--short-lived sensations, almost instantaneously passing away. The soul, benighted with love, has neither eye nor ear for aught beyond the object of its passion. From the contemplation of that only does it derive pleasure; and even the fairest pictures of nature may be spread before it without challenging observation. It was only that the one through which I was passing was of such transcendent beauty--so like to some scene of paradise--that I could not help regarding it with momentary admiration.

But my eyes soon returned to the earth, and once more taking up the trace of the steed, I rode on.

I had advanced near the summit. The tracks were quite recent; the branches that had been touched by the flanks of the horse had not yet ceased to vibrate; the rider could not be far in advance. I fancied I heard the hoof-stroke.

Silently I pressed on, expecting every moment to catch the gleam of the scarlet manga, or the white sheen of the steed.

A few paces farther, and both were under my eyes, glittering through the feathery frondage of the mimosas. I had followed the true track. The rider was Isolina.

I saw that she had halted. She had reached the top of the hill, where the growth of timber ceased. An opening of about an acre there was, surrounded on all sides by the flowery woods--the very _beau-ideal_ of a summer glade. The open summit commanded a view of the surrounding country--for the hill was a high one--while the charming spot itself enjoyed perfect privacy and repose.

In this glade, she had drawn up, and was sitting silently in the saddle as if to enjoy the warbling of birds, the hum of the bees, and the fragrance of flowers.

I myself drew rein, and remained for some moments in a state of hesitancy, as to whether I should ride forward or go back. A feeling of shame was upon me, and I believe I would have turned my horse and stolen gently away, but just then I saw the fair rider draw forth from her bosom something that glittered in the sun. It was a watch, and she appeared to note the time. I observed that she looked anxiously over the tops of the low trees, in the direction of the plain below.

These circumstances, trivial as they might appear, produced within me a quick sense of pain. I felt as if hot steel was passing through my heart. I had ridden to my ruin--I had followed to be present at an assignation. Thus only could I explain the solitary ride, and by such difficult and devious paths; thus only could I account for the oft-repeated anxious glance, the ear acutely bent. Beyond a doubt, she was listening for the footsteps of a lover!

The rein fell from my fingers. I sat irresolute--I scarcely breathed-- my heart felt cold and feeble--the birds mocked me--the parrots screeched his name--the _aras_ in hoarse concert cried out "_Ijurra_!"

The name nerved me, as blood knits the sinews of the tiger. Once more my fingers closed upon my bridle, my feet became firm in the stirrups, and heart and arm swelled to their full strength. 'Twas but a light rapier that hung against my thigh--no matter; he might be no better weaponed; but even armed from head to heel, I feared him not. Three passions--hatred, jealousy, and revenge--supplied an arm of treble strength, and under the influence of these I felt bold and sure of conquest. Yes, I felt at that moment, as though I could have slain my hated rival with my naked hands.

I was no longer troubled with scruples of etiquette. No; this monster owed me satisfaction--life itself: he had striven to take mine; and now his should be forfeit to my vengeance. On that spot--even in her presence--should he die, or I myself become the victim. The two of us should never go thence alive. "Oh, that he may reach the ground while my blood is thus hot, and my hand ready!"

The fierce thoughts stirring within me must have roused my horse, for at that moment he tossed his head and neighed wildly. A response came like an echo from the glade, and the instant after, a voice called out.--

"_Hola! quien va_?"

Concealment was no longer possible. I saw that I was observed; and, spurring my horse into the open ground, I rode up, and halted face to face with Isolina.

CHAPTER FORTY SIX.

A DECLARATION ON HORSEBACK.

Face to face with my beautiful brunette. Her eyes flashed upon me with an expression of surprise. I felt abashed by the glance; my conduct was not _en regle_.

I bethought me of an apology. What excuse could I offer for such unceremonious intrusion? Accident? She would not believe it; the time and the place were against such a supposition. With an intellect like hers, it would be idle to adopt so shallow an artifice. No; I would not dissemble; I would boldly avow the truth. Jealousy had rendered me reckless of the result.

"_Adios, cavallero_!" said she, interrupting my hurried reflections.

"_Carrambo_! where is your guide? How have you found this place?"

"Easily enough, senorita; I followed the tracks of your horse."

"But so soon--I did not expect you--"

"No; you expected another?"

"Certainly. I thought Cyprio would arrive before you--"