"No, lady. I too much dread the answer."

"Ho! what a coward you have grown of late! A pity I am not masked.

Shall I draw this veil? Ha, ha, ha!"

It was not the manner of love. Love laughs not. My heart was heavy; I made no reply, but with eyes upon the ground, sat in my saddle, feeling like one condemned.

For some moments her laughter rang in my ears, as I fancied, in mockery.

Her sweet silvery voice only grated upon my heart. Oh, that I had never listened to its siren tones!

I heard the hoof-stroke of her horse; and, looking up, saw that she was moving away from the spot. Was she going to leave me thus?

She spurred towards the centre of the glade, where the ground was higher, and there again pulled up.

"Come hither, cavallero!" she cried, beckoning to me with her small gloved hand.

Mechanically, I moved forward to the spot.

"So, gallant capitan! you who are brave enough to meet a score of foes, have not the courage to ask a woman if she loves you!"

A dismal smile was my only reply to this bitter badinage.

"Ah! capitan," she continued, "I will not believe it; ere now you have put that dreaded interrogatory--often, I fear too often."

I looked at her with surprise. There was a touch of bitterness in the tone. The gay smile was gone; her eyelids drooped; her look was turned upon the ground.

Was this real, or only a seeming? the prelude to some abrupt antithesis?

some fresh outburst of satire?

"Senorita!" said I, "the hypothesis, whether true or false, can have but little interest for you."

She answered me with a smile of strange intelligence. I fancied there was sadness in it. I fancied--

"We cannot recover the past," said she, interrupting my thoughts; "no, no, no! But for the present--say again--tell me again that you love me!"

"Love you!--yes, lady--"

"And I have your heart, your whole heart?"

"Never--can I love another!"

"Thanks! thanks!"

"No more than thanks, Isolina?"

For some moments she remained silent, her eyes averted from me; she appeared struggling with some emotion.

"Yes, more than thanks," she replied at length; "gratitude! three things more--if they will suffice to prove my gratitude."

"Name them!"

"Why should prudery tie my tongue? I promised to be candid. I, too, came here to make confession. Listen! Three things I have said. Look around you!--north, south, east, and west--the land you see is mine; be it yours, if you will."

"Isolina!"

"This, too, can I bestow,"--she held forth her little hand, which I clasped with fervid emotion.

"More! more! the third?"

"The third, on second thoughts, I cannot give; 'tis yours already."

"It is--?"

"_Mia corazon_" (My heart).

Those splendid steeds, like creatures of intelligence, appeared to understand what was said; they had gradually moved closer and closer, till their muzzles touched and their steel curbs rang together. At the last words, they came side by side, as if yoked in a chariot. It appeared delight to them to press their proud heaving flanks against each other, while their riders, closing in mutual clasp, leaned over and met their lips in that wild fervid kiss--the climax of love.

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.

STRAYED FROM THE TRACK.

We parted upon the top of the hill. It was not prudent for us to be seen riding together, and Isolina went away first, leaving me in the glade.

We had bidden adieu in that phrase of pleasant promise, "_hasta la manana_" (until to-morrow). To-morrow we should meet again. To-morrow, and to-morrow, we should visit that sweet spot, repeat our burning words, renew our blissful vows.

I remained some minutes on the ground, now hallowed and holy. Within, the tumult of triumphant passion had passed, and was succeeded by the calm repose of perfect contentment. My heart's longings had been gratified; it had found all that it desired--even to the full reciprocity of its passion. What would it more? There is no more of mundane bliss. Life has no felicity to cope with requited love; it alone can give us a foretaste of future joys; by it only may we form some idea of the angel existence of heaven.

The world without was in harmony with the spirit within. The scene around me was rose-coloured. The flowers appeared fresher in tint, and breathed a sweeter fragrance in the air; the hum of the homeward bee, laden with treasures for his love-queen, fell with a dreamy pleasance upon the ear; the voices of the birds sounded softer and more musical; even the _aras_ and paroquets, chanting in a more subdued tone, no longer pronounced that hated name; and the tiny Mexican doves, _las palomitas_--scarcely so large as finches--walked with proud gait over the ground, or side by side upon the branches of the myrtles--like types of tender love--told their heart's tale in soft and amorous cooing.

Long could I have lingered by that consecrated spot, even _hasta la manana_, but duty claimed me, and its calls must not be disregarded.

Already the setting sun was flinging purple beams over the distant prairie; and, heading my horse down the hill, I once more plunged under the shadows of the mimosas.

Absorbed in my supreme happiness, I took no heed of aught else; I noticed neither track nor path.

Had I left my horse to himself, most likely he would have taken the right road; but in my reverie, perhaps I had mechanically dragged upon the rein, and turned him from it. Whether or not, after a lapse of time, I found myself in the midst of thick woods, with not the semblance of a trail to guide me; and I knew not whether I was riding in the right direction. I ought rather to say that I knew the contrary--else I must long before have reached the clearings around the village.

Without much reflection, I turned in a new direction, and rode for some time without striking a trail. This led me once more into doubt, and I made head back again, but still without success. I was in a forest-plain, but I could find no path leading anywhere; and amid the underwood of palmettoes I could not see any great distance around me.

Beyond a question, I had strayed far out of my way.

At an early hour of the day, this would have given me little concern; but the sun had now set, and already under the shadow of the moss-covered trees, it was nearly dark. Night would be down in a few minutes, and in all probability I should be obliged to spend it in the forest--by no means an agreeable prospect, and the less so that I was thinly clad and hungry. True, I might pass some hours in sweet reflection upon the pleasant incident of the day--I might dream rosy dreams--but, alas! the soul is sadly under the influence of the body; the spiritual must ever yield to the physical, and even love itself becomes a victim to the vulgar appetite of hunger.

I began to fear that, after all, I should have but a sorry night of it.

I should be too hungry to think; too cold either to sleep or dream; besides, I was likely to get wet to the shirt--as the rain had commenced falling in large heavy drops.

After another unsuccessful effort to strike a trail, I pulled up and sat listening. My eyes would no longer avail me; perhaps my ears might do better service.

And so it chanced. The report of a rifle reached them, apparently fired some hundred yards off in the woods.