Hers was no attitude of expectation; there was no eagerness in the great eyes that wandered slowly from one object to another, nor did the glance betray any enjoyment of the beautiful scene. The woman was evidently lost in deep and melancholy thought; each moment the lines about her mouth deepened, and the cold sadness of the eyes settled into a hard, bitter expression which gave something almost repulsive to the whole face.
She looked very unlike the sort of woman one would have expected to find in that solitary place. She was tall and slender, and her form would have appeared almost fragile had it not been for a certain flexibility and force visible in every line even in that attitude of repose.
She was young still; but from her face it would have been impossible to guess at her real age. At one moment it looked fairly girlish; the next the shadow of some heavy thought swept across it and appeared to accomplish the work of years upon the features.
It was evident that her fate had been very different from that which met most of the women who followed husbands and fortune into the Eldorado of the New World. The hand which lay upon the window-frame was delicate and white; the colorless pallor of the cheek bore no evidence of hardship or exposure.
She was plainly dressed, but her garments were made in a picturesque fashion, and the few ornaments she wore were heavy and rich. Her long, golden hair was brushed smoothly back from her forehead and gathered in shining bands at the back of her head, and made the chief beauty of her person. Only those who have seen the tress of Lucretia Borgia's hair, preserved still in a foreign gallery, can form any idea of the peculiar color which I desire to describe. I was wrong to call it golden; it was too pale for that. In the shadow it had the colorless tint one seldom sees, except in the locks of very young children; but when she moved, so that the sun struck its loose ripples, it flashed out so brightly that it crowned her forehead like a halo.
The sunset deepened, but still the lady remained leaning out of the window and giving herself up to that gloomy meditation, which sometimes seemed to deepen into absolute pain.
Suddenly a new object at the upper end of the valley attracted her attention, and she gazed with more eagerness than she had before manifested.
Leading by the place where the mountain torrent had cleft its way through the rocks, there ran a bridle-path, worn by the miners' feet, from the gold diggings down the valley. It was toward that spot the lady's eyes were directed, as a small cavalcade wound slowly down the rocky path and took the grassy plain which led toward the ranche.
An expression of displeasure disturbed the stillness of the woman's face. She shaded her eyes with her hand and looked eagerly toward the advancing group; but at that distance it was impossible to distinguish more than that it consisted of three men mounted on mules, followed by several persons on foot.
She moved quickly from the window and passed into another room; in a moment she returned, carrying a spyglass which she directed toward the procession. After the first glance she drew a heavy breath and muttered: