Here is a dim, dark tragedy, buried within this grassy knoll, but within these pages all the mystery which haunts the flower-bespangled hillock will be cleared away. A difficult task indeed; but without those graves my story would never have been written.
I stand silent and thoughtful, gazing out over the tranquil landscape, which had once witnessed a scene of revolting horror here on this quiet spot; but all is peaceful now, the only sign of life visible being the long file of antelope that hurry by from the north. Halting on a lofty headland, they pause a moment, stretching their graceful necks to gaze back along their pathway, then with loud snorts wheeling and swiftly fleeing away.
At this moment the distant sound of hoofs was heard, becoming momentarily louder; then a group of riders dash up on their sleek, superb horses, and draw rein at the rude monument.
"It must be here, Clifford, at this low mound," said one of the riders, a graceful girl of seventeen, with nut-brown hair and blue eyes.
"Yes, Maud, I recognize the knoll from father's and Uncle Roger's description. It was uncle who carved this inscription upon the stone, little dreaming then that we should all come here a quarter of a century later to secure a new home," replied a youth of near twenty years; handsome, golden-haired, and symmetrical, with eyes of pansy blue, and a look of pride and good birth about him which showed plain through the dust and tan of a long journey.
"Ah, dear Bruce and Ivarene! how sad to end their romance with such a tragedy!" said Maud tearfully, as Clifford dismounted; then, as he helped her to alight, they stood for a moment in mute sorrow while deciphering the inscription upon the stone.
"Maud, it is hard to believe that the heiress of grand old Monteluma, with her millions of gold and gems at command, who wedded noble Bruce in the great cathedral before the dignitaries and ambassadors of half Christendom with a pomp and splendor new to even luxury-steeped Mexico, is sleeping with her husband in the silence of this lonesome grave," Clifford said in a tone of deep sadness.
"Oh! how vivid the picture returns, of the silken and lace-robed heiress, who threw back the gilded lattice of her window, and with pearls glinting, and rubies burning in her raven hair, smiled as her handsome lover, in his uniform of gray and gold lace, swung himself up to her window by the passion-vines and fuchsias, that rained a shower of purple, white, and rose on his sunny hair. I can almost see the love-look in his blue eyes yet," said Maud with a flood of tears, as she leaned against the rude monument and covered her face with her hands.
"I have sometimes fancied that they escaped; for there was no one left but father to inquire, and you know how long he was covered with the stones of that old wall, remaining delirious for months after Uncle Roger found him," said Clifford, "and that million of their gold and gems, with father's store of gold, I have often fancied, Maud, was hidden near here; for there has never been a search made since the terrible massacre."
"That looks so improbable, Clifford. If the savages murdered them for plunder, as they certainly did, then it is idle to think that they would have left anything of value behind. Even the jewels would have been fought for, as savages are very fond of glitter and splendor," Maud replied.