Without stopping to consider the probable absurdity of my surmise, I started the old horse upon the maddest race of his life.
In my excitement the wielding of the whip was a nervous joy.
The old bones of the beast seemed almost to crack as he leaped along the road.
All at once I seemed to be acting without reason, for when I at last entered the grounds of the deserted caravansary, there were no evidences to justify my suspicions.
The summer's silence was intense; not a human being was visible, and the desolation pervading the deserted resort was sickening as well as satisfying.
I felt that I had been absurd to believe for a moment that Mariposilla could have wished to reënter the place, and I was also convinced that, in her feeble condition, she could never have walked the distance from the ranch.
The old horse was now resting in front of the silent hotel, and my very inaction was unbearable. I racked my brain to the verge of despair, before I again hit upon a possible explanation for Mariposilla's disappearance.
Why had I not thought of it before? Why had I taken it for granted that Arturo had gone alone for Father Ramirez? The priest drove always in his own conveyance, and what could be more natural than to believe that Arturo had induced Mariposilla to accompany him upon his errand? Was it not reasonable to believe that the young people had laid aside their personal feelings at such a time, desiring to perform together a last, trifling duty to the dead grandmother?
True to the comforting inspiration, I had turned the reluctant horse to leave the grounds, when, rushing joyfully in front of the astonished brute, I beheld the hounds, Mariposilla's grayhounds, who knew where their little mistress was hiding.