CHAPTER XXIII.
“For valour, is not love a Hercules,
Still climbing trees in the Hesperides?”
Love’s Labour’s Lost.
At early dawn on the morning that followed the departure of Appadocca, Feliciana was sitting in the principal apartment of the Rancha. She was occupying her favourite chair by the window, and with her cheek resting upon her hand, was gazing listlessly and absently on the green grass without, on which the dew still sparkled in the silvery rays of the rising sun.
She seemed occupied by her own thoughts, although the beautiful picture of waking nature—a scene always enchanting in the tropics—was before her, and every moment, as she heard the rustling of the carat that roofed the house, or the creaking of the cedar windows as they became heated with the sun, or any other sound which might resemble a footfall, she turned her head eagerly to look, and turned away again, evidently disappointed when she saw nothing.
The morning merged more and more towards noon, she more and more frequently turned round to look, but seemed every time disappointed as before, for Appadocca, whom she was expecting, did not appear.
“Can he be ill,” thought Feliciana, “Maria, Maria!” she cried, as she became more and more alarmed by the idea.
An old servant appeared, and was immediately sent to see if the stranger was well.