Both mother and son step hastily forward to the baluster rail, and resting hands on it, again strain their eyes outward, now as never before, at the same time listening as for some signal sound, on the hearing of which hung their very lives.
Soon they both hear and see what gives them gladness unspeakable, their ears first imparting it by a sound sweeter to them than any music, for it is the tread of horses’ hoofs upon the firm turf of the plain; and almost in the same instant they see the horses themselves, each with a rider upon its back.
The exclamation that leaps from the mother’s lips is the cry of a heart long held in torture suddenly released, and without staying to repeat it, she rushes out of the verandah and on across the patch of enclosed ground—not stopping till outside the palings which enclose it. Ludwig following, comes again by her side, and the two stand with eyes fixed on the approaching forms, there now so near that they are able to make out their number.
But this gives them surprise, somewhat alarming them afresh. For there are but three where there should be four.
“It must be your father and Francesca, with Caspar,” says the señora, speaking in doubt. “Cypriano has missed them all, I suppose. But he’ll come too—”
“No, mother,” interrupts Ludwig, “Cypriano is there. I can see a white horse, that must be his.”
“Gaspar then; he it is that’s behind.”
She says this with a secret hope it may be so.
“It don’t look like as if Gaspar was behind,” returns Ludwig, hesitating in his speech, for his eyes, as his heart, tell him there is still something amiss. “Two of them,” he continues, “are men, full grown, and the third is surely Cypriano.”
They have no time for further discussion or conjecture—no occasion for it. The three shadowy figures are now very near, and just as the foremost pulls up in front of the palings, the moon bursting forth from behind a cloud flashes her full light upon his face, and they see it is Gaspar. The figures farther off are lit up at the same time, and the señora recognises them as her husband and nephew. A quick searching glance carried behind to the croups of their horses shows her there is no one save those seated in the saddle.