The stage-driver silently preceded me—still going slowly, and without any abatement of caution.
I had time to reflect, as I followed him.
My thoughts were anything but cheerful. The gloomy canopy of the pines appeared to give a tinge to my spirit, and it became attuned to the sad sighing heard high up among their ancillae. The moaning of the great Mexican owl, as it glided past on soft silent wing, seemed meant only to mock me!
I had been under a half belief that I had forgotten Dolores Villa-Señor, or become indifferent to her existence. Vain hallucination! Idle, and I knew it now.
Long weary marches; sieges protracted; battles, and wounds therein received; even the coquetry of other eyes—wicked as hers—had not chased her image from my heart, or my memory. It was there still.
I could see her countenance before me—under the sombre shadow of the trees—plain as I saw the white-winged owls—soft as the weird wafting of their wings!
I had not forgotten her. In that hour I knew that I never should.
And while hastening to effect her rescue, I felt as if I could have gloated over her ruin—so steeped was my soul in chagrin—so brimful of black vengeance!
It was no chivalrous thought that was carrying me up the slopes of Ixticihuatl—only the hope of humiliating her, who had humiliated me!
I was aroused from my unworthy imaginings by the voice of Sam Brown, whispering close to my ear. His words were:—