As yet we could not tell. A ruined pile, that had once been a sort of portico, extended between the two windows—overshadowing the doorway. It hindered us from obtaining a view of the second.
We had been kneeling among rhododendrons—a clump of which grew near the dining-room window. There were none in front of the drawing-room; but instead, an enormous aloe—the maguey of Mexico. Once to rearward of it, and screened by its broad blades, we should be in an excellent place for observation.
The question was how to get there, without being ourselves observed. The ground between the rhododendrons and the “pulque plant” was a smooth piece of turf, without shrub or tree. On this the two bands of light—widening as they went out from the windows—became commingled.
To have crossed from one side to the other would have been to expose ourselves under a light, clear almost as day.
We did not so much fear being seen by those within the sala grande. Their preoccupation—sport, or whatever was going on—would hinder them from looking forth.
But while crouching among the “rose trees” we had noticed that the great gate was open; and in the faint light that fell straggling across the saguan—a little brighter in the patio behind—we could see the dark-skinned domestics flitting to and fro with the supper dishes—like spectres engaged in the preparation of some infernal feast!
Some of these standing in the saguan, or loitering by the outside entrance, might observe us while crossing?
We dared not risk it. The exposure would be too great. Should we attempt to cross there would be scarce a chance to escape detection.
There was only one other course: to steal back down the lawn, cross over through the fainter light, and return along the edge of the other cliff. What a pity we had not taken this route at first!
I was loth to lose the time, but there was no help for it. To have saved it, by going direct, might have resulted in the loss of our lives; or, at all events, in disaster to our expedition.