He held a book in his hand; and was reading from it the ritual of marriage—according to the Romish Church.
My eyes did not dwell upon him for a single second. They went in search of the bride, and bridegroom.
A little shifting among the leaves brought me face to face with the latter. Imagine my astonishment on beholding Francisco Moreno!
It was scarcely increased when I obtained a view of the bride. A presentiment—sad, almost stifling—had prepared me for seeing Dolores Villa-Señor. It was she!
I could not see her face. She was standing with her back towards the window. Besides, a white scarf, thrown loosely over her crown, and draping down to her waist, hindered even a side view of it.
There could be no doubt about its being Dolores. There was no mistaking that magnificent form—even when seen en detras. She it was, standing at the altar!
A wide space separated the bridegroom from the bride. I could not tell who, or what, was between. It appeared a little odd; but I supposed it might be the fashion of the country.
Behind him were other figures—all men—all in costumes that proclaimed a peculiar calling. They were brigands. Francisco only differed from the rest in being more splendidly attired. But then he was their chief!
I had been puzzled—a little pained—by some speeches he had let fall during our intercourse in the City of the Angels. How gentle had been his reproaches, and tolerant his condemnation, of Carrasco! As a rival, not as a robber, he had shown indignation against the ci-devant captain of Santa Anna!
What I now saw explained all. Don Eusebio had spoken only of probabilities, when he said that Moreno might be a bandit. Had he known the real truth regarding this aspirant to his daughter’s hand, he might have been excused for his design to shut her up in a convent.