I stepped out from among the leaves—leisurely, as one who has no motive for making haste. There was a cold pain at my heart; a callous indifference to the fate of her who had caused it. She was welcome to go higher—to the summit of the mountain she had selected as the scene of her nuptials.
It was Ixticihuatl on whose slope we stood. The “White Sister” could be seen through the clear starlight above, reposing in spotless vestments. How different from the robe of Dolores!
“Let her go!” was my unchivalric reflection. “She has made her own bed: let her lie upon it!”
It was not for the purpose of pursuing—at all events not with any thought of rescuing her—that I placed the call to my lips, and sounded the signal for my men.
In less than five minutes the “Rifles” were around me—their green jackets distinguishable under the brilliant beams of the moon—that on the instant sailed suddenly into sight.
On hearing the shots, and other sounds of strife, they had commenced moving up the mountain-path. Hence the promptness of their appearance.
Selecting half a dozen of them, I stepped straight into the doorway of the house. We entered without opposition—groping our way through the saguan.
Inside all was darkness; though we could tell that the place was still tenanted,—by the groans that proceeded from the adjacent chamber.
A light was struck; and we commenced exploring the apartments. In the dining-room there was no one—a banquet spread—but without guest to partake of it!