“Look, Costal!” said he, hastily grasping his companion by the arm, and whispering in his ear; “look there! As I live, the diadem of the Siren!”
The Indian turned his eyes in the direction indicated, and there, sure enough, beheld something of a circular shape, shining in the glow of a reddish-coloured spot of fire.
He might have been as much puzzled to account for this strange appearance as was his companion; but at that moment the moon shot up from behind the bank of clouds that had hitherto hindered her from being seen, and the figures of both horse and rider were brought fully into the light.
Chapter Thirteen.
Who goes there?
At a glance Costal saw what the strange object was—a broad band of gold lace encircling a sombrero, and placed, Mexican fashion, around the under edge of the brim. The cigar illuminating the lace had deceived the negro, guiding him to the idea of a diadem!
“Carajo!” muttered Costal between his teeth, “I told you so. Did I not say that some profane white had hindered the Siren from appearing?”
“You were right,” replied Clara, ashamed at the mistake he had made, and from that time losing all belief in the genius of the cascade.