Soon after, my eyes rested upon a shining object; it was the gilded vane of the little capilla, and beneath glistened the white vails of the hacienda, bathed in the milky light of the moon. My heart beat with strange emotions as I gazed upon the well-known mansion, and thought of the lovely jewel which that bright casket contained.
Was she asleep? Did she dream? Of what—of whom, was she dreaming?
Chapter Forty Four.
Dutch Lige in a Difficulty.
The soft blue light of morning was just perceptible along the eastern horizon as we rode into the rancheria. I no longer felt hunger. Some of the more provident of the rangers had brought with them well-filled haversacks, and had made me welcome to the contents. From their canteens I had satisfied my thirst, and Wheatley as usual carried his free flask.
Relieved of the protracted strain upon my nerves—of fear and vigil—I felt deadly weary, and scarcely undressing, I flung myself upon my leathern catré, and at once fell asleep.
A few hours’ repose had the desired effect, and restored both the strength of my body and the vigour of my mind. I awoke full of health and hope. A world of sweet anticipations was before me. The sky and fortune were both smiling.
I made my toilette with some care—my desayuna with less—and then, with lighted cigar, ascended to my favourite lounge on the azotea.