Chapter One Hundred Four.
Un Paraiso.
We come to the closing act of our drama. To understand it fully, it is necessary that the setting of the stage—the mise-en-scène—be described with a certain degree of minuteness. The little valley-plain, or vallon, in which we had cachéd ourselves, was not over three hundred yards in length, and of an elliptical form. But for this form, it might have resembled some ancient crater scooped out of the mountain, that on all sides swept upward around it. The sides of this mountain, trending up from the level of the plain, rose not with a gentle acclivity, but with precipitous abruptness. At no point, however, did it assume the character of a cliff. It might have been scaled with difficulty by a man on foot, especially should he avail himself of the assistance of the trees—pines and trailing junipers—that grew over the steep so thickly as to conceal the greater portion of its rocky façade. Here and there only, a bare spot might be observed—a little buttress of white laminated gypsum, mingled with sparkling selenite; while at other places a miniature torrent, leaping over the rocks, and dancing among the dark cedars, presented a very similar appearance. These little torrents, plashing down to the plain, formed numerous crystal rills that traversed the vallon. Like the branches of a silver candelabrum, all united near its centre, and there formed a pellucid stream, that, sweeping onward, discharged itself through the ravine into Robideau’s Pass. The effect of this abundance of water had been to produce within the vallon a proportionate luxuriance of vegetation, though it had not assumed the form of a forest. A few handsome cotton-woods, standing thinly over it, were the only trees; but the surface exhibited a verdure of emerald brightness enamelled by many a gay corolla—born to blush unseen within this sweet secluded glen. Along the edge of the rivulet, large water-plants projected their broad leaves languidly over the stream; and where the little cascades came down from the rocks, the flowers of beautiful orchids, and other rare epiphytes, were seen sparkling under the spray—many of them clinging to the coniferae, and thus uniting almost the extreme types of the botanical world!
Such lovely landscape was presented to our eyes in the “bolson” into which our trapper-guide had conducted us. It appeared lovely as we first beheld it—under the blue light of dawn; but lovelier far, when the sun began to tinge the summits of the Mojada Mountains that encircled it, and scatter his empurpled roses on the snowy peaks of the Wa-to-yah—just visible through the gorge.
“Esta un Paraiso!” (It is a Paradise!) exclaimed the Mexican, warming with the poetry of his race. “En verdad un Paraiso! Even better peopled than the Paradise of old. Mira! cavalleros!” continued he. “Behold! not one Eve, but two! each, I daresay, as beautiful as the mother of mankind!”
As the trapper spoke, he pointed to the young girls, who, hand-in-hand, were returning from the stream—where they had been performing their ablutions. The spots of allegria had disappeared from the cheeks of Marian, that now gleamed in all their crimson picturesqueness. It was for Wingrove to admire these. My own eyes were riveted upon the roseate blonde; and, gazing upon her face, I could not help echoing the sentiment of the enthusiastic speaker: “Beautiful as the mother of mankind!” Wingrove and I had been to the lavatory before them; and had succeeded to a certain extent in scouring our skins clear of the vermilion bedaubment. In the anticipation of this pleasant interview, it was natural we should seek to rescue ourselves from a disguise, that the eye of woman could not look upon otherwise than with dégout. It was natural, too, we should desire those clasped hands to come asunder—those maiden forms to be separated from one another?
Fortune was pleased to respond to our wishes. A flower hanging from the branch of a tree at that moment caught the eye of Lilian; and, dropping her sister’s hand, she hastened to gather it. Marian, who cared less for flowers, did not follow her. Perhaps her inclination tempted her the other way?
But one did follow the fair Lilian—unable to resist the opportunity for free converse—the only one that had offered since that first sweet interview. How my heart bounded, when I beheld the blossom of the bignonia; for it was that which hung drooping from the branch of the cotton-wood, round which its bright leaves were amorously entwining! How it swelled with a triumphant joy, when I saw those tiny fingers, extend towards the Sower, gently pluck it from its stem, and place it upon my bosom! Talk not of bliss, if it be not this! We strayed on through the straggling trees, along the banks of the stream, by the edges of the little rills. We wandered around the vallon, and stood by the torrents that fell foaming from the rocks. We mingled our voices with the waters, that in low murmurings appeared to repeat the sentiment so endeared to us, “I think of thee!”