“Do you trace upon this moss which covers the ground the print of my horse’s hoofs when I pursued Don Estevan and his troop?” asked Fabian of Bois-Rose. “No! the dead leaves of the past winter have obliterated them—the grass which sprung up after the rainy season has grown over them.”
“Ah! if I raised the leaves, if I tore up the grass, I should again discover their traces, Fabian; and if I searched the depth of your heart—”
“You would find nothing, I tell you,” interrupted Fabian with some impatience; “but I am mistaken,” he added, gently, “you would find a reminiscence of childhood, one of those in which you are associated, my father.”
“I believe it, Fabian, I believe it—you who have been the delight of my whole life; but I have told you that I will not accept your sacrifice until to-morrow at this hour, when you shall have seen all, even the breach in the old wall, over which you once sprung, wounded in body and spirit.”
A shudder, like that of the condemned on seeing the last terrible instrument of torture, passed through Fabian’s frame.
The travellers halted at length, in that part of the forest situated between the Salto de Agua and the hacienda, in the open space where Fabian had found in the Canadian and his comrade, friends whom God seemed to have sent to him from the extreme ends of the earth.
Now the shades of night no longer obscured the silent depths of the American forest—a silence in which there is something awful when the sun in its zenith sends forth burning rays like blades of crimson fire, when the flower of the lliana closes its chalice, when the stems of the grass drop languidly downwards, as though in search of nourishment, and the whole face of nature, silent and inanimate, appears buried in sleep. The distant roar of the cataract was the only sound which at this hour broke the stillness of the forest.
The travellers unsaddled, and having removed their horses’ bridles, fastened them at some distance off. As they had travelled all night to escape the heat of the sun, they determined to take their siesta under the shade of the trees.
Gayferos was the first who fell asleep. His affection for Fabian was not disturbed by any fears for the future. Pepé was not long in following his example. The Canadian only and Fabian did not close their eyes.
“You are not sleeping, Fabian,” said Bois-Rose, in a low voice.