Gradually, however, the light of day diminished on the approach of twilight, and then myriads of stars shone in the firmament, like sparks sown by the sun as he quitted the horizon. At length, as on that evening to which so many recollections belonged, when Fabian, wounded, reached the wood-rangers by their fire, the moon illumined the summits of the trees and the glades of the forest.
“Can we light a fire?” inquired Pepé.
“Certainly; for it may chance that we shall spend the night here,” replied Bois-Rose. “Is not this your desire, Fabian?”
“It matters little to me,” replied the young man; “here or yonder, are we not always agreed?”
Fabian, as we have said, had long felt that the Canadian could not live, even with him, in the heart of towns, without yearning for the liberty and free air of the desert. He knew also that to live without him would be still more impossible for his comrade; and he had generously offered himself as a sacrifice to the affection of the old hunter.
Bois-Rose was aware of the full extent of the sacrifice, and the tear he had that morning shed by stealth, was one of gratitude. We shall by-and-by enter more fully into the Canadian’s feelings.
The position of the stars indicated eleven o’clock.
“Go, my son,” said Bois-Rose to Fabian. “When you have reached the spot where you parted from the woman who perhaps loved you, put your hand upon your heart. If you do not feel its pulses beat quicker, return, for you will then have overcome the past.”
“I shall return, then,” replied Fabian, in a tone of melancholy firmness: “memory is to me like the breath of the wind which passes by without resting, and leaves no trace.”
He departed slowly. A fresh breeze tempered the hot exhalations which rose from the earth. A resplendent moon shone upon the landscape at the moment when Fabian, having quitted the shadow of the forest, reached the open space intervening between it and the wall inclosing the hacienda.