ections, as well as to thoughts of a graver character, and both
presented themselves at that moment to the spirit of Tiburcio. Like all
those whose life has been passed amid the depths of the desert, there
was at the bottom of his heart a certain poetic temperament, at the same
time that his soul exhibited that energetic vigour required by the
dangers which surround such a life of solitude. His present position
then was perfectly appropriate to this double character. His love was
unreciprocated--the coolness of Rosarita, almost assured him of the
painful fact--and some secret presentiment told him that he was
encompassed by enemies.

While thus sadly reflecting on his situation, an object came under his
eyes that attracted his attention. It was the gleam of a fire, which
appeared to be kindled under cover of the forest at no great distance
from the hacienda. The light was partly eclipsed by that of the moon,
but still it could be traced by the greater redness of its rays, as they
trembled mysteriously on the silver foliage of the trees. It denoted
the halting-place of some traveller.

"So near the hacienda!" muttered Tiburcio, in entering upon a new series
of reflections. "What can it mean? Why have these travellers not come
here to demand hospitality? They have certainly some reason for keeping
themselves at a distance? They may be unknown friends to me for heaven
often sends such to those who stand in need of them. Cuchillo, Don
Estevan, and this pompous Senator, all appear to be my enemies and all
are secure under this roof! why might not these travellers, who appear
to shun it for that very reason prove friends to me?"

The hour of rendezvous had at length arrived. Tiburcio took up his
_serape_ and his knife--the last, the only weapon he had--and prepared
to go out from his chamber without making any noise. A fearful conflict
of emotions was passing in his bosom; for he knew that in a few minutes
would be decided the question of his happiness or misery. Before
leaving his chamber, he looked once more through the window in the
direction of the forest fire. It was still gleaming in the same place.

While the lover, with cautious tread and wildly beating heart, was
silently traversing the long gallery, and passing round to that side
upon which opened the window of Rosarita, other scenes were passing
elsewhere that must now be detailed.

Since his arrival at the hacienda, Don Estevan, in presence of t