y brain was in a whirl.
The strange incidents of the day--some of them were mysterious--crowded
into my mind. My whole system, mental as well as physical, was flushed;
and thought followed thought with nervous rapidity.

My heart shared the excitement--chords long silent had been touched--the
divine element was fairly enthroned. I was in love!

It was not the first passion of my life, and I easily recognised it.
Even jealousy had begun to distil its poison--"Don Santiago!"

I was standing in front of a large mirror, when I noticed two small
miniatures hanging against the wall--one on each side of the glass.

I bent over to examine, first, that which hung upon the right. I gazed
with emotion. They were _her_ features; "and yet," thought I, "the
painter has not flattered her; it might better represent her ten years
hence: still, the likeness is there. Stupid artist!" I turned to the
other. "Her fair sister, no doubt. Gracious heaven! Do my eyes
deceive me? No, the black wavy hair--the arching brows--the sinister
lip--_Dubrosc_!"

A sharp pang shot through my heart. I looked at the picture again and
again with a kind of incredulous bewilderment; but every fresh
examination only strengthened conviction. "There is no mistaking those
features--they are his!" Paralysed with the shock, I sank into a chair,
my heart filled with the most painful emotions.

For some moments I was unable to think, much less to act.

"What can it mean? Is this accomplished villain a fiend?--the fiend of
my existence?--thus to cross me at every point, perhaps in the end
to--."

Our mutual dislike at first meeting--Lobos--his reappearance upon the
sand-hills, the mystery of his passing the lines and again appearing
with the guerilla--all came forcibly upon my recollection; and now I
seized the lamp and rushed back to the pictures.

"Yes, I am _not_ mistaken; it is he--it is she, her features--all--all.
And thus, too!--the position--side by side--counterparts! There are no
others on the wall; matched--mated--perhaps betrothed! His name, too,
Don Emilio! The American who taught them English! _His_ is Emile--the
voice on the island cried `Emile!' Oh, the coincidence is complete!
This villain, handsome and accomplished as he is, has been here before
me! Betrothed--perhaps married--perhaps--Torture! horrible!"

I reeled back to my chair, dashing the lamp recklessly upon the table.
I know not how long I sat, but a world of win