f a woman, dressed in a robe as white as
the _floripondio_, with long dark tresses floating over her shoulders
like the mantilla of some grand senora.

"It is Matlacuezc," muttered the negro, in a low, anxious tone, and
scarce able to conceal the terror with which the apparition had inspired
him.

"Beyond doubt," hurriedly replied Costal, gliding down towards the
water, followed by the negro.

On arriving at the beach, both plunged into the lake, and commenced
swimming back towards the shore. Although the white form was no longer
visible to them from their low position in the water, Don Cornelio could
still see it glancing through the green stems of the reeds, but no
longer in motion.

Costal had taken the bearings of the place before committing himself to
the water; and, swimming with vigorous stroke, he soon reached the shore
several lengths in advance of his companion.

Don Cornelio could see both of the adventurers as they swam back, and
perceived, moreover, that the white form had been seen by them, and it
was towards this object that Costal was steering his course. He saw the
Indian approach close to it; and was filled with surprise at beholding
him stretch forth his arms, as if to grasp the goddess of the waters,
when all at once a loud voice sounded in his ears, crying out the
words--

"Death to the murderer of Gaspacho!"

Along with the voice a light suddenly flashed up among the bushes, and
the report of a carbine reverberated along the shores of the lake.

Costal and Clara were both seen to dive at the shot; and for a time Don
Cornelio could not see either of them.

The white form had also sunk out of sight, but near the spot which it
had occupied, the long reeds were seen to shake in a confused manner, as
if some one was struggling in their midst.

Don Cornelio could hear their stems crackle with the motion; and he
fancied that a low cry of agony proceeded from the spot; but the moment
after all was silent; and the lake lay glistening under the pale silvery
moonbeam, with nothing visible in its waters, or upon its shores, to
break the tranquil stillness of its repose.

CHAPTER SEVENTY SEVEN.

THE PURSUIT.

Only for a very short interval did the shores of the lake Ostuta
preserve their tranquil silence. In a few moments after the white robe
had disappeared from the eyes of Don Cornelio, he saw Costal and Clara
rise to the surface of the water, and make their way rapidly through the
re