arching for."

"You are a fool!" cried Costal, in his ill-humour forgetting the respect
due to his superior. "The woman you saw in white robes was no other
than Matlacuezc, and I should have had her in my arms in another second
of time but for that accursed coyote, who, by firing his carbine, caused
her suddenly to disappear. Well! he has paid for his indiscretion:
that's some comfort, but, for all that--"

"It is you who are a fool, you miserable heathen," said Don Cornelio,
interrupting Costal in his turn. "The poor creature, who has no doubt
been struck with the bullet, is no other than the wife of this young
Spaniard! Do you hear that?"

This last interrogatory had relation to a cry that came up from the
reeds, where the Indians with their torches were still continuing their
search.

"Look yonder!" continued Don Cornelio, pointing to them, "they have
stopped over the very spot, and that wail--that is significant."

As Don Cornelio spoke a chorus of lamentations came back upon the
breeze, uttered by the Indian searchers. It was heard by the dying man
in his _litera_, and apprised him of that which Don Cornelio would
otherwise have attempted to conceal from him. It was now too late,
however, and the Captain ran towards the _litera_, in hopes of offering
some words of consolation.

"Dead! dead!" cried the young Spaniard, wringing his hands in mortal
anguish. "Oh God! she is dead!"

"Let us hope not," faltered Don Cornelio; "these people may be
mistaken."

"Oh! no, no! she is dead! I knew it; I had a presentiment of it! O
merciful Saviour! dead, my Marianita dead!"

After a moment, becoming more calm, the dying man continued:--

"What better fate could I have wished for her? She has escaped
dishonour at the hands of these pitiless brigands, and I am about to die
myself. Yes, friend! death is now sweeter to me than life: for it will
bring me to her whom I love more than myself."

And like those who, calmly dying, arrange everything as if for some
ordinary ceremonial, the young man laid his head upon the pillow; and
then stretching out his hands, composed the coverlet around him--leaving
it open at one side, as if for the funereal couch of her whom he would
never see more.

Don Cornelio, turning away from the painful spectacle, advanced towards
the lake, making signs for Costal to follow him.

"Come this way," he said, "and you shall see how much truth there is in
your pagan superstitions."