ed
the blossom only to betray me?

I had looked down at the crushed corolla borne upon my breast. I had
promised myself a triumph by its presence there. I had formed pleasant
anticipations of its being recognised--fond hopes of its creating an
effect in my favour. The flower looked drenched and draggled. Its
carmine colour had turned to a dull dark crimson: it was the colour of
blood!

I could bear the suspense no longer. I would have hailed the house; but
by this time I had become convinced that there was no one inside. After
a short survey, I had remarked a change in the appearance of the cabin.
The interstices between the logs--where they had formerly been covered
with skins--were now open. The draping had been removed; and a closer
scrutiny enabled me to perceive, that, so far as human occupants were
concerned, the house was empty! I rode up to the door; and, leaning
over from my saddle, looked in. My conjecture was correct. Only the
chairs and table with one or two similar pieces of "plenishing,"
remained. Everything else had been removed; and some worthless _debris_
strewed over the floor, told that the removal was to be considered
complete. _They were gone_!

It was of no use harbouring a hope that they might still be on the
premises--outside or elsewhere near. The pouring rain forbade such, a
supposition. There was nowhere else--the horse-shed excepted--where
they could have sheltered! themselves from its torrent; and they were
not in the shed. Rosinante was absent from his rude stall--saddle and
bridle had alike disappeared. I needed no further assurance. They were
gone.

With a heavy heart, I slid out of my saddle; led my steed under the
shed; and then entered the deserted dwelling. My footfall upon the
plank-floor sounded heavy and harsh, as I strode over it, making a
survey of the "premises"--my future home. I might have observed with
ludicrous surprise the queer character of the building, and how sadly it
needed repair. But I was in no mood to be merry, either with the house
or its furniture; and, tottering into one of the odd-looking chairs, I
gave way to gloomy reflections. Any one, seeing me at that moment,
would have observed me in an attitude, more benefiting a man about to be
turned out of his estate, than one just entering upon possession!

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

A VIRGIN HEART IN CIPHER.

"Gone! and whither gone?" Half aloud, I soliloquised the interrogatory.
There