o be remembered
for life. She no longer laughed, but her proud lip seemed to curl with
a sarcastic smile, as of scorn!

I hesitated whether to return and apologise. But no; it was too late.
I could have fallen upon my knees, and begged forgiveness. It was too
late. I should only subject myself to further ridicule from that
capricious spirit.

Perhaps my look of remorse had more effect than words. I thought her
expression changed; her glance became more tender, as if inviting me
back! Perhaps--

At this moment a man approached, and without ceremony seated himself by
her side. His face was towards me--I recognised Ijurra!

"They converse. Is it of _me_? Is it of --? If so, he will laugh. A
world to see that man laugh, and know it is at _me_. If he do, I shall
soon cast off the load that is crushing my heart!

"He laughs not--not even a smile is traceable on his sombre features.
She has not told him, and well for him she has not. Prudence,
perchance, restrains her tongue; she might guess the result."

They are on their feet again; she masks. Ijurra leads her to the dance;
they front to each other; they whirl away--away: they are lost among the
maskers.

"Some wine, mozo!"

A deep long draught, a few seconds spent in buckling on my sword, a few
more in reaching the gate, one spring, and my saddled steed was under
me.

I rode with desperate heart and hot head; but the cool night-air, the
motion of my horse, and his proud spirit mingling with mine, gave me
relief, and I soon felt calmer.

On reaching the rancheria, I found my lieutenants still up, eating their
rudely cooked supper. As my appetite was roused, I joined them at their
meal; and their friendly converse restored for the time my spirit's
equanimity.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

LOVE-THOUGHTS.

A dread feeling is jealousy, mortified vanity, or whatever you may
designate the disappointment of love. I have experienced the sting of
shame, the blight of broken fortune, the fear of death itself; yet none
of these ever wrung my heart so rudely as the pang of an unreciprocated
passion. The former are but transient trials, and their bitterness soon
has an end. Jealousy, like the tooth of the serpent, carries poison in
its sting, and long and slow is the healing of its wound. Well knew he
this, that master of the human heart: Iago's prayer was not meant for
mockery.

To drown my mortification, I had drunk wine freely at the ball; and on
retu