os_!" wafted upon the breeze: something of the
kind I anticipated.

My horse seemed to divine my wishes; scarcely waiting for the guidance
of the rein, he moved forward upon the path taken by the steed of
Isolina.

I soon reached the bottom of the hill, and, entering the heavy timber,
traversed a tangled wood--similar to that on the other side of the
cerro. There was no path, but the tracks of the white steed were easily
followed, and, guiding myself by them, I rode forward.

I had not gone five hundred yards from the hill, when I heard voices
through, the woods, directly in front of me, and apparently at no great
distance. Years of frontier-life had imbued me with an intuitive
caution that resembled instinct; and, as if by mechanical effort, I
pulled up and listened.

A woman was speaking; and instantly I recognised the voice. There was
but one that rang with that rich metallic tone. I might well remember
it, for the sweet, sad sounds of the _va con Dios_ had not yet ceased to
vibrate in my ears.

With whom was she in converse? Whom had she encountered in such a
place, amid the wild woods?

She ceased speaking.

With ears keenly set, I listened for the rejoinder. Naturally, I
expected it in the voice of a man; but not that man. Oh, heavens! it
was the voice of Rafael Ijurra!

CHAPTER FORTY NINE.

THREATS.

Yes, the voice was Ijurra's. I knew it well. While listening to it by
the mesa, I had noted its tones sufficiently to remember them--round,
sonorous, of true Spanish accent, and not inharmonious--though at that
moment they grated harshly upon my ear.

An indescribable feeling came over me: it was not jealousy--I was too
confident to be jealous--and yet, I shame to confess, I felt a sensation
sadly akin to it. After those earnest oaths, those tears and frenzied
kisses--so soon after! Oh, shame upon me!

Alas! the experienced heart no more enjoys the tranquil continuity of
faith. Its belief is like a broken dream--an intermittence of light and
shade. It was my misfortune, my error, perhaps my crime, to remember
too many pairs of pretty perjured lips.

In a word, I was once more jealous, in spite of all that had passed--of
sighs, and tears, and plighted vows--once more jealous of Ijurra!

But the moment before, his name was on her tongue, and spoken with
scorn; in the same breath I was assured that he was no longer in the
neighbourhood, that he was far away!

No; he was upon the spo