ng, which during all the day has never
left her, now pressing upon her spirit with the weight of woe itself.
She could scarce be sadder, or surer that some terrible mischance had
happened to her husband and daughter, had she seen it with her own eyes.
And were both to be brought back dead, 'twould be almost what she is
anticipating.

In vain her son Ludwig, an affectionate lad, essays to cheer her. Do
his best to assign or invent reasons for their prolonged absence, he
cannot chase the dark shadow from her brow, nor lift the load off her
heart. And Cypriano, who dearly loves his aunt, has no more success.
Indeed, less, since almost as much does he need cheering himself. For
although Francesca's fate is a thing of keen inquietude to the brother,
it is yet of keener to the cousin. Love is the strongest of the
affections.

But youth, ever hopeful, hinders them from despairing; and despite their
solicitude, they find words of comfort for her who hears them without
being comforted.

"Keep up heart, mother!" says Ludwig, feigning a cheerfulness he far
from feels. "'Twill be all right yet, and we'll see them home to-morrow
morning--if not before. You know that father has often stayed out all
night."

"Never alone," she despondingly answers. "Never with Francesca. Only
when Gaspar was along with him."

"Well, Gaspar's with him now, no doubt; and that'll make all safe. He's
sure to have found them. Don't you think so, Cypriano?"

"Oh! yes," mechanically rejoins the cousin, in his heart far from
thinking it so, but the reverse. "Wherever they've gone he'll get upon
their tracks; and as Gaspar can follow tracks, be they ever so slight,
he'll have no difficulty with those of uncle's horse."

"He may follow them," says the senora, heaving a sigh, "but whither will
they lead him to. Alas, I fear--"

"Have no fear, _tia_!" interrupts the nephew, with alacrity, an idea
occurring to him. "I think I know what's detaining them--at least, it's
very likely."

"What?" she asks, a spark of hopefulness for an instant lighting up her
saddened eyes; Ludwig, at the same time, putting the question.

"Well," replies Cypriano, proceeding to explain, "you know how uncle
takes it, when he comes across a new object of natural history, or
anything in the way of a curiosity. It makes him forget everything
else, and everybody too. Suppose while riding over the campo he chanced
upon something of that sort, and stayed to secure i