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Among
them
you
might
see
commemorated
the
figure
and
features
of
the
great
Condé
;
of
the
Campeador
;
of
Ferdinand
and
his
energetic
queen
;
of
the
discoverer
of
the
American
world
;
of
its
two
chief
conquistadores
--
Cortez
and
Pizarro
;
and
of
her
,
alike
famous
for
her
beauty
and
devotion
,
the
Mexican
Malinché
.
It
was
not
amidst
these
sculptured
stones
that
Louise
Poindexter
practised
her
feats
of
archery
;
though
more
than
once
might
she
have
been
seen
standing
before
the
statue
of
Malinché
,
and
scanning
the
voluptuous
outline
of
the
Indian
maiden
's
form
;
not
with
any
severe
thought
of
scorn
,
that
this
dark-skinned
daughter
of
Eve
had
succumbed
to
such
a
conqueror
as
Cortez
.
The
young
creole
felt
,
in
her
secret
heart
,
that
she
had
no
right
to
throw
a
stone
at
that
statue
.
To
one
less
famed
than
Cortez
--
though
in
her
estimation
equally
deserving
of
fame
--
she
had
surrendered
what
the
great
conquistador
had
won
from
Marina
--
her
heart
of
hearts
.
In
her
excursions
with
the
bow
,
which
were
of
diurnal
occurrence
,
she
strayed
not
among
the
statues
.
Her
game
was
not
there
to
be
found
;
but
under
the
shadow
of
tall
trees
that
,
keeping
the
curve
of
the
river
,
formed
a
semicircular
grove
between
it
and
the
garden
.
Most
of
these
trees
were
of
indigenous
growth
--
wild
Chinas
,
mulberries
,
and
pecâns
--
that
in
the
laying
out
of
the
grounds
had
been
permitted
to
remain
where
Nature
,
perhaps
some
centuries
ago
,
had
scattered
their
seed
.
It
was
under
the
leafy
canopy
of
these
fair
forest
trees
the
young
Creole
delighted
to
sit
--
or
stray
along
the
edge
of
the
pellucid
river
,
that
rolled
dreamily
by
.
Here
she
was
free
to
be
alone
;
which
of
late
appeared
to
be
her
preference
.
Her
father
,
in
his
sternest
mood
,
could
not
have
denied
her
so
slight
a
privilege
.
If
there
was
danger
upon
the
outside
prairie
,
there
could
be
none
within
the
garden
--
enclosed
,
as
it
was
,
by
a
river
broad
and
deep
,
and
a
wall
that
could
not
have
been
scaled
without
the
aid
of
a
thirty-round
ladder
.
So
far
from
objecting
to
this
solitary
strolling
,
the
planter
appeared
something
more
than
satisfied
that
his
daughter
had
taken
to
these
tranquil
habits
;
and
the
suspicions
which
he
had
conceived
--
not
altogether
without
a
cause
--
were
becoming
gradually
dismissed
from
his
mind
.
After
all
he
might
have
been
misinformed
?
The
tongue
of
scandal
takes
delight
in
torturing
;
and
he
may
have
been
chosen
as
one
of
its
victims
?
Or
,
perhaps
,
it
was
but
a
casual
thing
--
the
encounter
of
which
he
had
been
told
,
between
his
daughter
and
Maurice
the
mustanger
?
They
may
have
met
by
accident
in
the
chapparal
?
She
could
not
well
pass
,
without
speaking
to
,
the
man
who
had
twice
rescued
her
from
a
dread
danger
.
There
might
have
been
nothing
in
it
,
beyond
the
simple
acknowledgment
of
her
gratitude
?
It
looked
well
that
she
had
,
with
such
willingness
,
consented
to
relinquish
her
rides
.
It
was
but
little
in
keeping
with
her
usual
custom
,
when
crossed
.
Obedience
to
that
particular
command
could
not
have
been
irksome
;
and
argued
innocence
uncontaminated
,
virtue
still
intact
.
So
reasoned
the
fond
father
;
who
,
beyond
conjecture
,
was
not
permitted
to
scrutinise
too
closely
the
character
of
his
child
.
In
other
lands
,
or
in
a
different
class
of
society
,
he
might
possibly
have
asked
direct
questions
,
and
required
direct
answers
to
them
.
This
is
not
the
method
upon
the
Mississippi
;
where
a
son
of
ten
years
old
--
a
daughter
of
less
than
fifteen
--
would
rebel
against
such
scrutiny
,
and
call
it
inquisition
.
