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Only
this
,
and
the
scream
of
an
eagle
,
that
,
startled
by
the
angry
tones
,
had
swooped
aloft
,
and
was
now
soaring
above
the
glade
.
The
listener
knew
of
the
opening
--
to
her
a
hallowed
spot
.
The
voices
had
come
out
of
it
.
She
had
made
her
last
halt
a
little
way
from
its
edge
.
She
had
been
restrained
from
advancing
by
a
fear
--
the
fear
of
finding
out
a
bitter
truth
.
Her
indecision
ending
,
she
spurred
on
into
the
glade
.
A
horse
saddled
and
bridled
rushing
to
and
fro
--
a
man
prostrate
upon
the
ground
,
with
a
lazo
looped
around
his
arms
,
to
all
appearance
dead
--
a
sombrero
and
serapé
lying
near
,
evidently
not
the
man
's
!
What
could
be
the
interpretation
of
such
a
tableau
?
The
man
was
dressed
in
the
rich
costume
of
the
Mexican
ranchero
--
the
horse
also
caparisoned
in
this
elaborate
and
costly
fashion
.
At
sight
of
both
,
the
heart
of
the
Louisianian
leaped
with
joy
.
Whether
dead
or
living
,
the
man
was
the
same
she
had
seen
from
the
azotea
;
and
he
was
not
Maurice
Gerald
.
She
had
doubted
before
--
had
hoped
that
it
was
not
he
;
and
her
hopes
were
now
sweetly
confirmed
.
She
drew
near
and
examined
the
prostrate
form
.
She
scanned
the
face
,
which
was
turned
up
--
the
man
lying
upon
his
back
.
She
fancied
she
had
seen
it
before
,
but
was
not
certain
.
It
was
plain
that
he
was
a
Mexican
.
Not
only
his
dress
but
his
countenance
--
every
line
of
it
betrayed
the
Spanish-American
physiognomy
.
