Once more the sun is going down over the pampa, but still nothing seen
upon it to cheer the eyes of the Senora Halberger, neither those first
missing, nor they who went after. One after another she has seen them
depart, but in vain looks for their return.
And now, as she stands with eyes wandering over that grassy wilderness,
she can almost imagine it a maelstrom or some voracious monster, that
swallows up all who venture upon it. As the purple of twilight assumes
the darker shade of night, it seems to her as though some unearthly and
invisible hand were spreading a pall over the plain to cover her dear
ones, somewhere lying dead upon it.
She is in the verandah with her son, and side by side they stand gazing
outward, as long as there is light for them to see. Even after darkness
has descended they continue to strain their eyes mechanically, but
despairingly, she more hopeless and feeling more forlorn than ever. All
gone but Ludwig! for even her nephew may not return. Where Caspar, a
strong man and experienced in the ways of the wilderness, has failed to
find the lost ones, what chance will there be for Cypriano? More like
some cruel enemy has made captives of them all, killing all, one after
the other, and he, falling into the same snare, has been sacrificed as
the rest!
Dark as is this hour of her apprehension, there is yet a darker one in
store for her; but before it there is to be light, with joy--alas!
short-lived as that bright, garish gleam of sun which often precedes the
wildest burst of a storm. Just as the last ray of hope has forsaken
her, a house-dog, lying outstretched by the verandah starts to its feet
with a growl, and bounding off into the darkness, sets up a sonorous
baying.
Both mother and son step hastily forward to the baluster rail, and
resting hands on it, again strain their eyes outward, now as never
before, at the same time listening as for some signal sound, on the
hearing of which hung their very lives.
Soon they both hear and see what gives them gladness unspeakable, their
ears first imparting it by a sound sweeter to them than any music, for
it is the tread of horses' hoofs upon the firm turf of the plain; and
almost in the same instant they see the horses themselves, each with a
rider upon its back.
The exclamation that leaps from the mother's lips is the cry of a heart
long held in torture suddenly released, and without staying to repeat
it, she rushes out of the verandah and on across the patch of enclosed
ground--not stopping till outside the palings which enclose it. Ludwig
following, comes again by her side, and the two stand with eyes fixed on
the approaching forms, there now so near that they are able to make out
their number.
But this gives them surprise, somewhat alarming them afresh. For there
are but _three_ where there should be _four_.
"It must be your father and Francesca, with Caspar," says the senora,
speaking in doubt. "Cypriano has missed them all, I suppose. But he'll
come too--"
"No, mother," interrupts Ludwig, "Cypriano is there. I can see a white
horse, that must be his."
"Gaspar then; he it is that's behind."
She says this with a secret hope it may be so.
"It don't look like as if Gaspar was behind," returns Ludwig, hesitating
in his speech, for his eyes, as his heart, tell him there is still
something amiss. "Two of them," he continues, "are men, full grown, and
the third is surely Cypriano."
They have no time for further discussion or conjecture--no occasion for
it. The three shadowy figures are now very near, and just as the
foremost pulls up in front of the palings, the moon bursting forth from
behind a cloud flashes her full light upon his face, and they see it is
Gaspar. The figures farther off are lit up at the same time, and the
senora recognises them as her husband and nephew. A quick searching
glance carried behind to the croups of their horses shows her there is
no one save those seated in the saddle.
"Where is Francesca?" she cries out in agonised accents. "Where is my
daughter?"
No one makes answer; not any of them speaks. Gaspar, who is nearest,
but hangs his head, as does his master behind him.
"What means all this?" is her next question, as she dashes past the
gaucho's horse, and on to her husband, as she goes crying out, "Where is
Francesca? What have you done with my child?"
He makes no reply, nor any gesture--not even a word to acknowledge her
presence! Drawing closer she clutches him by the knee, continuing her
distracted interrogatories.
"Husband! why are you thus silent? Ludwig, dear Ludwig, why don't you
answer me? Ah! now I know. She is dead--dead!"
"Not _she_, but _he_," says a voice close to her ear--that of Gaspar,
who has dismounted and stepped up to her.
"He! who?"
"Alas! senora, my master, your husband."
"O Heavens! can this be true?" as she speaks, stretching her arms up to
the inanimate form, still in the saddle--for it is fast tied there--and
throwing them around it; then with one hand lifting off the hat, which
falls from her trembling fingers, she gazes on a ghastly face, and into
eyes that return not her gaze. But for an instant, when, with a wild
cry, she sinks back upon the earth, and lies silent, motionless, the
moonbeams shimmering upon her cheeks, showing them white and bloodless,
as if her last spark of life had departed!