My thoughts were anything but cheerful. The gloomy canopy of the pines
appeared to give a tinge to my spirit, and it became attuned to the sad
sighing heard high up among their _ancillae_. The moaning of the great
Mexican owl, as it glided past on soft silent wing, seemed meant only to
mock me!
I had been under a half belief that I had forgotten Dolores Villa-Senor,
or become indifferent to her existence. Vain hallucination! Idle, and
I knew it now.
Long weary marches; sieges protracted; battles, and wounds therein
received; even the coquetry of other eyes--wicked as hers--had not
chased her image from my heart, or my memory. It was there still.
I could see her countenance before me--under the sombre shadow of the
trees--plain as I saw the white-winged owls--soft as the weird wafting
of their wings!