"And besides, when, with a blush upon my cheeks, and my eyes turned
away, I hear Don Rafael say to me, `You have sent for me, Gertrudis, I
have come,' what answer can I make? Oh, father! I shall die of grief
and shame; for I shall then feel that he no longer loves me. He will
see me as I am--a ruin--only the shadow of my former self, with my
health gone, and my freshness faded. Likely enough, generosity will
prompt him to feign a love which he does not feel, and which I could not
believe in. What proof could he give that his words would only be
spoken out of compassion for me?"
"Who can tell?" said Don Mariano. "Perhaps he may give you some proof
that you cannot help believing in his sincerity."
"Do not wish it, father, if you love me; for if he should offer a proof
I cannot refuse to believe in, I feel that I should die of joy. Poor
father!" continued she, with a choking sigh, and throwing her arms round
his neck, "in either case you are likely soon to have but one daughter."
At this mournful declaration Don Mariano could no longer restrain his
grief; and returning the embrace of Gertrudis, he mingled his tears with
hers. Both wept aloud, their voices being audible to the _centzontle_,
on a neighbouring tree--that catching up the mournful tones repeated
them to the ear of night.
Just then the moon shot out from behind a thick mass of clouds, that had
hitherto been shrouding her from the sight; and the landscape,
illuminated by her silvery light, all at once assumed a less lugubrious
aspect.
The lake, as well as the forest on its shores, appeared less sombre; and
the corrugated flanks of the enchanted hill glanced with a vitreous
reflection like the greenish waves of an agitated sea. Upon the surface
of the water could be seen the dark, hideous forms of huge alligators
moving along the edge of the reeds, and now and then giving utterance to
their deep bellowing notes, as they disported themselves under the light
of the moon.
The domestics of Don Mariano, seated close together, more than once
fancied that they could distinguish the voices of human beings, and all
shivered with fear as they recalled the legend which Zefirino had just
related.
"I wish, comrades," said one of them, speaking in a tone of subdued
terror, "I wish that this night was well over. From the noises we have
heard, and those strange lights that Castrillo has seen, one might fancy
some terrible misfortune was to happen to-night! It only wants the
scream of an owl from one of the trees around here, and then we may pray
for the soul of our poor young mistress."
At that moment a voice--this time certainly a human voice--proceeding
from the direction of the lake, interrupted the speaker. It seemed to
arise out of the bosom of the water.
The four domestics started, and sat regarding each other with looks of
affright. There could be no doubt of its being a human voice which they
had heard, as if intoning a song or chaunt, but uttered in some unknown
tongue--such as that in which the ancient Indians used to converse with
their divinities.
"Santissima madre!" muttered one of the domestics, "what if it should be
the Indian who searches for his heart?"
His companions made no other answer than by nodding their heads to
signify that such had been the thought of each.
At this moment another noise reached them. It was a rustling as of
leaves, and almost simultaneously they saw the figure of a man making
his way through the reeds that grew by the edge of the water.
In the clear light of the moon they could see that the man was
completely naked, and that his skin was of a bronze or copper colour--in
other words, that he was an Indian.
As he passed through the reeds he parted their stems with his
outstretched arms--at the same time keeping his eyes bent downwards as
if searching for something.
After reaching the edge of the open water, he plunged in; and, swimming
vigorously out into the lake, appeared to direct himself towards the
enchanted hill.
"God of heaven!" muttered Zefirino, in an accent of terror. "It is the
Indian searching for his heart!"