The house we inhabited stood in a quadrangular inclosure that sloped
down to the banks of the river, the Del Norte. This inclosure was a
garden or shrubbery, guarded on all sides by high, thick walls of adobe.
Along the summit of these walls had been planted rows of the cactus,
that threw out huge, thorny limbs, forming an impassable
chevaux-de-frise. There was but one entrance to the house and garden,
through a strong wicket gate, which I had noticed was always shut and
barred. I had no desire to go abroad. The garden, a large one,
hitherto had formed the limit of my walk; and through this I often
rambled with Zoe and her mother, but oftener with Zoe alone.
There were many objects of interest about the place. It was a ruin; and
the house itself bore evidences of better times. It was a large
building in the Moro-Spanish style, with flat roof (azotea), and notched
parapet running along the front. Here and there the little stone
turrets of this parapet had fallen off, showing evidence of neglect and
decay.
The walls of the garden impinged upon the river, and there ended; for
the bank was steep and vertical, and the deep, still water that ran
under it formed a sufficient protection on that side.
A thick grove of cotton-woods fringed the bank of the river, and under
their shade had been erected a number of seats of japanned mason-work,
in a style peculiar to Spanish countries. There were steps cut in the
face of the bank, overhung with drooping shrubs, and leading to the
water's edge. I had noticed a small skiff moored under the willows,
where these steps went down to the water.
From this point only could you see beyond the limits of the inclosure.
The view was magnificent, and commanded the windings of the Del Norte
for a distance of miles.
Evening after evening we sought the grove of cotton-woods, and, seated
upon one of the benches, together watched the glowing sunset. At this
time of the day we were ever alone, I and my little companion.
One evening, as usual, we sat under the solemn shadow of the grove. We
had brought with us the guitar and bandolin; but, after a few notes had
been struck, the music was forgotten, and the instruments lay upon the
grass at our feet. We loved to listen to the music of our own voices.
We preferred the utterance of our own thoughts to the sentiments of any
song, however sweet. There was music enough around us; the hum of the
wild bee as it bade farewell to the closing corolla; the whoop of the
gruya in the distant sedge; and the soft cooing of the doves as they sat
in pairs upon the adjacent branches, like us whispering their mutual
loves.
Autumn had now painted the woods, and the frondage was of every hue.
The shadows of the tall trees dappled the surface of the water, as the
stream rolled silently on. The sun was far down, and the spire of El
Paso gleamed like a golden star under the parting kiss of his beams.
Our eyes wandered, and rested upon the glittering vane.
"The church!" half soliloquised my companion; "I hardly know what it is
like, it is so long since I saw it."
"How long?"
"Oh, many, many years; I was very young then."
"And you have not been beyond these walls since then?"
"Oh yes! Papa has taken us down the river in the boat, mamma and
myself, often, but not lately."
"And have you no wish to go abroad through these gay woods?"
"I do not desire it; I am contented here."
"And will you always be contented here?"
"And why not, Enrique? When you are near me, why should I not be
happy?"
"But when--"
A dark shadow seemed to cross her thoughts. Benighted with love, she
had never reflected upon the probability of my leaving her, nor indeed
had I. Her cheeks became suddenly pale; and I could see the agony
gathering in her eyes, as she fixed them upon me. But the words were
out--
"When I must leave you?"
She threw herself on my breast, with a short, sharp scream, as though
she had been stung to the heart, and in an impassioned voice cried
aloud--
"Oh! my God, my God! leave me! leave me! Oh! you will not leave me?
You who have taught me to love! Oh! Enrique, why did you tell me that
you loved me? Why did you teach me to love?"
"Zoe!"
"Enrique, Enrique! say you will not leave me!"
"Never! Zoe! I swear it; never, never!" I fancied at this moment I
heard the stroke of an oar; but the wild tumult of my feelings prevented
me from rising to look over the bank. I was raising my head when an
object, appearing above the bank, caught my eye. It was a black
sombrero with its golden band. I knew the wearer at a glance: Seguin!
In a moment, he was beside us.
"Papa!" exclaimed Zoe, rising up and reaching forward to embrace him.
The father put her to one side, at the same time tightly grasping her
hand in his. For a moment he remained silent, bending his eyes upon me
with an expression I cannot depict. There was in it a mixture of
reproach, sorrow, and indignation. I had risen to confront him, but I
quailed under that singular glance, and stood abashed and silent.
"And this is the way you have thanked me for saving your life? A brave
return, good sir; what think you?"