I had been puzzled--a little pained--by some speeches he had let fall during our intercourse in the City of the Angels. How gentle had been his reproaches, and tolerant his condemnation, of Carrasco! As a rival, not as a robber, he had shown indignation against the _ci-devant_ captain of Santa Anna! What I now saw explained all. Don Eusebio had spoken only of probabilities, when he said that Moreno might be a bandit. Had he known the real truth regarding this aspirant to his daughter's hand, he might have been excused for his design to shut her up in a convent. The bride was willing; there could be no doubt of it. I remembered what the stage-driver had told me, of her tripping off so lightly among the trees, her present behaviour confirmed it. Even in that solemn hour, I fancied that she was gay. I could not see the face; but there was a free, _nonchalant_ carriage of the head, and a coy vibration of the scarf that covered it, very different from the staid, drooping attitude that denotes compulsion. On the contrary, she appeared contented-- trembling only with joy! It would be vain to attempt a description of my own feelings. For the time, a statue set among the shrubbery could not have been more motionless than I. I stood rigid as the fronds of the aloe around me,-- my gaze steadfastly fixed upon the spectacle passing inside. I began to fancy it a dream! But, no! There was the bride and the bridegroom; and the monk, in dull monotone still reciting from his book! And now I could hear the promise to "love, honour, and cherish," and the responsive vow to "love, honour, and obey"--all after the formula of the Catholic faith. Oh! it was no dream, but a hellish, heart-rending reality! The woman who had won my heart--whom for six months I had been vainly endeavouring to forget--was before my eyes, surrounded by a band of brigands--not their captive, but the bride of their chief--freely consenting to the sacrifice! "_Otra cosa de Mexico_!" CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. A RUDE INTERRUPTION. "Otra cosa de Mexico!" Another strange occurrence of Mexico; if not the most incomprehensible, certainly the most painful, that had yet come under my cognisance: for it related to myself--the black, bitter part of it. Words will not convey the state of my mind, as I stood regarding the group inside. I could not move--either to advance, or go back. I could scarce get breath. My heart felt as if compressed under a heavy weight, never more to be removed. It was undergoing its maximum of misery. My feelings can only be understood by one, who has had the misfortune to pass through a like ordeal. He who has bestowed his affections upon some high-born beauty may feel chagrin, on discovering that they are not returned. It will be deepened by the knowledge, that another has won the wished-for prize. Still is there solace, however slight, in the reflection: that the preference has been given to one worthy, whose fortune has been more favourable.