"What do you want?" asked the Catalan, before looking at the men. "Eh! my droll fellows!" he continued, recognising Gaspar and Zapote, "it is you, is it? How the devil did you get out of my guard-house?" "The sentry allowed us to go, your honour," answered Zapote. "He knew that you did not wish us to be detained, if the Colonel should be found alive; and as we have an important message to him--" "The Colonel is gone away from here," interrupted Veraegui. "Gone!" exclaimed Zapote, with an air of extreme chagrin. "Where is he gone to, your honour?" The Lieutenant, after pointing out the direction in which Don Rafael had ridden away, turned his back upon the two adventurers--who, instead of being offended at this rudeness, were only too glad to terminate their interview with the dreaded Catalan. They lost no time, therefore, in making their exit from the courtyard; and, as fast as their legs could carry them, they started off in the direction taken by him whom they had so long unsuccessfully followed. CHAPTER SEVENTY TWO. THE ENCHANTED LAKE. It is ten o'clock at night, and a starry heaven is extended over a large expanse of level country--here clothed with virgin forests--there with broad, almost treeless savannas, now and then partaking of the character of marshes and covered with tall reeds. In the midst of this landscape a large lake opens to the view. Its aspect is sombre and sad--its dark, turbid waters scarce reflecting the stars that shine so brilliantly over it; while the waves beating against its sedge-encircled shores, utter only the most lugubrious sounds. Near the centre of this lake rises a mountain of dark, greenish colour, resembling an immense cairn constructed by the hands of Titans. Upon its summit rests a cloud of white fog collected by evaporation from the surrounding water, which has been condensed by the freshness of the night. The numerous dark fissures distinguishable along the sides of this gigantic hill give it the appearance of being a mass of lava--the debris vomited forth by some extinct volcano--and at night, when the moon's rays fall obliquely upon its flanks, it presents a vague resemblance to the scales of an alligator. At the same time that this fancy is suggested, the huge saurian itself may be heard, plunging among the reeds at its foot, and causing their culms to rattle against the rhomboid protuberances of his hideous carapace.