"Oh! Senor, for the love of God, search for her! She cannot be far from this place. I am speaking of my wife. We have found just now her silk scarf, and not far off this slipper. Both I know to be hers. She must have dropped, them in her flight. Oh! if I could only once more see her--embrace her--before I die!" And so speaking the young man bent a look of suppliant anguish upon Don Cornelio, while exhibiting the two objects which his attendants had found upon the path, and which had served to guide them in their search. Don Cornelio, unable longer to endure the painful interview, allowed the curtains of the _litera_ to close over the wretched husband; and, stepping aside, rejoined the Zapoteque--who was still giving vent to his anger in strong and emphatic phraseology. "Costal," said the Captain, "I fear very much that the wife of this young Spaniard is no longer alive. I saw a woman robed in white down there among the reeds, just as the brigand fired his carbine; and from what I saw afterwards, I am afraid that she must have been hit by the bullet. Surely it must have been her that they are now searching for." "You are a fool!" cried Costal, in his ill-humour forgetting the respect due to his superior. "The woman you saw in white robes was no other than Matlacuezc, and I should have had her in my arms in another second of time but for that accursed coyote, who, by firing his carbine, caused her suddenly to disappear. Well! he has paid for his indiscretion: that's some comfort, but, for all that--" "It is you who are a fool, you miserable heathen," said Don Cornelio, interrupting Costal in his turn. "The poor creature, who has no doubt been struck with the bullet, is no other than the wife of this young Spaniard! Do you hear that?" This last interrogatory had relation to a cry that came up from the reeds, where the Indians with their torches were still continuing their search. "Look yonder!" continued Don Cornelio, pointing to them, "they have stopped over the very spot, and that wail--that is significant." As Don Cornelio spoke a chorus of lamentations came back upon the breeze, uttered by the Indian searchers. It was heard by the dying man in his _litera_, and apprised him of that which Don Cornelio would otherwise have attempted to conceal from him. It was now too late, however, and the Captain ran towards the _litera_, in hopes of offering some words of consolation. "Dead! dead!" cried the young Spaniard, wringing his hands in mortal anguish. "Oh God! she is dead!" "Let us hope not," faltered Don Cornelio; "these people may be mistaken." "Oh! no, no! she is dead! I knew it; I had a presentiment of it! O merciful Saviour! dead, my Marianita dead!" After a moment, becoming more calm, the dying man continued:--