The elements seemed in unison with my spirit: as if they too had taken their cue from the ill-omened bodings of my Indian oracle! A storm-cloud had suddenly obscured the sun--black as the wing of the buzzard-vulture. Red shafts were shooting athwart the sky--threatening to scathe the trees of the forest; thunder rolled continuously along their tops; and huge isolated rain-drops, like gouts of blood, came pattering down upon the leaves--soon to fall thick and continuous! I heeded not these indications. At that moment, what where the elements to me? What cared I for the clouds or rain--lightning, thunder, or the riven forest? There was a cloud on my own heart--an electric rush through my veins--of far more potent spell than the shadows of the sky, or the coruscations of the ethereal fire. "The wolf has slept in the lair of the forest deer: the yellow fawn will be his victim. You will be too late--too late!" These were clouds to be regarded--the fires to be feared. No heavenly light to guide me along the path, but a flame infernal burning in my breast? The bars were down, but it mattered not: I would have leaped the fence, had there been no gateway; but the entrance to the enclosure was free; and, galloping through it, I drew bridle in front of the hut. The door was open--wide open, as was its wont; and I could see most of the interior. No one appeared within! no one came forth to greet me! Inside, I observed some pieces of rude furniture--several chairs and a rough table. I had noticed them on my first visit. They were now in the same place--just as I had seen them before. One of my apprehensions was allayed by the sight: the family was still there. "Strange that no one hears me! that no one comes out to receive me!" I made these reflections, after having waited a considerable while. "Surely I was expected? It was the time named by Holt himself? The day and hour! Was I again unwelcome? and had the squatter relapsed into his uncourteous mood?" It certainly had that appearance: more especially, since it was raining at the moment--as if the very clouds were coming down--and I stood in need of shelter. But that grievance was little thought of. I was suffering a chagrin, far more intolerable than the tempest. Where was Lilian? Such cool reception, on her part, I had not expected. It was indeed a surprise. Had I mistaken the character of this Idyllian damsel? Was she, too, an arch creature--a coquette? Had she bestowed the blossom only to betray me? I had looked down at the crushed corolla borne upon my breast. I had promised myself a triumph by its presence there. I had formed pleasant anticipations of its being recognised--fond hopes of its creating an effect in my favour. The flower looked drenched and draggled. Its carmine colour had turned to a dull dark crimson: it was the colour of blood!