Chapter 59

           AdarkdayforLouisePoindexter—perhapsthedarkestinthecalendarofherlife—wasthatinwhichshereleasedDonMiguelDiazfromthelazo.

           Sorrowforabrother’sloss,withfearsforalover’ssafety,wereyesterdaycommingledinthecup.To-dayitwasfurtherembitteredbytheblackestpassionofall—jealousy.Grief—fear—jealousy—whatmustbethestateofthesoulinwhichtheseemotionsareco-existent?Atumultofterribleimaginings.

           SowasitinthebosomofLouisePoindexterafterdecipheringtheepistlewhichcontainedwrittenevidenceofherlover’sdisloyalty.

           True,thewritingcamenotfromhim;norwastheproofconclusive.

           Butinthefirstburstofherfrenziedrage,theyoungCreoledidnotreasonthus.Inthewordingofthelettertherewasstrongpresumption,thattherelationshipbetweenMauriceGeraldandtheMexicanwasofamoreaffectionatecharacterthanhehadrepresentedittobe—thathehad,infact,beenpractisingadeception.

           Whyshouldthatwomanwritetohiminsuchfreestrain—givingbold,almostunfeminine,licencetoheradmirationofhiseyes:"Essosojostanlindosytanespresivos?"

           Thesewerenophrasesoffriendship;buttheexpressionsofaprurientpassion.AssuchonlycouldtheCreoleunderstandthem:sincetheywerebutaparaphraseofherownfeelings.

           Andthentherewastheappointmentitself—solicited,itistrue,intheshapeofarequest.Butthiswasmerecourtesy—thecoquetryofanaccomplishedmaîtresse.