Chapter 61

           Theretreatofherrival—quickandunexpected—heldLouisePoindexter,asifspell-bound.Shehadclimbedintothesaddle,andwasseated,withspurreadytopiercetheflanksofthefairLuna.Butthestrokewassuspended,andsheremainedinastateofindecision—bewilderedbywhatshesaw.

           Butthemomentbeforeshehadlookedintothejacalé—hadseenherrivalthere,apparentlyathome;mistressbothofthemansionanditsowner.

           Whatwasshetothinkofthatsuddendesertion?Whythattookofspitefulhatred?Whynottheimperiousconfidence,thatshouldspringfromaknowledgeofpossession?

           Inplaceofgivingdispleasure,Isidora’slooksandactionshadcausedherasecretgratification.Insteadofgallopingafter,orgoinginanydirection,LouisePoindexteroncemoreslippeddownfromhersaddle,andre-enteredthehut.

           Atsightofthepallidcheeksandwildrollingeyes,theyoungCreoleforthemomentforgotherwrongs.

           "Mondieu!Mondieu!"shecried,glidinguptothecatré."Maurice—wounded—dying!Whohasdonethis?"

           Therewasnoreply:onlythemutteringsofamadman.

           "Maurice!Maurice!speaktome!Doyounotknowme?Louise!YourLouise!Youhavecalledmeso?Sayit—Osayitagain!"

           "Ah!youareverybeautiful,youangelshereinheaven!Verybeautiful.Yes,yes;youlookso—totheeyes—totheeyes.Butdon’tsaytherearenonelikeyouupontheEarth;forthereare—thereare.