The thoughts coursed rapidly through the brain of
Lopez de Levya. He felt that she was on the brink
of his secret. Another step to the right or to the
left, and the descending pathway would lead to the
sandy esplanade at the mouth of the cave; and, with
her restless glances, what could keep her from discovering
its curious portal, and penetrating to its inmost
recesses. Were she to make this discovery without
his assistance, her suspicions might well be awakened!
He resolved with unaccustomed boldness. He
made a merit of necessity. He put his hand upon
her arm, and with a sweet significant smile looked
upon her face as she gazed upward.

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“I have reserved, for the last, my greatest curiosity.
I have conducted you hither to surprise you.
Follow me now, and you will see how complete is my
establishment!”

She did not reflect that he had been guided by her
footsteps, and that his reluctance at her inspection of
his territories had been declared from the beginning.
She was sufficiently happy, and indulged in no recollections
or reflections which might occasion doubt or
suspicion. He led the way, and she descended to the
beach. He conducted her to the cave, and, with the
eager delight of a curious child, she darted into its recesses.
The antechamber was a wonder, but the interior
aroused all that was romantic in her nature.
It was just the sort of dwelling for one trained among
the gypsies of the Alpuxarras. The chamber was so
wild and snug! The stone, such a truly Egyptian
fireplace! She did not dream of its uses as an altar,
nor did he breathe a syllable on this subject. And
the couch in which he had slept, in which there still
remained a sufficient supply of moss and leaves, to
render it suitable for the same purpose, was one to
determine her instantly that it should be hers that
very night.

We need not describe the consternation of Lopez as
he listened to this resolve. It completed his disquiet
and annoyance. He had trembled at every step which
she had taken—at every glance of her eye when the
cave was entered. He feared her eager survey—her
penetrating scrutiny. His eyes stole frequently and
unconsciously to the remote corner of the cave in

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which he had concealed Amaya; and while he trembled
at the possible discoveries of the Spanish woman, his
companion, his heart smote him for those which the
poor girl of Caribbee must have already made. For
Maria de Pacheco, assuming the duty and devotion of
her lover, had not spared her endearments. The
silence and the secrecy of the cavern seemed to invite
them. She had hung upon his neck with her caresses,
and he had been compelled to requite them, though
in fear and trembling. His conscience smote him
when he thought of the unselfish and confiding passion
of Amaya—her simple truth, her gentle nature, and
the artless sweetness of her affections. But to withstand
the imperious spirit of the woman at his side,
was not within his strength and courage. His fears,
and the new-born agonies of the Indian woman, may
be more easily imagined than described.