ing pointed out, at our desire, what few things she would like
transported to the ship--her chest, the oil, not omitting the live
tortoises which she intended for a grateful present to our Captain--we
immediately set to work, carrying them to the boat down the long,
sloping stair of deeply-shadowed rock. While my comrades were thus
employed, I looked and Hunilla had disappeared.

It was not curiosity alone, but, it seems to me, something different
mingled with it, which prompted me to drop my tortoise, and once more
gaze slowly around. I remembered the husband buried by Hunilla's hands.
A narrow pathway led into a dense part of the thickets. Following it
through many mazes, I came out upon a small, round, open space, deeply
chambered there.

The mound rose in the middle; a bare heap of finest sand, like that
unverdured heap found at the bottom of an hour-glass run out. At its
head stood the cross of withered sticks; the dry, peeled bark still
fraying from it; its transverse limb tied up with rope, and forlornly
adroop in the silent air.

Hunilla was partly prostrate upon the grave; her dark head bowed, and
lost in her long, loosened Indian hair; her hands extended to the
cross-foot, with a little brass crucifix clasped between; a crucifix
worn featureless, like an ancient graven knocker long plied in vain. She
did not see me, and I made no noise, but slid aside, and left the spot.

A few moments ere all was ready for our going, she reappeared among us.
I looked into her eyes, but saw no tear. There was something which
seemed strangely haughty in her air, and yet it was the air of woe. A
Spanish and an Indian grief, which would not visibly lament. Pride's
height in vain abased to proneness on the rack; nature's pride subduing
nature's torture.

Like pages the small and silken dogs surrounded her, as she slowly
descended towards the beach. She caught the two most eager creatures in
her arms:--"Mia Teeta! Mia Tomoteeta!" and fondling them, inquired how
many could we take on board.

The mate commanded the boat's crew; not a hard-hearted man, but his way
of life had been such that in most things, even in the smallest, simple
utility was his leading motive.

"We cannot take them all, Hunilla; our supplies are short; the winds are
unreliable; we may be a good many days going to Tombez. So take those
you have, Hunilla; but no more."

She was in the boat; the oarsmen, too, were seated; all save one, who
stood ready to