t, that the ex-tiger-hunter would be able to keep
himself clear of this new danger.

The captain followed with anxious eyes the forms of the retreating
horsemen; and his heart beat more tranquilly when he saw them turn round
an angle of the lake, and disappear altogether from his sight.

The moon at this moment shining more brilliantly, enabled him to command
a better view of the waters of the lake, and the selvage of reeds
growing around it. Once more silence was reigning over the scene, when
all at once Don Cornelio fancied he saw a movement among the sedge, as
if some one was making his way through it. In another instant a form,
at first shadowy and indistinct, appeared before his eyes. Presently it
assumed the outlines of a human form, and what astonished Don Cornelio
still more, it was the form of a woman! This he saw distinctly; and
perceived also that the woman was dressed in a sort of white garment,
with long dark hair hanging in disordered tresses over her shoulders.

A cold perspiration broke out upon the brow of Don Cornelio, as the
female form was recognised; and his eyes became fixed upon it, without
his having the power to take them off. He doubted not that he saw
before him the companion of Tlaloc, the terrible Matlacuezc, who had
just risen from her watery palace in the Lake Ostuta, whence she had
been summoned by the invocations of Costal, the descendant of the
ancient rulers of Tehuantepec!

CHAPTER SEVENTY SIX.

TOLLING THE SUMMONS.

We return to Costal. We have seen the Zapoteque making his way through
the sedge, and boldly launching himself into the muddy waters of the
lake--his blind fatalism rendering him regardless of the voracious
alligators of the Ostuta, as he had already shown himself of the sharks
of the Pacific. Could the eye of Don Cornelio have followed him under
the gloomy shadow which the enchanted hill projected over the lake, it
would have seen him emerge from the water upon the shore of the sacred
Cerro itself, his black-skinned associate closely following at his
heels.

The mountain Monopostiac is neither more nor less than a gigantic rock
of obsidian, of a dark greenish hue, having its flanks irregularly
furrowed by vertical fissures and ridges. This peculiar kind of rock,
under the sun, or in a very bright moonlight, gives forth a sort of dull
translucence, resembling the reflection of glass. The vitreous
glistening of its sides, taken in conjunction with the