106 WILD SPORTS IN THE SOUTH. 



by its lashes — her limbs are trembling with delight. She falls 

 into the arms of Ortez, and after an instant of fainting embrace, 

 they turn aside into the ilex groves that fringe the bank of the 

 lagoon. 



" ' Ortez, does not honour call thee to the dead man's side ? 

 Ortez, does not thy wife's low voice, that saved thee once, beseech 

 thee now ? ' 



" Ha ! who hears voices pleading in the mad tumultuous hours 

 of night — thought comes with the bare-faced morn. The glare of 

 the torrid day is for rest, and penance, and prayers; and the 

 tropical night is passion's own holiday, when love and hate roll 

 like the sea." 



"Hold there, and turn down a leaf," called out the Doctor. 

 " That 's pure error. It is the day that is made for action, ambi- 

 tion and hope — pride and quick deeds come with the sunshine. 

 Then man does his works for good or evil ; but when the day is 

 gone, the grey of twilight, the hush of voice, and emblematic sleep, 

 bring thought and repentance. Man's good spirit comes to him 

 then, and whispers of errors done, and cools his ambition ; and, if 

 he is a true man, he says his prayers, and " 



" Goes to bed," laughed Jackson. " That 's all very nice for a 

 man who lives in a land where water freezes after dark, and nobody 

 but a bear can keep out at nights without the ague. That is not 

 the way the hot blood rolls in the Creole veins ; nor was it the 

 way that the Spanish soldier reasoned with the Indian girL 

 Where was I ? " 



" Ortez had just met the Indian girL" 



" Ah ! yes ; Jumper-boy, give me a light." 



Taking the stick from the hand of his negro, he lit his pipe, 

 and resumed the story. 



" That young Indian girl had left the village, as quietly as the 

 dew, her moccasin had made no foot-fall on the path, and her 

 paddle scarce splashed the lagoon. When she met her lover, their 

 voices were as low as the eddy of the wave in the river ; and when 

 she parted, and took her course back to the village, though her 

 speed was slow, and her stroke was languid and uneven, yet still, 

 her boat passed like a shadow beneath the low, arching titi boughs, 



