We journeyed southward for eleven days; on the morning of the
twelfth we saw below us our goal. Six hours later we had entered
the same street of Cerro de Pasco through which we had passed
formerly with light hearts; and the heart which had been gayest
of all we had left behind us, stilled forever, somewhere beneath
the mountain of stone which she had herself chosen for her tomb.
Almost the first person we saw was none other than Felipe, the
arriero. He sat on the steps of the hotel portico as we rode up
on our mules. Dismounting, I caught sight of his white face and
staring eyes as he rose slowly to his feet, gazing at us as
though fascinated.
I opened my mouth to call to him, but before the words left my
lips he had let out an ear-splitting yell of terror and bounded
down the steps and past us, with arms flying in every direction,
running like one possessed. Nor did he return during the few
hours that we remained at the hotel.
Two days later found us boarding the yacht at Callao. When I had
discovered, to my profound astonishment, at the hacienda, that
another year had taken us as far as the tenth day of March, I had
greatly doubted if we should find Captain Harris still waiting
for us.
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