One looked showed me that he had developed the usual symptoms, so, feeling that no time was to be lost, I saddled the mules myself and took them round.
"Where is Antonio ?" asked Emma as she mounted.
"He has gone on ahead," I answered, "to be sure that the road is clear; he will meet us beyond the mountains." Poor Antonio! I wonder what became of him; he was a good fellow, and I hope that he recovered.

It grieved me much to leave him, but after all I had my own safety to think of, and still more that of Emma, who had grown very dear to me.

Perhaps one day I shall find him "beyond the mountains," but, if so, that is a meeting from which I expect no joy.
The rest of our journey was strange enough, but it has nothing to do with this history.

Indeed, I have only touched upon these long past adventures in a far land because they illustrate the curious fatality by the workings of which every important event of my life has taken place under the dreadful shadow of smallpox.

I was born under that shadow, I wedded under it, I--but the rest shall be told in its proper order.
In the end we reached Mexico City in safety, and there Emma and I were married.