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Once a vanilla plantation, here and there the aromatic bean grew wild, its ground usurped by the pita-plant, the acacia, and the thorny cactus. The dry reservoir and the ruined acequia proved the care that had in former times been bestowed on its irrigation. Guardarayas of palms and orange-trees, choked up with vines and jessamines, marked the ancient boundaries of the fields.
We entered a lane, with its guardarayas of orange-trees planted in rows upon each side, and meeting overhead. The sunlight fell through this leafy screen with a mellowed and delicious softness, and the perfume of flowers was wafted on the air. The rich music of birds was around us; and the loveliness of the scene was heightened by the wild neglect which characterised it.
The guide pointed to one of the guardarayas that led to the house. We struck into it, and rode forward. The path was pictured by the moonbeams as they glanced through the half-shadowing leaves. A wild roe bounded away before us, brushing his soft flanks against the rustling thorns of the mezquite. Farther on we reached the grounds, and, halting behind the jessamines, dismounted.
We wandered along under the guardarayas, amidst sounds and scenes suggestive of love and tenderness. Love! We heard it in the songs of the birds in the humming of the bees in the voices of all nature around us. We felt it in our own hearts.
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