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Updated: May 1, 2025
Lovers seldom die together." Otherwise there would be no terror in death. "I forgot to say that Isene, your mare, is very well. Papa and the children are well, and Ruyven a-pestering General Schuyler to make him a cornet in the legion of horse, and Cecile, all airs, goes about with six officers to carry her shawl and fan. "For me I sit with Lady Schuyler when I have the opportunity.
I am like a caged thing loosed, I tell you for I may tell you, may I not, cousin?" "Tell me all you think, Dorothy." "I could tell you all everything! I never had a thought that I do not desire you to know, ... save one.... And that I do desire to tell you ... but cannot.... Cousin, why did you name your mare Isene?" "An Indian girl in Florida bore that name; the Seminoles called her Issena."
Isene, my mare, paced the soft forest-road without a sound, so quietly that the squatting rabbit leaped from between her forelegs, and the slim, striped, squirrel-like creatures crouched paralyzed as we passed ere they burst into their shrill chatter of fright or anger, I know not which.
Isene, my mare, had already scented the distant stables, and was pricking forward her beautiful ears as I unslung my broad hat of plaited palmetto and placed it on my head, the better to salute my hosts when I should ride to their threshold in the Spanish fashion we followed at home.
Lonelier than I had yet been since that day, three months gone, when I had set out from our plantation on the shallow Halifax, which the hammock scarcely separates from the ocean, I gathered bridle with listless fingers and spoke to my mare. "Isene, we must be moving eastward always moving, sweetheart. Come, lass, there's grain somewhere in this Northern land where you have carried me."
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