thy life, picaro, let him alone. That man belongs to me."
"Well, we'll not mention it again," he replied, stifling a sigh; "I will leave him to you. For all that it annoys me, although the niña seems to detest him cordially."
"Have you any proof of what you say?"
"What better proof than the repugnance she displays so soon as he appears, and the pallor which then covers her face without any apparent reason?"
"Ah, I would give a thousand ounces to know what to believe."
"What prevents you? Everybody is asleep – no one will see you. The story is not high – fifteen feet at the most. I am certain that Doña Anita would be delighted to have a chat with you."
"Oh, if I could but believe it!" he muttered with hesitation, casting a side glance at the still lighted window.
"Who knows? Perhaps she is expecting you."
"Silence, you scoundrel!"
"By'r Lady only listen! If what is said be true, the poor child must be in a perplexity, if not worse: she has probably great need of assistance."
"What do they say? Come, speak, but be brief."
"A very simple thing – that Doña Anita de Torrés marries within a week the Englishman, Don Gaëtano."
"You lie villain!" said the Tigrero with badly-restrained wrath. "I know not what prevents me thrusting down your throat with my dagger the odious words you have just uttered."
"You would do wrong," the other said, without being in the least discovered. "I am only an echo that repeats what it hears, nothing more. You alone in all Guaymas are ignorant of this news. After all, there is nothing astonishing in that, as you have only returned to town this day, after an absence of more than a month."
"That is true; but what is to be done?"
"Caray! Follow the advice I give you."
The Tigrero turned another long glance on the window, and let his head sink with an irresolute air.
"What will she say on seeing me?" he muttered.
"Caramba!" the lepero said in a sarcastic tone, "She will cry, 'You are welcome, alma mia!' It is clear, caray! Don Martial, have you become a timid child, that a woman's glance can make you tremble? Opportunity has only three hairs, in love as in war. You must seize her when she presents herself: if you do not, you run a risk of not meeting her again."
The Mexican approached the lepero near enough to touch him, and, fixing his glance on his tiger-cat eyes, said in a low and concentrated voice, —
"Cucharés, I trust in you. You know me. I have often come to your assistance. Were you to deceive my confidence I would kill you like a coyote."
The Tigrero pronounced these words with such an accent of dull fury, that the lepero, who knew the man before whom he was standing, turned pale in spite of himself, and felt a shudder of terror pass through his limbs.
"I am devoted to you, Don Martial," he replied in a voice, which he tried in vain to render firm. "Whatever may happen, count on me. What must I do?"
"Nothing; but wait, watch, at the least suspicious sound, the first hostile shadow that appears in the darkness, warn me."
"Count on me. Go to work. I am deaf and dumb, and during your absence I will watch over you like a son over his father."
"Good!" the Tigrero said.
He drew a few steps nearer, undid the reata fastened round his loins, and held it in his right hand. Then he raised his eyes, measured the distance and turning the reata forcibly round his head, hurled it into Doña Anita's balcony. The running knot caught in an iron hook, and remained firmly attached.
"Remember!" the Tigrero said, as he turned toward Cucharés.
"Go on," the latter said, as he leaned against the wall and crossed his legs; "I answer for everything."
Don Martial was satisfied, or feigned to be satisfied, with this assurance. He seized the reata, and taking a leap, like one of those panthers he had so often tracked on the prairies, he raised himself by the strength of his wrists, and speedily reached the balcony. He climbed over and went up to the window.
Doña Anita was asleep, half reclining in an easy chair. The poor girl, pale and exhausted, her eyes swollen with tears, had been conquered by sleep, which never gives up its claim on young and vigorous constitutions. On her marbled cheeks the tears had traced a long furrow, which was still humid. Martial surveyed with a tender glance the woman he loved, though not daring to approach her. Surprised thus during her sleep, Anita appeared to him even more beautiful; a halo of purity and candour seemed to surround her, watch over her repose, and render her holy and unassailable.
After a long and voluptuous contemplation, the Tigrero at length decided on advancing. The window, which was only leaned to (for the young girl had not dreamed of falling to sleep, as she had done), opened at the slightest push. Don Martial took one step, and found himself in the room. At the sight of this virginal chamber a religious respect fell on the Tigrero. He felt his heart beat rebelliously; and tottering, mad with fear and love, he fell on his knees by the side of the being he adored.
Anita opened her eyes.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, on seeing Don Martial, "Blessed be God, since He sends you to my assistance!"
The Tigrero surveyed her with moistened eye and panting chest. But suddenly the girl drew herself up; her memory returned, and with it that timid modesty innate in all women.
"Begone," she said, recoiling to the extremity of the room, "begone, caballero! How are you here? Who led you to my room? Answer I command you."
The Tigrero humbly bowed his head.
"God," he said, in an inarticulate voice, "God alone has conducted me to your side, señorita, as you yourself said. Oh, pardon me for having dared to surprise you thus! I have committed a great fault, I am aware; but a misfortune menaces you – I feel it, I guess it. You are alone, without support, and I have come to say to you, 'Madam, I am very low, very unworthy to serve you, but you have need of a firm and devoted heart. Here I am! Take my blood, take my life. I would be so happy to die for you!' In the name of Heaven, señora, in the name of what you love most on earth, do not reject my prayer. My arm, my heart, are yours: dispose of them."
These words were uttered by the young man in a choking voice, as he knelt in the middle of the room, his hands clasped, and fixing on Doña Anita his eyes, into which he had thrown his entire soul.
The hacendero's daughter turned her limpid glance on the young man, and, without removing her eyes, approached him with short steps, hesitating and trembling despite herself. When she arrived near him she remained for a moment undecided. At length she laid her two small, dainty hands on his shoulders, and placed her gentle face so near his, that the Tigrero felt on his forehead the freshness of her embalmed breath, while her long, black, and perfumed tresses gently caressed him.
"It is true, then," she said in a harmonious voice, "you love me then, Don Martial?"
"Oh!" the young man murmured, almost mad with love at this delicious contact.
The Mexican girl bent over him still more, and grazing with her rosy lips the Tigrero's moist brow, —
