light, and at the door these most unhappy lovers, oblivious to all save themselves.
“Querido!” sighed Dolores, looking fondly in Jack’s face; “how like an angel do you appear to me. I thought never to see you again; but now you are here, and I am happy. Tell of the dear ones, Juanito, of Eulalia and Rafael. How does my dear uncle, my aunt?”
“I have not seen them for over a week, cara,” replied Jack, kissing her; “they were much disturbed at your disappearance. We all thought that you had been carried off to Acauhtzin, and with Don Felipe and your brother I went up there to demand you from the base one.”
“I know all of this, mi amigo,” said Dolores, quickly. “Ah! do not look so astonished. Cocom is our friend; Cocom told me all. Of Marina departing with Pepe in The Pizarro, of your journey to Acauhtzin, and how you were betrayed to the priests by Don Hypolito.”
“You know my story, Dolores, but I do not know yours. Tell me how it was that you were carried off. I at first suspected the Indians, but afterwards deemed Pepe had taken you to Xuarez. I suspected him wrongly, it seems.”
“No, Juan!” cried the girl, her eyes flashing with anger; “all this misery was contrived by Don Hypolito. He told Ixtlilxochitli that——”
“What!” interrupted Jack, in astonishment; “does Xuarez know the priest? Has he been here? Is he a worshipper of that devil stone?”
“As to that I am not certain, but he has been here frequently, and held long conversations with Ixtlilxochitli. Don Hypolito, you know, says he is a Mestizo. It is false; he is a pure Indian. His parents dwelt here as worshippers of the old gods, and it was in Totatzine that he was born. Afterwards, when he became a man, he grew weary of this buried city, and went forth to seek his fortune. He prospered, as you know, and now says he has Spanish blood in his veins, to gain favour with my own people. But his heart is Indian; he is a friend of Ixtlilxochitli; he comes here frequently. I said, querido, that I was not certain that he worshipped the devil stone. I am wrong; I think he does. Through him does that opal counsel war; and you were delivered to the priests to be the victim of the cycle.”
“And in return for this handsome gift of my life, what does Don Hypolito get?”
“Can you not guess? Ixtlilxochitli, anxious to see the Ruler of Cholacaca one who is a believer in the old gods, has promised to make the Indians fight for him. He can do this by means of the opal’s prophecies. The priest thinks that if Don Hypolito becomes President, he will restore the worship of Huitzilopochtli.”
“Ridiculous!”
“It is not. Yet Ixtlilxochitli, who is a clever man, is completely deceived by Don Hypolito, and believes that this will be so.”
“Now I see how Xuarez came to the sacred city,” said Jack, reflectively; “but you say it was he who carried you off?”
“By means of the Indians, yes. Listen, Juanito. The last time Don Hypolito was here, he told Ixtlilxochitli that he desired to marry me; also, that if I were not carried off from Tlatonac, and placed for safety in the opal shrine, that I would probably marry you. As you can guess, it would never do to let the guardian of the opal marry a white man, so, as desired by Don Hypolito, I was decoyed from Tlatonac, and carried to this frightful place.”
“How were you decoyed?”
“By means of your friend, Don Pedro.”
“By Pedro!” cried Jack, in surprise. “Why, what had he to do with your kidnapping?”
“He had nothing actually to do with it. But his name was used in this way. Listen, mi cara; it is the strangest of tales.”
Jack nodded and settled himself to listen, whereon Doña Dolores began her story at once, as every moment was precious.
“When you left me on that day, Juanito, I went to the cathedral, in order to pray for you, and to obtain from Padre Ignatius the holy relic for your protection. With Marina did I kneel before the shrine of the Virgin, and waited for the Padre, but he did not appear.”
“Nevertheless, he was in the cathedral all the time waiting for you in the sacristy.”
“That is strange,” observed Dolores, in some perplexity, “for I grew weary of waiting, and sent Marina to seek Padre Ignatius in the sacristy. As she did not return, I presumed that she could not find him, and had perhaps gone to look for him in his own church.”
“She went neither to sacristy nor to church,” explained Jack, hastily; “she saw Pepe at the door of the cathedral, as she went to seek the good Father, and departed with the zambo. Then she was afraid of being punished by you, and did not return to the Casa Maraquando until late, when we found you were missing. I expect it was fear that made her run off to Acauhtzin with Pepe.”
“Very probably; yes, Juan, it was as you say. She did not go for the Padre, and he, waiting in the sacristy, expected me to meet him there. I, on my part, thinking Marina would return every moment, remained before the shrine. Then I felt a hand touch my shoulder, and turned round expecting to see Marina. It was a dwarf Indian, called T’ho, who gave me a message from—as I thought—Cocom and Don Pedro.”
“But it was not Cocom who betrayed you, Dolores?”
“No, indeed. But through the craft of Ixtlilxochitli, his name was made use of as a decoy. This Indian, T’ho, did not speak, but gave me an object message.”
“Dios! What is that?”
“Do you not know, Juanito? and yet you have dwelt so long in Cholacaca. An object message is one the meaning of which is read by certain things delivered. For instance, querido, in this case, T’ho gave me a yellow flower and several objects cut in bark, including an arrow, a pair of spectacles, and a round coloured red. Now can you understand?”
“The yellow flower meant Cocom! Is that not so? He told me to-day his name was from such a flower.”
“Yes, that is right—the spectacles?”
“Eh, Dolores! The spectacles! Oh, I know; Peter wears spectacles.”
“You’re right, mi amigo,” replied Dolores, smiling at his discovery, “and the arrow was a hint to be swift—the rough piece of bark, coloured scarlet, showed that some one was wounded.”
“Wait a moment, Dolores,” interposed Duval, hastily; “I can read the message now. It came presumably from Cocom, and read, ‘Come quickly, Don Pedro is wounded.’”
Dolores clapped her hands.
“Santissima Madre! You have guessed rightly. That was the message. At once I obeyed it, for I thought poor Don Pedro might be dying.”
“It was kind of you, Dolores, but terribly rash.”
“I did not think it would be far away from the gates, and suspected no evil. Besides, I had been kind to T’ho, and did not dream he would betray me.”
“Which he did?”
“Yes, base criminal, he did. I followed him from the church just as the sun was setting. He led me through the streets out of the town by the Puerta de la Culebra. No one recognised me, as I veiled my face in my mantilla.
