votive taper in the vault-like hearth, and drew a chair towards
it. In spite of the impatience and preoccupation of a lover, he found
himself again and again recurring to the story he had just heard, until
the vengeful spirit of the murdered Doctor seemed to darken and possess
the house. He was striving to shake off the feeling, when his
attention was attracted to stealthy footsteps in the passage. Could it
be Maruja? He rose to his feet, with his eye upon the door. The
footsteps ceased--it remained closed. But another door, which had
escaped his attention in the darkened corner, slowly swung on its
hinges, and, with a stealthy step, Pereo, the mayordomo, entered the
room.

Courageous and self-possessed as Captain Carroll was by nature and
education, this malevolent vision, and incarnation of the thought
uppermost in his mind, turned him cold. He had half drawn a derringer
from his breast, when his eye fell on the grizzled locks and wrinkled
face of the old man, and his hand dropped to his side. But Pereo, with
the quick observation of insanity, had noticed the weapon, and rubbed
his hands together, with a malicious laugh.

"Good! good! good!" he whispered, rapidly, in a strange bodiless voice;
"'t will serve! 't will serve! And you are a soldier too--and know how
to use it! Good, it is a Providence!" He lifted his hollow eyes to
heaven, and then added, "Come! come!"

Carroll stepped towards him. He was alone and in the presence of an
undoubted madman--one strong enough, in spite of his years, to inflict
a deadly injury, and one whom he now began to realize might have done
so once before. Nevertheless, he laid his hand on the old man's arm,
and, looking him calmly in the eye, said, quietly, "Come? Where,
Pereo? I have only just arrived."

"I know it," whispered the old man, nodding his head violently. "I was
watching them, when you rode up. That is why I lost the scent; but
together we can track them still--we can track them. Eh, Captain, eh!
Come! Come!" and he moved slowly backward, waving his hand towards the
door.

"Track whom, Pereo?" said Carroll, soothingly. "Whom do you seek?"

"Whom?" said the old man, startled for a moment and passing his hand
over his wrinkled forehead. "Whom? Eh! Why, the Dona Maruja and the
little black cat--her maid--Faquita!"

"Yes, but why seek them? Why track them?"

"Why?" said the old man, with a sudden burst of impotent passion. "YOU
ask me why! Bec