e desperate of all deliverance, and saw
staring her in the face, nearer and nearer, some hideous and shameful
end; when one day going down with the wives of the cacique to draw water
in the river, she saw on the opposite bank a white man in a tattered
Spanish dress, with a drawn sword in his hand; who had no sooner espied
her, than shrieking her name, he plunged into the stream, swam across,
landed at her feet, and clasped her in his arms. It was no other,
ladies, incredible as it may seem, than Don Sebastian himself, who had
returned with Ruiz Moschera to the tower, and found it only a charred
and bloodstained heap of ruins.

"He guessed, as by inspiration, what had passed, and whither his lady
was gone; and without a thought of danger, like a true Spanish gentleman
and a true Spanish lover, darted off alone into the forest, and
guided only by the inspiration of his own loyal heart, found again his
treasure, and found it still unstained and his own.

"Who can describe the joy, and who again the terror, of their meeting?
The Indian women had fled in fear, and for the short ten minutes that
the lovers were left together, life, to be sure, was one long kiss.
But what to do they knew not. To go inland was to rush into the enemy's
arms. He would have swum with her across the river, and attempted it;
but his strength, worn out with hunger and travel, failed him; he drew
her with difficulty on shore again, and sat down by her to await their
doom with prayer, the first and last resource of virtuous ladies, as
weapons are of cavaliers.

"Alas for them! May no true lovers ever have to weep over joys so soon
lost, after having been so hardly found! For, ere a quarter of an hour
was passed, the Indian women, who had fled at his approach, returned
with all the warriors of the tribe. Don Sebastian, desperate, would
fain have slain his wife and himself on the spot; but his hand sank
again--and whose would not but an Indian's?--as he raised it against
that fair and faithful breast; in a few minutes he was surrounded,
seized from behind, disarmed, and carried in triumph into the village.
And if you cannot feel for him in that misery, fair ladies, who have
known no sorrow, yet I, a prisoner, can."

Don Guzman paused a moment, as if overcome by emotion; and I will not
say that, as he paused, he did not look to see if Rose Salterne's eyes
were on him, as indeed they were.

"Yes, I can feel with him; I can estimate, better than you, l