been one of the ringleaders in the rising at El Salado, while
the young Irishman had also taken a prominent part in that affair.
Still, there were others now in the Acordada who had done the same,
receiving treatment altogether different. The attack upon the Guards,
therefore, could scarce be the cause of what they were called upon to
suffer now; for besides the humiliation of being chained to criminals,
they were otherwise severely dealt with. The food set before them was
of the coarsest, with a scarcity of it; and more than once the gaoler,
whose duty it was to look after them, made mockery of their irksome
situation, jesting on the grotesque companionship of the dwarf and
giant. As the gaol-governor had shown, on his first having them
conveyed to their cells, signs of a special hostility, so did their
daily attendant. But for what reason neither Florence Kearney nor his
faithful comrade could divine.

They learnt it at length--on the third day after their entrance within
the prison. All was explained by the door of their cell being drawn
open, exposing to view the face and figure of a man well-known to them.
And from both something like a cry escaped, as they saw standing
without, by the side of the gaol-governor--Carlos Santander.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

A COLONEL IN FULL FEATHER.

Yes; outside the door of their cell was Carlos Santander. And in full
war panoply, wearing a magnificent uniform, with a glittering sword by
his side, and on his head a cocked hat, surmounted by a _panache_ of
white ostrich feathers!

To explain his presence there, and in such guise, it is necessary to
return upon time and state some particulars of this man's life not yet
before the reader. As already said, he was a native of New Orleans, but
of Mexican parentage, and regarding himself as a Mexican citizen.
Something more than a mere citizen, indeed; as, previous to his
encounter with Florence Kearney, he had been for a time resident in
Mexico, holding some sort of appointment under that Government, or from
the Dictator himself--Santa Anna. What he was doing in New Orleans no
one exactly knew, though among his intimates there was an impression
that he still served his Mexican master, in the capacity of a secret
agent--a sort of _procurador_, or spy. Nor did this suspicion do him
wrong: for he was drawing pay from Santa Anna, and doing work for him in
the States, which could scarce be dignified with the name of diplomacy.
Pro