ured after
the first forty or fifty miles were accomplished, since my pursuers
would scarcely venture farther.

The Senhora had provided for everything. My dress, which would have
proclaimed me as a runaway "settler," was to be exchanged for the gay
attire of a Mexican horse-dealer,--a green velvet jacket and hose, all
slashed and decorated with jingling silver buttons, pistols, sabre, and
rifle to suit.

The mustang, whose saddle was to be fitted with the usual accompaniment
of portmanteau and cloak, was also to have the leathern purse of the
"craft," with its massive silver lock, and a goodly ballast of doubloons
within. Two days' provisions and a gourd of brandy, completed an
equipment which to my eyes was more than the wealth of an empire.

"Are you content?" asked she, as she finished the catalogue.

I seized her hand, and kissed it with a warm devotion.

"Now for the reverse of the medal. You may be overtaken; pursuit is
almost certain,--it may be successful; if so, you must tear the letter I
shall give you to fragments so small that all detection of its contents
may be impossible. Sell your life dearly; this I counsel you, since a
horrible death would be reserved for you if taken prisoner. Above all,
don't betray me."

"I swear it," said I, solemnly, as I held up my hand in evidence of the
oath.

"Should you, however, escaping all peril, reach Guajuaqualla in safety,
you will deliver this letter to the Senhor Estavan Olares, a well-known
banker of that town. He will present you with any reward you think
sufficient for your services, the peril of which cannot be estimated
beforehand. This done,--and here, mark me! I expect your perfect
fidelity,--all tie is severed between us. You are never to speak of me
so long as I live; nor, if by any sun of Fortune we should chance to
meet again in life, are you to recognize me. You need be at no loss for
the reasons of this request: the position in which I am here placed--the
ignominy of an unjust sentence, as great as the shame of the heaviest
guilt--will tell you why I stipulate for this. Are we agreed?"

"We are. When do I set out?"

"To-morrow by daybreak; leave this a little before your usual time, pass
out of the village, and, taking the path that skirts the beech wood,
make for the Indian ground,--you know the spot. At the cedar-tree close
to that you will find your horse all ready,--the letter is here." Now
for the first time her voice trembled slightly, a