the gate, and
there is only its breadth between them.

They have arrived there at the same instant of time, and simultaneously
make stop. Face to face, silence on both sides, neither word nor salute
offered in exchange. But looks are quite as expressive--glances that
speak the language of jealous rivalry--of rage with difficulty
suppressed.

It is a question of precedence, as to who shall first pass into the
entrance. Their hesitation was not from any courtesy, but the reverse.
The men on horseback look down on those afoot contemptuously,
scornfully. Threateningly, too; as though they had thoughts of riding
over, and trampling them under the hoofs of their horses. No doubt they
would like to do it, and might make trial, were the young officers
unarmed. But they are not. Crozier carries a pistol--Cadwallader his
midshipman's dirk, both weapons conspicuous outside their uniforms.

For a period of several seconds' duration, the rivals stand _vis-a-vis_,
neither venturing to advance. Around them is a nimbus of angry
electricity, that needs but a spark to kindle it into furious flame. A
single word will do it. This word spoken, and two of the four may never
enter Don Gregorio's gate--at least not alive.

It is not spoken. The only thing said is by Crozier to Cadwallader--not
in a whisper, but aloud, and without regard to what effect it may have
on the enemy.

"Come along, Will! We've something better to do than stand
shilly-shallying here. Heave after me, shipmate!"

Crozier's speech cut the Gordian knot; and the officers, gliding through
the gateway, advance along the avenue.

With faces now turned towards the house, they see the ladies still upon
the _azotea_.

Soon as near enough for Carmen to observe it, Crozier draws out the
treasured tress, and fastens it in his cap, behind the gold band. It
falls over his shoulder like a cataract of liquid amber.

Cadwallader does likewise; and from his cap also streams a tress, black
as the plumes of a raven.

The two upon the house-top appear pleased by this display. They show
their approval by imitating it. Each raises hand to her riding-hat; and
when these are withdrawn, a curl of hair is seen set behind their
_toquillas_--one chestnut-brown, the other of yellowish hue.

Scarce is this love-telegraphy exchanged, when the two Californians come
riding up the avenue, at full speed. Though lingering at the gate, and
still far-off, De Lara had observed th