ure to be on before midnight; at this time of year, it always
is. To-morrow night will be like the last--black as a pot of pitch."

"True," says De Lara, as a man with some experience of the sea, also
having meteorological knowledge. "No doubt, 'twill be as you say,
Rocas. In that case we'll have nothing to fear. We can get the job
done, and be back here before morning. Ah, then seated round the table,
we'll not be like we are now--poor as rats; but every one with his pile
before him--sixty thousand _pesos_."

"_Carramba_!" exclaims Diaz, in a mocking tone, "while saying vespers
to-night, let's put in a special prayer for to-morrow night to be what
Rocas says it will--black as a pot of pitch."

The profane suggestion is hailed with a burst of ribald laughter; after
which they set about preparing the _mascaras_, and other disguises, to
be used in their nefarious enterprise.

CHAPTER FORTY FOUR.

"AMBRE LA PUERTA!"

Another sun has shone upon San Francisco Bay, and again gone down in red
gleam over the far-spreading Pacific, leaving the sky of a leaden
colour, moonless and starless.

As the hour of midnight approaches it assumes the hue predicted by
Rocas, and desired by Diaz. For the ocean fog has again rolled
shoreward across the peninsula, and shrouds San Francisco as with a
pall. The adjacent country is covered with its funereal curtain,
embracing within its folds the house of Don Gregorio Montijo.

The inmates seem all asleep, as at this hour they should. No light is
seen through the windows, nor any sound heard within the walls. Not
even the baying of a watch-dog, the bellow of a stalled ox, or the
stamping of a horse in the stables. Inside, as without, all is silence.

The profound silence seems strange, though favourable, to four men not
far from the place, and gradually, but with slow steps, drawing nearer
to it. For they are approaching by stealth, as can be told by their
attitudes and gestures. They advance crouchingly, now and then stopping
to take a survey of the _terrain_ in front, as they do so exchanging
whispered words with one another.

Through the hazy atmosphere their figures show weird-like--all the more
from their grotesque gesticulations. Even if scrutinised closely, and
in clearest light, they would present this appearance; for although in
human shape, and wearing the garb of men, their faces more resemble
those of demons. They are human countenances, nevertheless, but