but with a fervour eloquent through
fear.

Solemnly pronouncing "Amen!" they make the sign of the cross; in
darkness, God alone seeing it.

As their hands drop down from the gesture, and while they are still in a
kneeling attitude, a noise outside succeeds their appeal to Heaven,
suddenly recalling them to earthly thoughts and fears.

They hear voices of men in conversation; at the same time the sailcloth
is pushed aside, and two men press past it into the cave. Soon as
entering one says:

"Senoritas! we must ask pardon for making our somewhat untimely call;
which present circumstances render imperative. It's to be hoped,
however, you won't stand upon such stiff ceremony with us, as when we
had the honour of last paying our respects to you."

After this singular peroration, the speaker pauses to see what may be
the effect of his words. As this cannot be gathered from any reply--
since none is vouchsafed--he continues; "Dona Carmen Montijo, you and I
are old acquaintances; though, it may be, you do not remember my voice.
With the sound of the sea so long echoing in your ears, that's not
strange. Perhaps the sense of sight will prove more effectual in
recalling an old friend. Let me give you something to assist it!"

Saying this, he holds out a lantern, hitherto concealed beneath his
cloak. As it lights up the grotto, four figures are seen erect; for the
girls have sprung to their feel in apprehension of immediate danger.
Upon all, the light shines clear; and, fronting her, Carmen Montijo
sees--too surely recognising it--the face of Francisco de Lara; while in
her _vis-a-vis_, Inez Alvarez beholds Faustino Calderon!

Yes, before them are their scorned suitors; no longer disguised in
sailor garb, but resplendent in their Californian costume--the same worn
by them on that day of their degradation, when De Lara rolled in the
dust of the Dolores road.

Now that he has them in his power, his triumph is complete; and in
strains of exultation he continues:

"So, ladies! you see we've come together again! No doubt you're a
little surprised at our presence, but I hope not annoyed."

There is no reply to this taunting speech.

"Well, if you won't answer, I shall take it for granted you _are_
annoyed; besides looking a little alarmed too. You've no need to be
that."

"No, indeed," endorses Calderon. "We mean you no harm--none whatever."

"On the contrary," goes on De Lara, "only good. We've nothing but
fa