is more
than repaid by the senora's condescension. HE dare not speak!"

"Who dare not speak? Are you mad?" She stopped with a sudden terrible
instinct of apprehension. "Miguel," she said in her deepest voice,
"answer me, I command you! Do you know anything of this man?"

It was Miguel's turn to recoil from his mistress. "Ah, my God! is it
possible the senora has not suspect?"

"Suspect!" said Josephine, haughtily, albeit her proud heart was beating
quickly. "I SUSPECT nothing. I command you to tell me what you KNOW."

Miguel turned with a rapid gesture and closed the door. Then, drawing
her away from the window, he said in a hurried whisper,--

"I know that that man has not the name of Baxter! I know that he has
the name of Randolph, a young gambler, who have won a large sum at
Sacramento, and, fearing to be robbed by those he won of, have walk
to himself through the road in disguise of a miner. I know that your
brother Esteban have decoyed him here, and have fallen on him."

"Stop!" said the young girl, her eyes, which had been fixed with the
agony of conviction, suddenly flashing with the energy of despair. "And
you call yourself the servant of my uncle, and dare say this of his
nephew?"

"Yes, senora," broke out the old man, passionately. "It is because I am
the servant of your uncle that I, and I ALONE, dare say it to you! It
is because I perjured my soul, and have perjured my soul to deny it
elsewhere, that I now dare to say it! It is because I, your servant,
knew it from one of my countrymen, who was of the gang,--because I,
Miguel, knew that your brother was not far away that night, and because
I, whom you would dismiss, have picked up this pocket-book of Randolph's
and your brother's ring which he have dropped, and I have found beneath
the body of the man you sent me to fetch."

He drew a packet from his bosom, and tossed it on the desk before her.

"And why have you not told me this before?" said Josephine,
passionately.

Miguel shrugged his shoulders.

"What good? Possibly this dog Randolph would die. Possibly he would
live--as a lunatic. Possibly would happen what has happened! The senora
is beautiful. The American has eyes. If the Dona Josephine's beauty
shall finish what the silly Don Esteban's arm have begun--what matter?"

"Stop!" cried Josephine, pressing her hands across her shuddering eyes.
Then, uncovering her white and set face, she said rapidly, "Saddle my
horse and your own at once. T