same instant she advanced to examine the wound.

Tiburcio repulsed her by stepping backward.

"It is too late," said he with a bitter smile, "the evil is done.
Adieu! I have been too long your guest. The hospitality of your house
is fatal to me. Under your roof my life has been threatened, my dearest
hopes have been crushed! Adieu, Rosarita! Adieu!"

As he pronounced the last words, he turned and walked hastily away.
There was a broken place in the wall of the enclosure, and towards this
he directed his steps. A hundred paces beyond, the forest commenced,
and the dark sombre trees were visible through the opening. The
mysterious light he had already noticed, was still glimmering feebly
above their tops.

"Where are you going, Tiburcio?" cried the young girl, her hands joined
and her eyes filling with tears, "my father's roof will protect you."

Tiburcio only answered by a negative shake of the head.

"But yonder," continued Rosarita, pointing to the woods, "yonder, alone
and without defence--danger--death will await you."

"God will send me friends," answered Tiburcio, glancing towards the
distant light. "The hospitality of the wandering traveller--a sleep by
his camp-fire--will be safer for me than that of your father's roof."
And Tiburcio continued to advance towards the breach with a gentle but
resolute step.

"For the love of heaven do not expose yourself to dangers that may
perhaps arise when I am no longer present to protect you! I tell you
out yonder you will be risking your life;" then giving to her voice a
tone of persuasive softness, she continued, "In what place, Tiburcio,
will you be safer than with me?"

Tiburcio's resolution was for a moment shaken, and he paused to make
answer.

"One word, Rosarita!" said he; "say that you hate my rival as I hate
him--say this, and I remain."

A violent conflict appeared to arise in the breast of Rosarita. Her
bosom swelled with conflicting emotions, as she fixed upon Tiburcio a
glance of tender reproach, but she remained silent.

To a man of Tiburcio's age the heart of a woman is a sealed book. Not
till we have lost the attractions of youth--so powerful, despite its
inexperience--are we able to penetrate the mysteries of the female
heart--a sad compensation which God accords to the maturity of age. At
thirty years Tiburcio would have remained. But he was yet only
twenty-four; he had spent his whole life in the desert, and this was his
first lo