me of the master of whom you
speak?"

"Don Augustin Pena--proprietor of the Hacienda del Venado."

A ray of joy lit up the countenance of the unknown.

"I am able," he said, "to furnish Don Augustin with all the information
he may desire. How many days' journey is it from hence to the
hacienda?"

"Three days' journey, with a good horse."

"I possess a capital one; and if you can wait for me until to-morrow
evening, I shall accompany you, and communicate with Don Augustin in
person."

"Be it so," answered the major-domo.

"Very well," added the man of the red handkerchief; "to-morrow at this
same hour we will start, so that we may travel by night, and so escape
the heat."

Saying this, he took his departure, when the major-domo remarked:

"It must be agreed, gentlemen, that nothing can exceed the complaisance
of this cavalier of the red handkerchief."

The arrangement did not satisfy the bystanders, who were thoroughly
disappointed; but their interest was renewed, on seeing the man of the
red handkerchief pass by on horseback, and depart at full speed towards
the north.

The unknown kept his promise: and on the day following he returned at
the hour of the evening _angelus_.

Don Augustin's two envoys took leave of their host, assuring him of a
kind welcome, if ever his affairs led him in the direction of the
Hacienda del Venado. Even the poorest in this primitive country, would
blush to receive any other reward for hospitality than sincere thanks,
and a promise that they in their turn should receive it.

The three horsemen set off at full speed; the horse of the unknown
equalled in strength and mettle those of Don Augustin's envoys. The
journey was rapidly accomplished; and at dawn of the third day, they
could trace in the distance the clock-tower of the Hacienda del Venado,
and an hour afterwards they dismounted in the court-yard. Although it
was at that early hour when the sun sheds its most enlivening rays,
everything which surrounded this habitation bore the stamp of
melancholy. One might have supposed that the gloomy nature of the
inmates was reflected upon its exterior.

Dona Rosarita was dying of grief; and this filled the haciendado with
the deepest anxiety. Don Augustin's daughter could not help the belief
that Fabian yet lived. But why, then, had not Tiburcio, as she always
called him, returned to the hacienda? Either he was dead, or he no
longer loved her? It was this uncertainty th