eft in their hasty
retreat, the young lady's portrait as the rest.

The Lancer colonel loves Adela Miranda; and though his love be of a
coarse, brutal nature, it is strong and intense as that the noblest man
may feel.

In earlier days he believed there was a chance of his obtaining her
hand. Humble birth is no bar in Mexico--land of revolutions--where the
sergeant or common soldier of to-day may be a lieutenant, captain, or
colonel to-morrow. His hopes had been a stimulant to his military
aspirations; perchance one of the causes that first led him into crime.
He believed that wealth might bridge over the social distinction between
himself and her, and in this belief he cared not how it should be
acquired. For the rest he was not ill-looking, rather handsome, and
fairly accomplished. Like most Mexican _militarios_, he could boast of
his _bonnes fortunes_, which he often did.

These have become more rare since receiving the sword-thrust from his
American adversary in the duel at Chihuahua, which not only cost him
three front teeth, but a hideous scar across the cheek. The teeth have
been replaced, but the scar cannot be effaced; it remains a frightful
cicatrix. Even his whiskers, let grow to their extremest outcrop, will
not all conceal it; it is too far forward upon the face.

It was after this unfortunate affair that he made proposal to Adela
Miranda. And now he cannot help thinking it had something to do with
her abrupt and disdainful rejection of him, though the young lady's
little concealed disgust, coupled with her brother's indignation, had no
reference to the physical deformity. But for his blind passion he might
have perceived this. Fancying it so, however, it is not strange that he
goes half frantic, and can be heard giving utterance to fearful oaths
every time he glances in his looking-glass.

After returning from his secret expedition of murder and pillage, he can
gaze with more equanimity into the glass. From the man who caused the
disfiguration of his visage he has exacted a terrible retribution. His
adversary in the Chihuahua duel is now no more. He has met with a fate
sufficient to satisfy the most implacable vengeance; and often, both
sober and in his cups, does Gil Uraga break out into peals of laughter,
like the glee of a demon, as he reflects on the torture, prolonged and
horrible, his hated enemy must have endured before life became extinct!

But even all this does not appease his ma