seek against those who have murdered my men, only to bring
them to justice. I must do that, or else proclaim myself a poltroon--I
feel myself one--a self-accusation that would give me a life-long
remorse. No, Senorita Adela. It is kind of you to take an interest in
my safety. I already owe you my life; but I cannot permit you to save
it again, at the sacrifice of honour, of duty, of humanity."

Hamersley fancies himself being coldly judged and counselled with
indifference. Could he know the warm, wild admiration struggling in the
breast of her who counsels him, he would make rejoinder in different
fashion.

Soon after he talks in an altered tone, and with changed understanding.
So also does she, hitherto so difficult of comprehension.

"Go!" she cries. "Go and get redress of your wrongs, justice for your
fallen comrades; and if you can, the punishment of their assassins. But
remember! if it brings death to you, there is one who will not care to
live after."

"Who?" he asks, springing forward, with heart on fire and eyes aflame.
"Who?"

He scarce needs to put the question. It is already answered by the
emphasis on her last words.

But it is again replied to, this time in a more tranquil tone; the long,
dark lashes of the speaker veiling her eyes as she pronounces her own
name,--

"_Adela Miranda_!"

From poverty to riches, from a dungeon to bright daylight, from the
agonising struggle of drowning to that confident feeling when the feet
stand firm upon terra firma--all these are sensations of a
pleasantly-exciting kind. They are dull in comparison with that
delirious joy, the lot of the despairing lover on finding that his
despair has been all a fancy, and that his passion is reciprocated.

Such a joy thrills through Hamersley's breast as he hears the name
pronounced. It is like a cabalistic speech, throwing open to him the
portals of Paradise.

CHAPTER FORTY FOUR.

A MYSTERIOUS MESSAGE.

As is known, Hamersley's suspicions about the treachery of the peon are
not without cause. On the contrary, they might seem second-sight. For,
almost at the moment he is communicating them to Colonel Miranda, the
native is telling his tale to Uraga.

Nor does the latter lose much time in acting upon the information
gained--only that short interlude given to exultation as he stepped up
to the portrait of Adela Miranda, and stood triumphantly regarding the
likeness of her he now looks upon as sure to be h