ms around the neck of her brown-skinned maid, and imprints upon
her brow a kiss, speaking heartfelt gratitude.

For a time the two remain enlocked in each other's arms, murmuring words
of mutual consolation. Love levels all ranks, but not more than
misery--perhaps not so much. In the hour of despair there is no
difference between prince and peasant, between the high-born dame and
the lowly damsel accustomed to serve her caprices and wait upon her
wishes.

Adela Miranda has in her veins the purest _sangre azul_ of Andalusia.
Her ancestors came to New Spain among the proud _conquistadores_; while
those of Conchita, at least on the mother's side, were of the race
conquered, outraged, and humiliated.

No thought of ancestral hostility, no pride of high lineage on one side,
or shame of low birth on the other, as the two girls stand inside the
tent with arms entwined, endeavouring to cheer one another.

Under the dread of a common danger, the white _doncella_ and the dusky
damsel forget the difference in the colour of their skins; and for the
first time feel themselves sisters in the true sisterhood of humanity.

CHAPTER SIXTY FIVE.

TWO SCOUNDRELS IN COUNCIL.

Simultaneous with the scene in the square marquee a dialogue is taking
place within the conical tent, the speakers being Uraga and Roblez.

The colonel is reclining on a bearskin, spread over the thick sward of
grass, which forms a soft couch underneath. The lieutenant sits on a
camp-stool beside.

Both are smoking; while from a canteen and two cups, resting upon the
top of a bullock trunk, comes a perfume which tells they have also been
indulging in a drink.

Uraga is thoughtful and silent; Roblez patiently waiting for him to
speak. The adjutant has but late entered the tent and delivered his
report about the pitching of the camp, the arrangements of which he has
been superintending.

"You've stationed a look-out as I directed?" the Colonel inquires, after
a long silence.

"I have."

"I hope you've placed him so that he can command a good view of the
valley below?"

"He's on a spur of the cliff, and can see full five miles down stream.
May I ask, colonel, whom we may expect to come that way? Not pursuers,
I take it?"

Uraga does not make immediate reply. There is evidently something in
his thoughts he hesitates to communicate to his subordinate. The answer
he at length vouchsafes is evasive.

"Whom may we expect? You forget those fell