nds the promised communication.

"Dona Adela Miranda," he rejoins, speaking in a grave, measured voice,
like a doctor delivering a prognosis of death, "it has been my duty to
make your brother a prisoner--a painful one, as I have said. But, alas!
the part I've already performed is nothing compared with that now
required of me. You say you are prepared for a shock. What I'm going
to say will cause you one."

She no longer attempts to conceal alarm. It is now discernible in her
large, wondering eyes.

"Say it!"

The words drop mechanically from her lips, drawn forth by the intensity
of her apprehension.

"You are soon to be without a brother!"

"What mean you, senor?"

"Don Valerian dies within the hour."

"You are jesting, sir. My brother has not been sick? He is not
wounded? Why should he die?"

She speaks hurriedly, and with an incredulous stare at Uraga; while at
the same time her heaving, palpitating bosom shows she too truly
believes what he said.

"Don Valerian is not sick," continues the unfeeling wretch, "nor yet has
he received any wound. For all this, in less than an hour he must die.
It is decreed."

"_Madre de Dios_! You are mocking me. His death decreed! By whom?"

"Not by me, I assure you. The military authorities of the country have
been his judges, and condemned him long ago, as also Don Prospero. It
only needed their capture to have the sentence carried out. This
disagreeable duty has been entrusted to me. My orders at starting were
to have both shot on the instant of making them captives. For your
sake, senorita, I've so far disobeyed the rigorous command--an act which
may cost me my commission. Yes, Dona Adela, for your sake."

The tale is preposterous, and might seem to her who hears it a lie, but
for her knowledge of many similar occurrences in the history of her
native land, "Cosas de Mexico." Besides, her own and her brother's
experience render it but too probable.

"_Dios de mi alma_!" she cries out in the anguish of conviction, "can
this be true?"

"It is true."

"Colonel Uraga, you will not carry out this cruel sentence! It is not
an execution--it is an assassination! You will not stain your soul with
murder?"

"I must obey orders."

"My poor brother! Have mercy! You can save him?"

"I can."

"You will? You will?"

"I will!"

The emphasis with which these two words are pronounced brings a flush of
gratefulness over her face, and she makes a