uleteer,
"men who had no ill-will towards our cause; and, shame to say, the only
one in this our province who now carries the banner of the insurrection
is the worthless wretch, Antonio Valdez."

"Antonio Valdez!" cried Don Rafael, interrupting him. "Do you mean
Valdez, a _vaquero_ of Don Luis Tres-Villas--my father?"

"The same," replied Don Mariano. "May it please God to make him
remember that his master always treated him with kindness!"

The air of uneasiness with which Don Mariano pronounced these words did
not escape Don Rafael.

"Do you think, then," said he, in a tone that testified his alarm, "do
you think that my father, whose liberal opinions are known to every one,
is in any danger from the insurgents?"

"No, I hope not," replied Don Mariano. "Senor Valerio," said Don
Rafael, turning to interrogate the _arriero_; "do you know how many men
this fellow, Antonio Valdez, may have under his command?"

"Fifty, I have heard; but I think it likely his band may have been
greatly increased by accessions among the country-people--who have
suffered even more than those of the town from the oppressions of the
Spaniards."

"Senor Don Mariano," said the officer, in a voice trembling with
emotion, "nothing less than news similar to what I have just now heard
could have tempted me to abridge a sojourn under your roof, which I
should have been only too happy to have prolonged; but when one's father
is in danger--even to the risk of life--his son's place should be by his
side. Is it not so, Dona Gertrudis?"

On hearing the first words of Don Rafael's speech, which announced the
intention of a precipitate departure, a cry of anguish had almost
escaped from the lips of the young girl. With the heroism of a woman's
heart she had repressed it; and stood silent with her eyes fixed upon
the floor.

"Yes, yes!" murmured she, replying to Don Rafael's question in a low but
firm voice.

There was an interval of silence, during which a sort of sinister
presentiment agitated the spirits of the four personages present. The
homicidal breath of civil war was already commencing to make itself felt
within the domestic circle.

Trujano was the first to recommence the conversation--his eyes gleaming
as he spoke like one of the ancient prophets moved by Divine
inspiration.

"This morning," said he, "an humble servant of the Most High, the
obscure priest of a poor village, has left you to offer up his prayers
for the insurge