d the people around
him. It was the agonised cry of a wretch begging for mercy. The voice
even could be distinguished by Don Mariano, by Costal, by Clara, and the
domestics. All knew it was the voice of Arroyo.

The cry was significant. Beyond doubt Don Rafael was the victor, and
was now executing upon the murderer of his father the act of merciless
justice he had promised before the walls of Las Palmas.

Don Mariano hesitated no longer; but, giving the order to his
attendants, advanced towards the scene of vengeance.

CHAPTER EIGHTY.

MATLACUEZC A MORTAL.

The shores of the Lake Ostuta, hitherto so solitary and silent, appeared
upon this night to have become a general rendezvous for all the world.
The _litera_ of Gertrudis had scarce moved from the spot which Don
Mariano had chosen for his bivouac, when another _litera_ was seen
entering the glade, and moving onward through it. This, however, was
borne by men, and preceded by some half-dozen Indian peons with blazing
torches of _ocote_ wood carried in their hands.

On reaching the shore of the lake, the second _litera_ with its escort
made halt, while the Indians bearing the torches commenced searching for
something among the reeds.

Costal and Clara, instead of accompanying the party of Don Mariano, had
remained upon the ground, in hopes that they would now be left free to
continue their pagan incantations, and once more behold the Syren of the
dishevelled hair. Don Cornelio also lingered behind, not caring just
then to encounter the victorious royalists.

As soon as Costal perceived the approach of this new party--once more
interrupting his designs--his fury became uncontrollable; and, making
towards it on horseback, he snatched a torch from the hands of one of
the Indians who were in advance, and then rode straight up to the
_litera_. The apparition of a gaunt horseman with a torch in one hand,
and a bloody sword in the other, his countenance expressing extreme
rage, produced an instantaneous effect on the bearers of the _litera_.
Without waiting to exchange a word, they dropped their burden to the
ground, and ran back into the woods as fast as their legs could carry
them.

A stifled cry came from the interior of the _litera_; while Don
Cornelio, who had followed Costal, hastened to open the curtains. By
the light of the torch which the Zapoteque still carried, they now saw
stretched inside the body of a man, with a face wan, pallid, and stain