al out from the camp. Separate
yourself from the vile people who surround you--separate yourself--O
sister! it is hard to say the word--from him, our father--him who should
have been our protector, but who, I fear--Alas! I cannot speak the
thought. To-night, dear Lil! if possible, to-night! To-morrow it may
be too late. Our disguise may be discovered, and all our plans
frustrated. To-night--to-night! Fear not! your friend awaits you--as
also your old favourite, Frank Wingrove, with other brave companions.
Your sister will receive you with open arms."

"Marian."

Surely Lilian would not resist such an appeal? Surely it would be
enough to separate her--even from him whose slight protection scarcely
gave him claim to the sacred title of parent?

Our next anxiety was, as to how the note might be delivered. We thought
of Archilete; and in the end he might have been employed to convey it to
her for whom it was intended. But just at that moment the Mexican was
absent. In the performance of his _metier_ as guide, he had entered the
corral, and was engaged with the chief men of the caravan--giving them
such counsel as might enable them to pursue their route, and no doubt
concealing those points that might be prejudicial to our cause. I had
no reason to doubt the fidelity of the man. It is true his betrayal of
us would have been fatal; though it might afterwards have brought
himself to punishment. But it never occurred to me to question his
loyalty. His sentiment of hostility for the Mormon "hereticos" had been
freely and repeatedly expressed; and I reposed perfect confidence in the
honesty of his declarations. On discovering the absence of Archilete,
the idea occurred to me, that it might not be necessary to await his
return to the tents. Time was too valuable to be wasted. Already had
the sun sunk to rest over the grand desert of the Colorado; and the
sombre shadows of the Sierra San Juan were projected far into the
plain--almost to the edge of the encampment. In these latitudes, the
soft eve lingers but a few minutes; and night was already spreading her
russet mantle over the earth. The white tilts of the waggons gleamed
paler through the grey light; and the red glare of the camp-fires,
burning within the corral, now shone upon the canvas--disputing the
power to illumine it, with the last touches of the twilight. Another
minute--scarcely another minute--and the day would be done.

"Come!" I said to my