djacent to the Calabozo. The
horrid ceremony would soon be over. Perhaps they would then be carried
within sight. He would wait for the moment, it would be his last--

"Ha! what is that? Oh God: it is--"

He heard the "weep" of the keen cuarto as it cut the air. He thought,
or fancied, he heard a low moan. The silence of the crowd enabled him
to distinguish the slightest sounds.

"God of mercy, is there no mercy? God of vengeance, hear me! Ha!
vengeance! what am I dreaming of, suicidal fool? What! my hands free--
can I not break the door? the lock? I can but die upon their weapons!
and maybe--"

He had flung the noose from his neck, and was about to turn away from
the window, when a heavy object struck him on the forehead, almost
stunning him with the blow!

At first he thought it was a stone from the hand of some ruffian
without; but the object, in falling upon the banqueta, gave out a dull
metallic clink. He looked down, and in the dim light could make out
that the thing which had struck him was of an oblong shape. He bent
hastily forward, and clutched it.

It was a parcel, wrapped in a piece of silken scarf and tied securely.
The string was soon unfastened, and the contents of the parcel held up
to the light. These were a roleau of gold onzas, a long-bladed knife,
and a folded sheet of paper!

The last occupied his attention first. The sun was down, and the light
declining, but in front of the window there was still enough to enable
him to read he opened the paper and read:--

"_Your time is fixed for to-morrow. I cannot learn whether you will be
kept where you are all night, or be taken back to the Presidio. If you
remain in the Calabozo, well. I send you two weapons. Use which you
please, or both. The walls can be pierced. There will be one outside
who will conduct you safe. Should you be taken to the Presidio, you
must endeavour to escape on the way, or there is no hope. I need not
recommend courage and resolution to you--the personification of both.
Make for the rancho of Josefa. There you will find one who is now ready
to share your perils and your liberty. Adieu! my soul's hero, adieu_!"

No name appeared. But Carlos needed none--he well knew who was the
writer of that note.

"Brave, noble girl!" he muttered as he concealed the paper under the
breast of his hunting-shirt; "the thought of living for you fills me
with fresh hope--gives me new nerve for the struggle. If I die,