t? It may have been
too big to be easily brought home."

"No, no!" murmurs the senora, the gleam of hope departing suddenly as it
had sprung up. "It cannot be that."

"But it can, and may," persists the youth, "for there's something I
haven't yet told you, _tia_--a thing which makes it more probable."

Again she looks to him inquiringly, as does Ludwig, both listening with
all ears for the answer.

"The thing I'm speaking of is an ostrich."

"Why an ostrich? your uncle could have no curiosity about that. He sees
them every day."

"True, but it's not every day he can catch them. And it was only
yesterday I heard him tell Caspar he wanted one, a cock bird, for some
purpose or other, though what, he didn't say. Now, it's likely, almost
certain, that while on their way to the _tolderia_, or coming back, he
has seen one, given chase to it, leaving Francesca somewhere to wait for
him. Well, _tia_, you know what an ostrich is to chase? Now lagging
along as if you could easily throw the noose round its neck, then
putting on a fresh spurt--'twould tempt any one to keep on after it.
Uncle may have got tantalised in that very way, and galloped leagues
upon leagues without thinking of it. To get back to Francesca, and then
home, would take all the time that's passed yet. So don't let us
despair."

The words well meant, and not without some show of reason, fail,
however, to bring conviction to the senora. Her heart is too sad, the
presentiment too heavy on it, to be affected by any such sophistry. In
return, she says despairingly--

"No, _sobrino_! that's not it. It your uncle had gone after an ostrich,
you forget that Caspar has gone after him. If he had found them, they'd
all have been back before this. _Ay de mi_! I know they'll never be
back--never more!"

"Nay, mamma! don't say that," breaks in Ludwig, flinging his arms around
her neck, and kissing the tears from her cheek. "What Cypriano says
appears to me probable enough, and likely to be true. But if it isn't,
I think I can tell what is."

Again the sorrowing mother looks inquiringly up; Cypriano, in turn,
becoming listener.

"My idea," pursues Ludwig, "is that they went straight on to the
_tolderia_, and are there still--detained against their will."

Cypriano starts, saying. "What makes you think that, cousin?"

"Because of Naraguana. You know how the old Indian's given to drinking
_guarape_. Every now and then he gets upon a carousal,