The Insurgent Chief

"Ah!" she murmured, with a dreamy air.

"Have you anything else to ask me?"

"One question more."

"Be quick," he answered, his eyes greedily fixed on the reliquary, which he never lost sight of.

"Do you know Don Emile?"

"The Frenchman?"

"Yes, the same."

"I know him."

"I should like to speak with him."

"It is impossible."

"Why so?"

"Because he left the camp an hour ago, in company with my brother Don Santiago."

"Do you know when he will return?"

"Never; I repeat that he has gone away."

A sigh of relief escaped the breast of the marchioness. If the young man had gone away, it was with the intention of being of service to them. All hope was not then lost to them, since a devoted friend was still watching over their safety.

"I thank you," she replied, "for what you have consented to tell me; there is the reliquary."

The Pincheyra bounded on it like a wild beast on his prey, and hid it under his poncho.

"You swear to me that these relics are true?" he asked, in a suspicious tone.

"I swear it."

"No matter," murmured he, shaking his head; "I will have them blessed by Father Gomez; that can do no harm. Adieu, Madame."

And without further salutation he turned on his heel, left the toldo as abruptly as he had entered it, keeping his right hand firmly on his breast, no doubt to assure himself that the precious reliquary was still in the place where he had hidden it.

There was a long silence between the two ladies after the departure of the Pincheyra.

The marchioness at last raised her eyes, and fixed a long look on her daughter, who, her head reclined on her breast, seemed lost in bitter reflections.

"Eva!" said she, in a gentle voice.

The young girl started, and, holding up her beautiful face, paled with grief:

"Do you speak, mother?" she answered.

"Yes, my girl," replied the marchioness; "you were thinking, no doubt, of our unhappy situation?"

"Alas!" exclaimed she.

"A situation," continued the marchioness, "that every moment renders more dreadful; for, do not deceive yourself, my child, this liberty that the bandit accords us, whose prisoners we are – this liberty is but a snare."

"Oh! Do you think so, mother? What makes you suppose that?"

"I know nothing; and yet I am convinced that the man who says he is sent by your father to take us back to him, and who obstinately keeps out of the way, instead of presenting himself to us as he ought to do – I am convinced that this man is our enemy, more to be feared, perhaps, than he from whom he takes us away, and who – a bandit without faith or law – has only kept us in the hope of a rich ransom, entertaining towards us neither hatred nor anger."

"Pardon me, mother, for not being of your opinion in this matter. In a country so far from our own – where, except Don Emile, we know no one – strangers in the midst of the people who surround us – what enemy can we have to fear?"

The marchioness smiled sadly.

"Your memory is short," she said, "my dear Eva; careless, like all children of your age, the past is nothing more to you than a dream, and without dwelling on the present, you look only to the future. Have you, then, forgotten the partisan chief who, two months ago, made us his prisoners, and from whom Don Emile's devotion saved us?"

"Oh, no! Mother," cried she, with a nervous start; "no, I have not forgotten him, for this man seems to be our evil genius. But, God be praised! Here, at least, we have nothing to fear from him."

"You deceive yourself, my daughter; it is he, on the contrary, who now pursues us."

"It cannot be, mother; this man, you know, is attached to the opposite party to that of the bandit, in whose hands we are."

"Poor child! The wicked always unite when there is any evil to be done. I repeat, this man is here."

"Mother," said the young girl, whose voice trembled with emotion, but in a resolute tone, "you have long known this man?"

"Yes," she simply answered.

"As that is the case, you no doubt know the motives, true or false, of this implacable hatred?"

"Yes, I know them, my girl."

"And," said she, with some hesitation, "why do you not acquaint me with them?"

"No, that is impossible."

"Permit me to ask you a question, mother."

"Speak, my girl; if I can answer I will."

"Do the reasons for this hatred affect you personally?"

"No, I am, in every way, innocent of the deeds with which we are reproached."

"Why we, mother?"

"Because, dear child, all the members of a family are so intimately connected, you know."