Zeno Cabral's head sank despondingly, and he did not answer.
"Will you permit me, your lordship," said the Cougar, "to resume the conversation where we left off?"
The partisan made a gesture of acquiescence.
"Your lordship," said the captain, "the time has come to instruct Gueyma in what he ought to know. This is the only reason which has induced me to ask for this interview."
"Oh, señor," cried Gueyma, with all the impulsiveness of youth, "I entreat you, in the name of the friendship that you appear to have for me, speak, that I may at last know who I am."
"My boy," sadly replied Zeno Cabral, "are you not happy as you are? Of what use is it to bring trouble to your heart, and open a gulf in which all your happiness will disappear? Alas! Knowledge kills. Keep your careless ignorance; you are young."
The young chief had listened to these words with an impatience.
"You knew my family, did you not? Who was my father?"
"A Portuguese nobleman, belonging to one of the principal families of the kingdom."
"And my mother?"
"A Portuguese, as noble as she was beautiful."
"So I belong to the white race?"
"Yes."
"I feared it," murmured the young man; "but how is it that I have been brought up by the Guaycurus?"
"After the death of your mother, cowardly assassinated under the suspicion of a fault which she did not commit, I carried you away myself, to snatch you from the implacable hatred of a man who wished to kill you, and gave you to the care of Diogo."
"I thank him," said the young man, with wild energy; "but that race I hate; I am ashamed to belong to it, since the murderer of my mother was a member of it."
"It was a white," answered Zeno Cabral.
"Good! I do not wish ever to know," replied he, with energy, "what is the name of my family. What does it matter to me? I call myself Gueyma; I am a child of the Guaycurus; this name and title are sufficient. I do not wish any other."
"Gueyma," said Zeno, "you are a good-hearted man, I love you."
"One word more only," continued the young man. "Does the assassin of my mother still live?"
"He does."
"Will you aid me to find him?"
"I will confront him with you."
"Thank you, Don Zeno Cabral; that is all I wished to know."
And, rising with the spring of a wild beast, the young man darted down the slope of the hill, and disappeared, even before his friends could try and retain him.
"The young man has a noble heart," murmured the partisan.
"Yes," pursued Diogo, "his is a fine and noble nature; his heart will be broken."
"And will not mine be so?" significantly asked the Montonero.
"But let us talk of business."
The conversation then changed, and was entirely confined to the events in which Zeno Cabral and Diogo had been so long engaged.
Then, when the two men had decided on the measures which they thought necessary to the success of their dark projects, the captain withdrew, and Zeno Cabral remained alone with Don Sylvio Quiroga.
From the refreshing morning breeze which played in his hair, and calmed his burning brow, Zeno Cabral appeared to draw new life. He stood up boldly; the wrinkles which had furrowed his face disappeared; his beautiful countenance regained its ordinary calmness; and, had not a livid paleness been visible on his features, certainly no one would have guessed the terrible storm which for so many hours bad agitated his heart.
With a piercing look he examined the landscape, which the evening before he could but half see through the last hours of the day.
That plain, encircled by high and snowy mountains, which masked the horizon; that river with its silvery waves, which cut it into two nearly equal parts; those umbrageous woods, scattered here and there, as far as the hill, on the summit of which he had so magnificent a prospect—the least feature, in fact, recalled completely the landscape which was so engraven on his memory.
This place was that which he had wished to reach, and towards which, for so many days, he had so furiously galloped.
A smile of sad satisfaction half-opened his pale lips, for by certain undulations of the grass—undulations which would have been imperceptible by anyone but himself—he saw that Diogo had not been deceived; that his allies were already at their post, and that this plain, apparently so tranquil and so solitary, would soon be animated and excited at a cry from himself; that thousands of men, now crouching concealed in the grass, would suddenly arise, and would bound with their war cry at his first signal.
"At last!"
The expression summed up a life of struggle to arrive at an end, now to be gained.
He remained some short time pensive; then, proudly raising his head, he passed his hand over his forehead, as if to chase away some importunate thought, and rapidly approached the fire, before which the old officer was still stretched, sleeping.
For a minute or two he contemplated, with envy perhaps, the calm sleep of his old companion in arms, and he then gently nudged him with his foot.
"Eh!" cried Don Sylvio, rubbing his eyes, and looking round him with a frightened air, "I thought I had been sleeping."
"Yes, a little," answered the Montonero, smiling, "for seven or eight hours nearly."
"As much as that!" cried the old soldier.
"A little more, perhaps; I won't answer for the exact time."
"Oh, general!" cried the captain, in A sad voice, "I shall never forgive myself."
"Where do you see any want of respect in that, my dear Quiroga; you were fatigued with a long journey, made on foot, in the dark."
"But I should have been awakened, general."
"What for?"
"The fact is, general, if I must confess it," said he, candidly, "it is a long time since I had so good a turn."
"Ah! You are quite right; now let us think of our business a little. The squadron has arrived?"
"Yes, general, two days since; it has encamped in a pretty thick wood, situated near the river."
"Better and better. Is this encampment far from here?"
"A league at the most, general," he added.
"That's right. Come, we had better go there at once. You know the way?"
"Oh, by daylight I do not fear to miss my road."
And they set out side by side.
"What! Do you not mount horse, general?"
"No, I prefer to lead him by the bridle."
"As you like, general; I will do what suits you."
"Since you have been here, have you received any messages?"
"One only, general."
"Ah! Ah! And from whom?" asked the Montonero, with some little anxiety.
"From Don Juan Armero."
"And what is this message, my old friend?"
"News that I think will give you pleasure, general. Don Juan Armero tells us that he is not more than twenty-five leagues from here, and that he hopes to arrive tomorrow morning at latest."
"The devil! Then I have done well to make haste. Does he say by whom he is accompanied?"
"Certainly, general; they are the same as you expected—that is to say, General Don Eusebio Moratín and the Frenchman, his myrmidon."
"Yes, yes; I know the persons alluded to," answered Don Zeno, rubbing his hands with good humour; "these rascals are of my acquaintance."
"Then you are satisfied, general? All happens as you wished?"
"I could not have anything better, my old friend."
"Then away with melancholy!" cried the captain, with a joyous air; "Care would kill a cat."
The general burst out laughing at this unusual sally of Don Sylvio Quiroga, and they continued their journey, talking of one thing and another.
They soon arrived at the wood in which the squadron was encamped, and in a few minutes found themselves in the glade.
In the absence of Don Sylvio, the oldest officer of the corps, the squadron was commanded by Don Estevan Albino.
The young officer received his chief with great demonstrations of joy.
"You, of course, did not expect me so soon, Don Albino?" said the Montonero.
"Pardon me, general; half an hour ago your approach was signalled to me by the sentinels."
"You keep a good lookout?"
"We obey your orders."
"I am satisfied, Don Albino. Your arrangements are well made; you have shown yourself in this matter an officer of experience and foresight."
"You are a thousand times too good, general," answered the young man, blushing with pleasure.
Towards the evening another message from Don Juan Armero announced that, on account of an accident, General Moratín would not arrive for three days.
This news, far from annoying Zeno Cabral, gave him great satisfaction as he had been informed, in another quarter, that the Brazilians would not be at the rendezvous till the same time. This singular coincidence, giving him time to make his final plans, perfectly squared with them.
The two following days were employed by Zeno Cabral in incessantly reconnoitering the plain, so as to assure himself of the positions occupied by his allied detachments, and enable him to modify those of which he did not approve.
If we may use the expression, the plain, although apparently still unpeopled, was literally bristling with troops; all the friendly or vassal tribes to the Guaycurus had sent their contingents. The Guaycurus, in order to be ready for any event, had even decided to despatch their last detachment—that commanded by Gueyma and Diogo, or the Cougar.
Some twenty warriors, under the orders of Arnal, were stationed in the glade to protect the French painter and the two ladies.
The young man with the curiosity of an artist, and much interested in all that was passing round him, had earnestly entreated Tarou Niom to be allowed to follow him. The chief, who was much pleased with the disposition of the young man, had given way and had consented to take him, as well as Tyro. Arnal had remained alone at the camp with Dove's Eye, the marchioness, and Doña Eva.
The evening before the day on which General Moratín was to arrive Zeno Cabral went to pay a visit to Tarou Niom.
The great chief of the Guaycurus received the Montonero with the greatest honour and marks of the highest esteem and friendship.
Emile, who, since he had lived among the Indians, had by degrees adapted himself to their customs, could not at all understand this reception.
Zeno Cabral, however, on perceiving the young man, had run towards him with outstretched arms, apparently delighted to see him again; and then, turning to Tarou Niom, he highly praised the courage and good nature of the Frenchman.
Emile, constrained to reply to these expressions of friendship, had only done so with a certain coolness that the partisan did not appear to remark. At last Zeno Cabral took his leave, and withdrew.
Zeno Cabral passed the limit of the camp of the Guaycurus, and was walking in a wild beast path when he heard a call twice in a low voice.
"Who calls me?" answered he, stopping.
"I," answered someone immediately.
"Gueyma!" said the Montonero, with astonishment.
"Yes, señor," answered the young man, "it is me."
"What do you want with me, my friend?"
"You remember that tomorrow the five days expire."
"I remember, my friend. You demand then that I keep my promise?"
"I wish to know the assassin of my mother," said he, with a sad earnestness.
Zeno Cabral looked at him with gentle compassion.
"Your mother! You did not know her," said he.
"Shadowy as may be the memories of my early infancy," answered the young man, with a sad voice, "a child cannot forget a mother, when he has been happy enough to receive her gentle caresses. Often," added he, seizing abruptly the arm of the Montonero, "in my sleep I think I see her smiling face leaning towards me; her large blue eyes, full of tears, fix on me a look of ineffable sweetness; her long brown hair floats in disorder on her snowy shoulders; she murmurs words that I cannot understand; but I feel my heart swell with joy and happiness."
Zeno Cabral listened to the young man with a surprise that he did not try to conceal.
"Oh! Don Zeno," resumed the young man, with an accent of earnestness impossible to describe, "you think I did not know my mother! If she were to appear here before us at this moment, I should recognise her," added he, with an accent of intense tenderness.
With an abrupt movement Don Zeno drew his arm from under his poncho, and holding out a medallion to the young man:
"Look!" said he.
"My mother!" cried the chief.
But the emotion that this unhoped-for sight had produced was too much; a terrible reaction ensued; the young man grew frightfully pale, he staggered, and fainted. Don Zeno disappeared.
The next day, about an hour before sunrise, the encampment of the Montoneros presented at once one of the most singular and picturesque sights.
The signal to arouse had been given to the squadron by Zeno Cabral, and the officers went from soldier to soldier to awaken them, which the latter did with very ill grace, grumbling, stretching themselves, and yawning almost enough to displace their jaws, declaring that daylight had not yet come.
But at last, willing or not, in some ten minutes' time everybody was astir.
The squadron of Zeno Cabral was, perhaps, the finest and the best organised of all the Banda Oriental; it was composed of about six hundred men, all chosen carefully by their chief, their courage having been tried. It was, in fact, for a squadron formed only of volunteers, a first-rate corps.
When the sun at last appeared above the horizon all the soldiers were fresh, in good condition, completely armed, and ready to fight.
The general, as they called their chief, passed them carefully in review, to assure himself personally that all was in good order.
The breakfast finished, the nostrils of the horses were covered with cloths to prevent them neighing, and on a sign from Zeno Cabral each man went immediately to occupy a post which had been previously assigned him.
Five minutes later all the Montoneros had disappeared; there remained in the glade only Zeno Cabral and his staff.
Precautions had been so well taken—the orders of the partisan executed with so much intelligence—that it would have been impossible for even the most skilful Indian to guess that a numerous corps of cavalry had for several days camped in this spot.
Several hours passed without any cracking of branches or any trembling of the vegetation taking place to reveal the presence of the invisible watchers.
Then the sound of a voice and of horses was heard without, and six men entered the glade.
We already know these six men; we almost know what motive brought them into this place.
We have reported how their conversation was suddenly interrupted at its commencement by the unexpected appearance of Zeno Cabral.
The astonishment with which they were struck at the sight of the celebrated and bold Montonero cannot be described.
The latter enjoyed his triumph for a time.
"Eh! What, señores, you do not wish to continue the interesting conversation that I so awkwardly interrupted? Do you, then, find my presence among you out of place? Or do you think that I do not take to heart as much as you do the interests of the country?"
He was silent, appearing to await an answer; but the persons most interested in the strife had not yet sufficiently recovered from the emotion they had experienced to be certain of answering to advantage.
Zeno Cabral shrugged his shoulders.
"What! General Don Eusebio Moratín! You have not a word of welcome for me? Nor you either, Señor Dubois? Ah! my masters, do you know that this begins to look very strange to me; I see uniforms which ought not to appear here. Can I be deceived, and, thinking that I have come among friends, can I have fallen amongst conspirators?"
"Treason!" cried the general, "What is it you dare to say, señor? Do you forget to whom you are speaking?"
"I forget nothing, señor," coldly answered the Montonero; "would there be anything extraordinary in the former bandit of the Pampas becoming today the traitor of his country for the sake of gold?"
Don Eusebio drew out his sword, uttering a cry of rage, and made a movement to throw himself on the bold Montonero.
But the latter, without taking his eye from him, took a pistol from his girdle.
"If you stir, I will shoot you," said he, coolly.
Don Eusebio stopped, grinding his teeth.
"Who is that man?" then said the Brazilian general. "Don Sebastiao, arrest that fellow, I beg."
Zeno Cabral turned towards him like a wounded lion.
"Help, my friends!" cried Don Eusebio; "Fire on that wretch!"
"Silence!" resumed the partisan, in a firm voice.
"But, señor," observed M. Dubois, in a conciliating tone, "you are acting very strangely; you are completely wanting in consideration to—"
"Silence!" a second time called Zeno Cabral; "However well taken may be your precautions; however far you may have come, so as to secretly plot your treason, for a long time I have been watching you, but I wanted to take you in the very act. Throw away your swords, gentlemen; you are my prisoners."
"Your prisoners! You are joking!" cried they.
"It is time!" cried Don Armero, who up to this time had remained a silent, but not disinterested, witness of the scene.
Zeno Cabral had not made a movement. At the cry of Juan Armero the glade had, as if by magic, filled with soldiers.
Don Roque and Don Eusebio saw that they were lost. Followed by Don Sebastiao, who had boldly placed himself at their side, a pistol in one hand and a sword in the other, they rushed on the nearest Montoneros, and tried to force a passage.
There was a moment of frightful tumult, mixed with cries and imprecations of rage or pain—the sound of firearms—a hurried tramping—and then calmness suddenly ensued.
Don Eusebio, his left arm broken by a ball, was lying on the ground, tightly bound with a lasso; Don Roque and Don Sebastiao, both unwounded, were also bound, and crouching on the ground, at a few paces from General Moratín; as to M. Dubois, at the moment when he drew two pistols from his pocket and prepared, though he was no soldier, to sell his life dearly, he had received a ball in the middle of the forehead, and was lying dead.
Mataseis and Sacatripas tried to gain the money which they had received; they alone had drawn, Zeno Cabral having given the order to seize the conspirators without wounding them, if possible.
The partisan then approached the prisoners.
"Do you now admit that you are in my power?" said he.
"All is not yet finished," answered the marquis, with disdain; "I have not come here alone; I have troops—"
"Listen," said Zeno Cabral to him, sharply interrupting him.
At this moment a horrible clamour arose in the plain.
"What is that?" cried the marquis, with alarm.
"The war cry of Indians," coldly answered the partisan—"who are massacring your soldiers."
"Oh, it is not—it cannot be—my soldiers are brave, they will defend themselves," cried the general.
"They will be massacred," pursued Zeno Cabral, "and those who will escape the massacre will be burned alive."
"Burned alive!" cried he.
"Do you not see that, for some time, the air is rarefied; the Indians have fired the plain;" and turning towards the Montoneros, "To horse!" cried he, in a thundering voice, "To horse! We have scarcely the time to escape!"
"Oh! These men are wild beasts!" cried the marquis.
"Did you not know that people cannot invade the sacred territory of the Guaycurus with impunity?"
"It is true," murmured the marquis, appearing, rather to reply to his own thoughts than to the words of the Montonero.
"Give me your word of honour not to try and escape," said Zeno Cabral, "and you will be free in a moment from all constraint."
"I give it you," answered the marquis, despondingly.
His bonds immediately fell, like those of Don Sebastiao Vianna, who had also given his word.
General Don Eusebio, since he had been in the power of the Montoneros, had maintained a sullen silence; the only answer that they obtained from him, when they proposed to him to give his word, was confined to these words, "Go to the devil!"
They were obliged to carry him away, and to tie him as well as they could on horseback.
Meanwhile time pressed; it was necessary to hasten away; the air became more and more rarefied; a suffocating heat was felt; thick volumes of smoke rolled over the glade; showers of sparks were rained upon the trees; the shrubbery began to burn; there was not a moment to lose.
Zeno Cabral placed himself at the head of his troop, having at his side Don Roque and Don Sebastiao, and having cried "Advance!" in a thundering voice, he rode at full speed across the glade.
The entire plain, for a distance of more than ten leagues, became an immense lake of flame, in the midst of which the Indians, half naked, looked like so many demons, leaping and brandishing their arms, and uttering cries like wild beasts.
The Brazilian troops—entrenched on the hill where they had established their camp, circled by an impenetrable wall of fire, kept up a continual and well-sustained fire on the Indians, not in the hope of conquering them, but so that they might die bravely, and make their wild and implacable enemies pay dearly for their victory.
Zeno Cabral gave the order to halt, to allow their horses to regain their wind.
They stopped. The Brazilians still fought, or at least they continued to fire, for they had no longer any enemy; the Indians were flying in all directions, in their turn pursued by the fire which they had themselves lighted.
Suddenly a frightful explosion was heard; an immense cloud of dust, fragments of rock, and broken trees, rose in the air to a prodigious height, and fell with a crash.
The Brazilians had disappeared. They had fired the powder, and had blown themselves up, to put an end to this horrible tragedy.
Ten days had passed since this frightful catastrophe. In an arid and sandy plain, on the borders of a lake, the stagnant and blackish waters of which seemed stamped with immobility, a troop of some thirty horsemen had established a temporary camp.
The horsemen of whom we speak had arrived in this spot scarcely two hours. A part of them wore the European costume, while the others were dressed in the Indian manner.
The first were Zeno Cabral, the Marquis de Castelmelhor, Emile Gagnepain, the Marchioness de Castelmelhor and her daughter, Doña Eva.
Ten Montoneros, probably serving as an escort, and commanded by Don Sylvio Quiroga, had established themselves a little way off.
The number of the Indians was greater than that of the whites; they also formed a separate encampment under the orders of Tarou Niom, Diogo, Gueyma, and Arnal.
All the persons of whom we speak had, on the invitation of Zeno Cabral, come with him to this desolate spot, without even suspecting the motives which had led the Montonero to bring them there.
Zeno Cabral, who for nearly an hour had been in conference with Diogo and Gueyma, at last came out of the enramada; and the two chiefs followed him, with downcast eyes and sad countenances.
With a gesture, Zeno Cabral called all his friends around him.
"Come, señor marquis," said the partisan; "and you also, Madame—and you, señorita."
These three persons, who till then had remained a little distance off, then came forward. Emile and Tyro immediately placed themselves without ceremony near the ladies.
Zeno Cabral feigned not to observe this movement.
Each one waited with secret anxiety for what was about to transpire; the silence was so profound and solemn that the flight of a bird, if there had been any birds in that desolate plain, would have been heard.
Zeno Cabral at last raised his head, which till that moment had fallen sorrowfully on his breast; his face was livid, his eyes were hollow and bloodshot; he was a prey to emotion so violent that his whole body was agitated with convulsive movements.
"Friends," said he, in a sad tone, "I thank you for having consented to follow me here, where a great act of justice and of expiation is to be performed. Many years have passed since the day when that crime was committed, to be the avenger of which is my terrible task; it is in this place, which none of you knew before coming here with me, that this vengeance is to be accomplished."
Then, after a moment of silence, he added, turning towards the general:
"Marquis de Castelmelhor, you remember the unfortunate Laura?"
"I remember," answered the marquis, in a stifled voice; "I have been criminal and cowardly; I have carried despair and shame into a family which offered me paternal hospitality; in contempt of all divine and human laws, I committed a horrible crime, not only in trying to seize on the fortune of my benefactor, but in robbing him by carrying off his daughter, whom I never loved, but whom I wished to make use of as a means of securing the riches that I coveted."
All the persons present were struck with astonishment on hearing the man speak thus; the marchioness concealed her face; Doña Eva threw herself into the arms of her mother; Zeno Cabral alone remained calm, cold, and impassive.
"So," said he, "you admit you are guilty?"
"Yes; but the crimes of the young man have been atoned for, if such crimes can be, by the honourable and loyal conduct of the man of riper years."
"You lie, Marquis de Castelmelhor," coldly interrupted Zeno Cabral.
"Caballero," cried the general, quickly raising his head, and instinctively carrying his hand to his side, as if to take the sword which was not there.
"You lie," resumed Zeno Cabral; "the mature man has if possible been more criminal than the young man; he has assassinated the wife of his best friend. Gueyma, there is the assassin of your mother!"
"Oh!" cried the young man.
"The mature man," Zeno Cabral continued, "after having seduced the girl, abandoned her child in the streets of Rio Janeiro, and poisoned her whom he had dishonoured in order to seize on her fortune. The child was saved by me, and confided to the Guaycurus: it was Dove's Eye. The middle-aged man—the general in the service of Brazil—was arrested by me ten days ago, at the moment when he was preparing to sell the interests of his master to another wretch like himself."
With an instinctive movement, the marchioness abruptly seized the arm of her daughter, and snatched her away from the man whom she had so loved, to whom she had sacrificed all, and who she learned was a monster.
The persons present, mute with horror, heard as in a dream the recital of these horrible crimes, so clearly and calmly detailed.
"Thrown in spite of myself on the path of this man," resumed Zeno Cabral; "mixed up unwillingly with his career, I followed him step by step, day by day, for many years; I have no right to call him to account for his crimes, except for one—the most horrible of all—the first. Blood for blood, eye for eye, tooth for tooth—This man killed my sister; I will kill him." Then, placing his right hand on the shoulder of the general, "Marquis de Castelmelhor," continued he, "look around you; there is the diamond country that you wished to reach, the secret relative to which you sought to steal from my sister, who did not possess it; all the sand which surrounds us for a distance of ten leagues abounds with diamonds; this country belongs to me, for it was discovered by my grandfather, and no one after him has ever seen it; well, rejoice, Marquis de Castelmelhor," cried he, with an accent of terrible irony; "this country I give you; all these diamonds are yours; henceforth you shall possess them forever." Turning then towards the Montoneros: "Dig a hole," said he, in a hollow voice; "this man shall be buried alive on a bed of diamonds!"
At this terrible conclusion, the marchioness uttered a piercing cry, and fell fainting to the ground. Eva became wildly delirious. Emile and Tyro, mad with grief, in vain lavished on the girl and her mother the most devoted attentions.
Meanwhile, according to the order of Zeno Cabral, two Montoneros had proceeded to dig the grave.
The witnesses of this horrible scene exchanged terrified looks, not daring in any other way to express the sentiments which agitated them.
Suddenly Arnal advanced rapidly towards Zeno Cabral.
"Stop, caballero," said he in a firm voice; "stop, take care that you are not criminal yourself, while thinking you are but a judge; vengeance belongs only to God; that man did not kill your sister."
"I have proofs of his crime."
"You cannot have the proofs of that which does not exist," pursued Arnal, with energy.
"What do you mean?"
"Your sister is not dead."
This unexpected piece of news, of such powerful interest, completely changed the aspect of the scene, and everyone crowded round him.
"She is alive," cried Tarou Niom.
Arnal let go the hand of the partisan, which, until that time he had held in his own, and looking at him with an expression of, pain and of infinite tenderness:
"Oh, men, men!" cried he, with feverish energy, "Will the heart of woman then always remain incomprehensible to you? Will you never be able to read a single page of it? Can you not understand that your sister—that artless and pure child of sixteen years, downcast by the grief of an unmerited shame, succumbing under the weight of a fault that she never committed—did not choose to bend her stainless brow, and to blush before that implacable world for which appearances are everything, and which always thinks the worst? Will you not admit, then, that sublime abnegation which has made her, still living, cut herself off from the world which respects the dead martyr, whom living it would insult?"
"But," cried Zeno Cabral, dumfounded by these words, spoken in a tone of irresistible truthfulness, "who has told you that this is really the case?"
"Who—who?" murmured Arnal, in a feeble and trembling voice.
And, taking off her hat, she allowed some long and silky brown hair to fall in disorder on her shoulders.
"Laura! My sister!" cried the partisan, rushing towards her.
"My brother! My brother!" murmured she, in a broken voice.
"Courage, my child!" said Tarou Niom, gently.
Suddenly the sound of a pistol was heard; everyone turned with anxiety; the marquis, with his skull fractured, was writhing in agony.
"I have revenged my mother," said Gueyma, coldly, showing the smoking weapon that he still held in his hand.
Laura, notwithstanding the prayers and supplications of her brother, would never consent to abandon the Guaycurus, with whom she had found, for so many years, such constant protection. She lived with Gueyma and Dove's Eye, often visited by her brother.
The marchioness died of grief a few months only after the terrible death of her husband, reproaching herself to her last hour for the love that she had still for his memory. Before her dying hour, she united her daughter to the French painter, whose devotion, under the trying circumstances in which she had found herself, was so valuable.
Emile Gagnepain is Marquis de Castelmelhor, but he can never get accustomed to his title. Every time that it is given to him, he looks round him to see who is being addressed, and then he laughs on perceiving his mistake.
Tyro is his steward.