ergeant of
the little guard, then the two women, followed closely by two more of
the soldiers, after that the little pack train, which he had ordered to
close up and keep in touch after they left the city, and, last of all,
the two remaining soldiers to bring up the rear.

The soldiers, servants, and muleteers were in high spirits. There was
little danger to be apprehended, for the party was too strong to fear
attack from any of the brigand bodies, and the military order of march
was taken more as a matter of habit than from any special need. The day
was pleasant, the scenery, though familiar, was at the same time grand
and beautiful, and they were happy--all, that is, except Donna Mercedes,
the duenna, and Alvarado.

The worthy Senora Agapida with womanly shrewdness more than suspected
the true state of affairs. Indeed, Mercedes, who loved the old woman,
who had been as a mother to her, her own mother having died when she was
a mere child, had scarcely taken the trouble to conceal her misery, and
the old woman's heart was wrung whenever she looked at the drooping
figure at her side. She would fain have brought the flush of happiness
to the face of the girl she loved, by throwing her into the arms of
Alvarado; but, as a distant connection of the de Laras herself, the
worthy dame had her own notions of pride, and her honor would not permit
her to do anything for which the Viceroy could properly fault her. The
ancient duenna was an indifferent horsewoman, too, and although she had
the easiest and surest footed beast of the party she journeyed with many
sighs and groans of dissatisfaction. She bravely made an effort at first
to cheer up her charge, but soon perceived that the task was beyond her
powers, so she rode along in a silence unbroken save by her frequent
ejaculations.

When Mercedes had met Alvarado early in the morning she had acknowledged
his profound salutation with the curtest and coldest of nods. She was
furiously and bitterly angry with him; for, between duty, honor,
friendship, and her love, he had not chosen her. She knew that he loved
her. She had known it a long time, and, if she had the slightest doubt,
the sincerity with which he had spoken the night before, the fierce,
passionate fervor of the kisses that he had pressed upon her lips, his
utter abandonment to his passion, had more than satisfied her. Yet,
when she had offered to throw everything to the winds--love, duty,
obedience, if he would only