rround her with luxuries and wealth. Could she hesitate to accept
his love in preference to that of a man who was lost to her.

These persuasions excited only horror and anguish in the soul of the
faithful wife. Her love for her husband was proof against all that Siripa
could say, and also against the fear of slavery or death, which might
follow her rejection of his suit. In fact, death seemed to her a smaller
evil than life as the wife of this savage suitor, and she rejected his
offers with scorn and with a bitter contempt which she hoped would excite
his rage and induce him to put her to instant death.

Her flashing eyes and excited words, however, had a very different effect
from that she intended. They served only to heighten her charms in the
eyes of the cacique, and he became more earnest than ever in his
persuasions. Taking her to his village, he treated her with every mark of
kindness and gentleness, and showed her the utmost respect and civility,
doubtless hoping in this way to win her esteem and raise a feeling in her
breast corresponding to his own.

Meanwhile, Hurtado and his men returned with the provisions they had
collected, and viewed with consternation the ruins of the fort which they
had so lately left. Their position was a desperate one, alone and
undefended as they were, in the midst of treacherous tribes; but the fears
which troubled the minds of his comrades did not affect that of Hurtado.
He learned that his wife was a captive in the hands of the cacique of
Timbuez, and love and indignation in his soul suppressed all other
feelings. With a temerity that seemed the height of imprudence, he sought
alone the village of the chief and demanded the release of his wife.

Siripa heard his request with anger at his presumption and savage joy at
having at his mercy the man who stood between him and the object of his
affections. Determined to remove this obstacle to his suit, he at once
ordered him to be seized, bound to a tree, and pierced with arrows.

This was not unseen by Miranda, and, filled with anguish, she rushed out,
cast herself at the Indian's feet and pitifully pleaded with him for her
husband's life. The force of beauty in grief prevailed. Hurtado was
unbound, but he was still kept in captivity.

Lover as Siripa was, he had all the undisciplined passions of a savage,
and the fate of husband and wife alike was at constant risk in his hands.
Now, tormented with the fury of jealousy, he seemed