ed that of Don Juan
de Mediana, his father; but twenty years of a rude and laborious life--
twenty years of a struggle with the toils and dangers of the desert--had
imparted to Fabian a physical strength far superior to that of him who
had given him being.

Pepe at length resolved to break the silence. He could no longer
restrain himself, suffering as he was from such bitter memories.

"Keep your eye fixed upon the road," said he, "at yonder point, where it
is lost among the trees. Watch that point whilst I talk to you. It is
the way in which Bois-Rose and I do when there is any danger threatening
us. At the same time listen attentively to what I say."

"I listen," answered Fabian, directing his glance as his companion, had
instructed him.

"Do you remember nothing of your young days, more than you have just
related to the Canadian?"

"Nothing--ever since I learnt that Arellanos was not my father, I have
tried to remember something, but to no purpose. I do not even know who
took care of me in my infancy."

"No more know they of you, my poor young man. I am the only one who can
tell you these things of which you are ignorant."

"For heaven's sake speak!" impatiently cried Fabian.

"Hush! not so loud!" cautioned the trapper. "These woods, remote and
solitary as they seem, nevertheless contain your deadliest enemy--
unless, indeed, it was at me that the bullet was aimed. That may make a
difference in your favour. In fact, since I have not been able to
recognise you, I do not see how _he_ can?"

"Who--of whom do you speak?" brusquely demanded Fabian.

"Of your mother's murderer--of the man who has robbed you of your
titles, your honours, your wealth, and your name."

"I should be noble and rich then?" cried Fabian, interrogatively. "Oh
that I had but known it sooner--only yesterday!"

Fabian's thoughts were upon Rosarita. If he could have told this to
her, in that sad parting interview, perhaps the result might have been
different!

"Noble! yes!" replied Pepe, "you should be and shall yet, if I mistake
not--but rich--alas! you are no more rich."

"What matters it?" responded Fabian, "to-day it would be too late."

"Yes, but it does matter--ah! I knew two men--one at least--who shall
restore to you what you have lost, or die in the attempt."

"Of whom do you speak?"

"Of one who, without knowing it, aided to some extent in the
assassination of your mother--of one whom that sad souvenir has a