st be
attended with great personal risk; but I will try it.'

I looked inquiringly.

'I am aware, 'continued Tunicu, with one of his pleasant smiles, 'that
in the course of true love it rarely happens that in order to prove his
affection for his mistress, the lover must first elope with his
lady-love's mother; but circumstances create strange situations, and
under the present circumstances, I see no other alternative than to run
away with your parent.'

Conscious of the great risk attending such an enterprise, and of the
terrible consequences which would inevitably result from an untimely
discovery, I begged that Tunicu would reveal to me his plan of
operations. But to this he objected.

'No,' said he, 'I have found of late that my outspoken projects have
exhausted themselves in words, so you must allow me, for this once, to
keep my own counsel.'

My lover's unusual reply somehow inspired me with greater confidence
than anything he had ever uttered: so, woman though I was, I determined
to restrain my curiosity.

'Whatever your plan may be, dearest Tunicu,' said I, 'I agree to it
blindly.'

'Then,' said he, 'you will also agree to our temporary separation. You
will accompany my uncle to the farm?'

To this I also, though reluctantly, acceded.

So my mother was returned to Don Vicente, with whose family she was to
reside until a purchaser was found. Tunicu remained in town; while I and
Don Benigno's family were conveyed in a covered cart drawn by oxen to
the farm-house.

We arrived opportunely. The town which we had left was, as you know,
already in a state of siege, and shortly after our departure, Count
Valmaseda's dreadful manifesto, announcing that every man, woman, and
child who should be discovered in certain districts of the country were
to be shot like dogs, was published. We dared not now venture beyond the
limits of the farm-grounds, for the report of fire-arms was continually
heard in the neighbouring woods. Don Benigno was in daily fear lest the
volunteers should visit our retreat, for he was well acquainted with the
details of their past iniquities.

Early one morning we were awakened by a negro, who hastened to the
farm-house, shouting as he came: 'Los Insurrectos! Los Insurrectos!'

'The insurgents are coming!' was the signal of alarm usually adopted by
non-combatants, because the insurgents, and not the volunteers, were
said to be the scarecrows of our island.

It was, however, 'Los Volun