but they are high, and we can crawl under them."

"Forward, then!" I whispered to Raoul.

We crept down the ditch on all-fours, passing several windows that were
dark and shut. We reached one, the last in the row, where the light
streamed through. Notwithstanding our perilous situation, I resolved to
look in. There was an impulse upon me which I could not resist. I was
yearning for some clue to the mystery that hung around me.

The window was high up, but it was grated with heavy bars; and, grasping
two of these, I swung myself to its level. Meanwhile my comrades had
crept into the magueys to wait for me.

I raised my head cautiously and looked in. It was a room somewhat
elegantly furnished, but my eye did not dwell long on that. A man
sitting by the table engrossed my attention. This man was Dubrosc. The
light was full upon his face, and I gazed upon its hated lines until I
felt my frame trembling with passion.

I can give no idea of the hate this man had inspired me with. Had I
possessed firearms, I could not have restrained myself from shooting
him; and but for the iron grating, I should have sprung through the sash
and grappled him with my hands. I have thought since that some
providence held me back from making a demonstration that would have
baffled our escape. I am sure at that moment I possessed no restraint
within myself.

As I gazed at Dubrosc, the door of the apartment opened, and a young man
entered. He was strangely attired, in a costume half-military,
half-ranchero. There was a fineness, a silky richness, about the dress
and manner of this youth that struck me. His features were dark and
beautiful.

He advanced and sat down by the table, placing his hand upon it.
Several rings sparkled upon his fingers. I observed that he was pale,
and that his hand trembled.

After looking at him for a moment, I began to fancy I had seen the
features before. It was not Narcisso; him I should have known; and yet
there was a resemblance. Yes--he even resembled _her_! I started as
this thought crossed me. I strained my eyes; the resemblance grew
stronger.

Oh, Heaven! could it be?--dressed thus? No, no! those eyes--ha! I
remember! The boy at the rendezvous--on board the transport--the
island--the picture! It is she--the cousin--_Maria de Merced_!

These recollections came with the suddenness of a single thought, and
passed as quickly. Later memories crowded upon me. The adventure of
t