he morning--the strange words uttered at the window of my prison--the
small hand! This, then, was the author of our deliverance.

A hundred mysteries were explained in a single moment. The unexpected
elucidation came like a shock--like a sudden light. I staggered back,
giving way to new and singular emotions.

"Guadalupe knows nothing of my presence, then. _She_ is innocent."

This thought alone restored me to happiness. A thousand others rushed
through my brain in quick succession--some pleasant, others painful.

There was an altercation of voices over my head. I caught the iron
rods, and, resting my toes upon a high bank, swung my body up, and again
looked into the room. Dubrosc was now angrily pacing over the floor.

"Bah!" he ejaculated, with a look of cold brutality; "you think to make
me jealous, I believe. That isn't possible. I was never so, and _you_
can't do it. I know you love the cursed Yankee. I watched you in the
ship--on the island, too. You had better keep him company where he is
going. Ha, ha! Jealous, indeed! Your pretty cousins have grown up
since I saw them last."

The insinuation sent the blood in a hot stream through my veins.

It appeared to have a similar effect upon the woman; for, starting from
her seat, she looked towards Dubrosc, her eyes flashing like globes of
fire.

"Yes!" she exclaimed; "and if you dare whisper your polluting thoughts
to either of them, lawless as is this land, you know that I still
possess the power to punish _you_. You are villain enough, Heaven
knows, for anything; but _they_ shall not fall: one victim is enough--
and such a one!"

"Victim, indeed!" replied the man, evidently cowed by the other's
threat. "You call yourself victim, Marie? The _wife_ of the handsomest
man in Mexico? Ha, ha!"

There was something of irony in the latter part of the speech, and the
emphasis placed on the word "wife."

"Yes; you may well taunt me with your false priest, you unfeeling
wretch! _Oh, Santisima Madre_!" continued she, dropping back into her
chair, and pressing her head between her hands. "Beguiled--beggared--
almost unsexed! and yet I never loved the man! It was not love, but
madness--madness and fascination!"

The last words were uttered in soliloquy, as though she regarded not the
presence of her companion.

"I don't care a claco," cried he fiercely, and evidently piqued at her
declaration; "not one claco whether you ever loved me or not! T