n Quixote. When he heard I
was your cousin, he fell into my arms, pony and all. Give you my word he
did! Almost lost him in my waistcoat pocket. I cheered him up a bit, and
we've been poking about together these three days, looking for General
Sevillo's camp. Thought you might be there. We were camping by the
roadside when we heard your firing. Ah! here he comes now!"

The rough riders came back, their horses trotting now, instead of
galloping. Between them, ambling gently along, was a piebald pony of
amiable appearance, and on the pony sat a little old gentleman with
snow-white hair and a face as mild and gentle as the pony's own. At
sight of Rita running to meet him, he uttered a cry of joy, and checked
his horse. Next moment he had dismounted, and had her in his arms,
sobbing like a child.

"Dear Donito Miguelito!" cried Rita. "Forgive me! please do forgive me,
for frightening you. I could not go to the convent, indeed I could not.
I am a wretch to have treated you so, but I could not go to that place."

"Of course you could not, my child," said the good old man. "_Nunc
dimittis_, Domine! Now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace. Of
course you could not."

"I could not live with Concepcion; don't you know I could not, Donito
Miguelito?"

"The thought is impossible, my Pearl. Speaking with all possible
respect, the Senora Montfort, though high-born and accomplished, is a
hysterical wildcat. You did well, my child; you did extremely well. So
long as I have found you, nothing matters; but, nothing at all. As my
great, my gigantic friend, my colossal preserver, el Capitan Gimmo,
says, 'Ourrah for oz!'"

"Hurrah!" shouted the rough riders.

CHAPTER XIV.

ANOTHER CAMP.

They made but a brief halt at the ruined farm. The house was completely
gutted; the widow of Don Annunzio had the clothes she stood in, and
nothing beside. She stood quietly by while her husband's body was laid
in the grave beside that of young Cerito; a shallow grave, hastily dug
in what had lately been the garden. She listened with the same quiet
face while good old Don Miguel, with faltering voice, recited a Latin
prayer. She was a Methodist, he a fervent Catholic; but it mattered
little at that moment.

By this time it was daylight. A small patch of bananas was found, that
had escaped the destroying torch, and on these the party made a hasty
meal; then they rode away, all save the negroes, who preferred to stay
in the neighbour