The scene we are now about to describe was in a room of a hotel; the time, five o’clock in the morning—the persons present were Belcher Kay, Maretzo, and two or three other noisy and dissipated revellers, whose flushed countenances, blood-shot eyes, and other equally striking symptoms, showed plainly enough that they had been ‘making a night of it.’

Kay and the Italian appeared to be the most sober of the company, not that their potations had been less deep or frequent than their companions, but that constant practice had so inured them to the wine cup, that it was long ere they showed any ill-effects from it.

They certainly were particularly noisy and merry, and their companions lent their aid to the conviviality, by knocking down everything the aforesaid said or did, in the most tumultuous manner.

One individual, in the classic language of the drunkard, was ‘quite done up,’ and was stretched at full length upon the floor, under one of the tables, with his hat for a pillow, and a portion of the carpet for a coverlid; and every now and then he added to the general tumult by a loud snore of the most hoggish description.

The proprietor of the hotel had several times requested the party to break up, but as the said party threatened to break his head instead, if he interfered with them, he thought it was best to desist from his importunities, and after supplying them with enough wine for the night, he retired to his own chamber, and left them, very reluctantly, to the indulgence of their noisy revels.

At the time we have thought proper to open this scene, it was, as we have before stated, about five o’clock in the morning, and the landlord of the hotel had arisen, and his servants also, and the usual bustle in such places prevailed, but still the debauchees continued their riotous mirth, and it appeared as if they had fully made up their minds to make another day of it, at least.

‘The song, Kay, the song, the song; we will have no excuses;’ shouted Maretzo.

‘Ay, ay, the song, the song, we will have no excuses;’ chorused three or four voices, and the man under the table gave a loud snore.

‘Oh, the song, ah! well I don’t mind trying one, just to keep up the conviviality;’ said Kay, who was seated on rather a high chair, with his legs negligently deposited on one end of the table, and twiddling a fine-flavoured cigar in his finger and thumb. ‘The song—let me see—ah, what shall it be? Oh, I have it—very good I think you will admit.’

And then without any further ceremony, Kay, who had an excellent voice commenced singing.

The demonstrations of applause that greeted this bacchanalian display, were of the most uproarious kind, and by the time the companions of Maretzo and Kay had given full scope to the exuberance of their delight and approbation, they were one and all ‘done up,’ and one by one dropped off to sleep, leaving the two above-named gentlemen to the uninterrupted enjoyment of their own society.

‘Ha! ha! ha!’ laughed Maretzo; ‘they are regularly floored, poor devils!’

‘Completely finished and done up,’ coincided Kay;—‘ha! ha! ha!’

‘They are not half fellows to be done up with one night’s carouse, poor devils ha! ha! ha!’ observed Maretzo.

‘Poor weak creatures to be knocked down with a dozen or two of wine; ha! ha! ha!’ again laughed Kay.

‘Not like you and I, Kay;’ added Maretzo.

‘Not a bit of it.’

‘No comparison.’

‘A loco-foco to the moon.’

‘Half a pint of beer to a pipe of wine.’

‘They cannot stand anything!’

‘Positively nothing!’

‘They’re twaddlers!’

‘Drivellers!’

‘Noodles!’

‘Boobies!’

‘Nincompoops!’

‘Humbugs!’

It may be as well to observe here that these compliments were bestowed upon the party at large, who had been liberally carousing Maretzo and Kay, without expecting the latter to pay a cent of the reckoning, and consequently they may be considered fully entitled to the elegant epithets that were lavishly bestowed upon them.

‘You and I are the fellows to do it, Maretzo,’ said Kay.

‘Positively the very fellows,’ coincided his friend.

‘We are no skulkers while there is plenty of good wine before us,’ added Kay.

‘Never think of such a thing.’

‘It would ruin our reputation, if we were known to do such a thing.’

‘And that would be a most melancholy thing.’

‘Positively awful!’

‘We will never let the enemy beat us.’

‘No, d—n!’ returned Spangle;—‘but down with it, down with it, and at it again.’

‘At it again! Hah! ha! ha!’

‘We are wine proof!’

‘Full proof?’

‘Above proof, by —’

‘But talking about women,’ observed Kay, ‘That Blodget was a devilish fortunate fellow.’

‘Cunning rogue!’ replied Maretzo; ‘he managed his business famously, and has contrived admirably to elude the vigilance of Monteagle and the lady’s friends.’

‘They have not heard anything of them yet, I believe?’

‘Nothing!’

‘Poor Monteagle! Ha! ha!’

‘Ah! poor fool!’

‘I wonder what has become of Monteagle?’

‘Oh, he is doubtless still making every inquiry after the lady.’

‘And it is my firm belief that Inez will never live to see her father, her lover, or her friends again.’

‘I am of the same opinion; a sensitive, high-minded woman like her, will never be able to survive long the misery and degradation which Blodget has heaped upon her.’

‘He positively must be a smart scoundrel.’

‘I never heard of one equal to him.’

‘Such a systematic way as he went to work to accomplish his villainy.’

‘The ingenious and complicated plot he devised to bring about the gratification of his wishes.’

‘The artful manner in which he contrived to make the simpleton, Jenkins, his dupe, too; the ready tool to further his deep-laid stratagem.’

‘He must have had his education in the school of art and vice, certainly.’

‘Yes, and been a ready pupil, too.’

‘But is it not strange that every stratagem has failed to find the slightest clue to the place of retreat?’

‘Wonderful!’

‘And then the attempt upon Monteagle’s life.’

‘Doubtless by some ruffian employed by him.’

‘There cannot be a doubt of it.’

‘To be sure. Revenge has incited him to it.’

‘He is a dangerous fellow to offend.’

‘A very devil.’

‘At any rate, he does not fail to play the very devil with those who excite his enmity.’

‘True.’

‘But he must be defeated at last.’

‘Certainly there is not much prospect of it at present.’

‘Oh, no doubt he will be caught in some of his own snares by and bye.’

‘But do you think he has ruined the girl?’

‘He is villain enough for anything.’

‘He must be a monster, indeed, if he could perpetrate such a crime as that. I must have another glass of wine.’

‘Do you think that he who did not hesitate to attempt the life of the father, and the violation of the daughter, would shrink from any thing.’

‘But, then, her youth—her innocence.’

‘Psha!—he is a stranger to such feelings as they ought to inspire.’

‘Why, to be sure, from his general conduct, we have an undoubted right to suppose that he is.’

‘And yet I think that he has had some other motive for getting the girl in his power; that he has found her necessary to advance his base schemes.’

There was a pause.

‘But that Blodget is really a most terrible fellow,’ said Kay.

‘Every stratagem, every scheme of rascality, I do believe, that that rascal of rascals is up to.’

‘Positively every scheme,’ said Maretzo, ‘but this is a dry subject, and I must have another glass of wine.’

‘I feel to want one myself, too,’ observed Kay, filling his glass from the decanter: ‘Well, here’s wishing that Blodget may soon be here.’

‘And Inez restored to her lover and friends,’ exclaimed Maretzo.

‘Quite safe.’

‘Quite safe,’ repeated Kay.

‘And yet I am afraid there is not much chance of that.’

‘Nor I.’

‘Leave that consummate scoundrel, Blodget, alone for that.’

‘Ay, ay.’

‘He would not fail to enforce his wishes.’

‘To be sure he would not.’

‘And what resistance could she make?’

‘None at all.’

‘She is so completely in his power.’

‘Completely.’

‘Without a friend at hand to fly to her rescue.’

‘Not a friend; and besides no one knows, or can form the least conjecture whither he has taken her.’

‘Not the least shadow of an idea,’ said Kay.

‘Any person would positively imagine that the fellow had some dealings with the devil,’ added Maretzo, ‘and that she was conveyed away by magic.’

‘That they certainly would,’ observed Kay.

‘I would not mind a hundred dollars to know where the fellow is.’

‘Why, that would be rather awkward, I imagine, Maretzo,’ returned Kay, with an expressive grin.

‘Ha! ha!’ laughed Maretzo, clapping his hand significantly to his pocket; ‘finances rather queer, you think? Ha! ha! ha! I understand!’

‘Funds low.’

‘Ha! ha! ha!’

‘It is not a very laughable matter though.’

‘Very unpleasant.’

‘To be straightened for a few hundreds.’

‘Very disagreeable.’

‘And people have no faith in the word and honor of gentlemen, now-a-days.’

‘But we must do something to raise the wind.’

‘That is very evident.’

‘Quite certain.’

‘Quite.’

‘We must make good use of these boobies,’ said Kay.

‘To be sure. Leave us alone for that,’ replied Maretzo.

‘Oh, yes, I am certain of that.’

‘They are very easy.’

‘Poor devils.’

‘Fit sport for us.’

‘Just the sort of game we like to hunt,’ returned Maretzo.

‘They have got a few thousands, which they seem bent upon wasting.’

‘And we might as well reap the benefit as any other persons.’

‘To be sure.’

‘And we will too.’

‘Oh, there is not the least doubt of that; ha! ha! ha!’

‘By the by, we ought not to feel much obliged to Blodget for that affair—’

‘No, that was a d—d bore.’

‘Remarkably unpleasant.’

‘A few hundreds out of our way.’

‘Yes.’

‘We have mingled in some strange scenes together.’

‘You may say that.’

‘We have been in luck together.’

‘In debt together.’

‘In prison together.’

‘Damme! we have shared all the smiles and frowns of fortune, and may we soon be on more friendly terms with her than ever.’

‘Bravo!’

The two friends quaffed off glass after glass, with as much gusto as if they had only just commenced a night’s carouse; and then each crossing their legs in an indolent and careless manner, remained silent for a short time. The sleepers were snoring in concert, and did not seem likely to awake for some time, but to monopolize the coffee-room for a chamber, for that day at least.

After the lapse of a short interval, Maretzo looked up with an expression of countenance, half solemn, and half humorous, and, addressing himself to Kay, says:

‘Kay, my boy!’

‘Well, my dear fellow,’ said Kay.

‘I have been thinking, Kay.’

‘And what have you been thinking?’ interrogated his dissipated companion.

‘Why, that we have been a pair of d—d scoundrels!’

‘Ha! ha! ha! what a discovery!—why, I have known and felt that long ago, Maretzo,’ returned Kay.

‘We have taken that which did not belong to us,’ added Maretzo, ‘and borrowed that which we never repaid.’

‘And never meant to repay;’ observed Kay, with a laugh.

‘We have diddled our tailor; broken the fortunes, and the hearts of innumerable bootmakers, hatters, frizzeurs, laundresses, and other creditors.’

‘Very true,’ remarked Kay, ‘and we are likely enough to break the hearts of a great many more, if they are silly enough to trust us.’

‘Ah!’ ejaculated Maretzo, and he fetched a very deep sigh, reflectively.

‘Ah!’ mimicked Kay; ‘why, confound me, if you are not getting melancholy.’

‘I am becoming penitent,’ replied Maretzo, in a tone still half serious, ‘I am becoming penitent, Kay.’

‘Penitent!’

‘Yes, downright compunctious.’

‘Ha! ha! ha!’

‘Don’t laugh, I feel a touch of the serious,’ remarked Maretzo, ‘I think it is high time that we began to think about a reformation, Kay.’

‘Well, positively.’

‘Ah! it may be well, positively,’ repeated Maretzo, ‘and, positively, I wish it to be well.’

‘And what is your plan of reformation?’ inquired Kay.

‘Why, matrimony.’

‘Matrimony?’

‘Ay, sober wedlock,’ answered Maretzo, ‘it would be advisable for us to do the steady and the amiable for some time, until we can meet with a favorable match; a handsome sum in the shape of a wedding dowry, and a handsome wife, and then we may settle down into two worthy gentlemen, very patterns of domesticated virtue.’

‘Not a bad plan,’ said Kay, smiling, ‘but it is almost too soon to think about that, yet.’

‘Not at all.’

‘That is only your opinion.’

‘And I have no doubt, as we have hitherto generally agreed, that it will be your opinion also.’

‘I cannot make up my mind to be shackled just yet, my dear fellow,’ replied Kay.

‘Nonsense, you may let the opportunity go by, and then you would repent it, take my word for it.’

‘Probably, I might,’ said Kay, ‘but I shall e’en trust fortune a little while longer.’

‘But fortune will not trust you—we owe her too large an account already,’ observed Maretzo.

‘But I am determined to jilt the jade still further, yet.’

‘Mind you do not deceive yourself.’

‘Leave me alone for that.’

‘After all, if a pretty girl, with a handsome portion is thrown in your way, I do not fear but that I shall be able to make you a convert.’

‘Well, we’ll leave that till the opportunity offers itself.’

‘Be it so.’

‘But you are really serious?’

‘Cursed serious.’

‘Ha, ha, ha! we must have another glass of wine after that,’ laughed Kay, ‘here’s fortune and matrimony.’

‘Fortune and matrimony,’ responded Maretzo, raising the glass to his lips; and then another pause of a few minutes took place.

‘I have been thinking, Kay,’ at length Maretzo broke silence, ‘that, after all, the whereabouts of Blodget, and Inez may not be so difficult for Monteagle to trace out as hitherto it has proved.’

At this, the door opened, and the landlord entered, saying that a man wished to speak to Kay.

‘Tell him to come in. Who the deuce can it be?’ said Kay.

‘Doubtless one of our fellows,’ said Maretzo.

The man now entered.

‘Well,’ said Kay. ‘I’m the person you asked for.’

The visitor went to the door, and turned the key. He then said, in a low tone, ‘Is your companion to be trusted?’

‘True as steel,’ said Kay.

‘Blodget is in trouble and needs your assistance. He is at Gordon’s house.—Jenkins has informed on him, and he can’t leave the house without almost certain death. He wishes you and a person he called Maretzo, to be there to-night. With your aid he can get off, carrying the lady with him. He says he won’t mind a couple of thousand, if you can get him out of this scrape.’

‘Now, my good fellow, how do we know that this isn’t all gas. A trap, may be?’ said Kay.

‘He told me to tell you, if you doubted me, to remember the old man in the old house!’

Kay started, but quickly recovering himself said, ‘All right, we’ll be on hand.’

The man left the house, and mounting his horse rode to the Mission. At a small house near the church he found Joaquin, by whom he was conducted to Jenkins, who was in company with Monteagle and some Californians, friends of Inez and her family.

The party speedily set off across the country towards the house where Inez was confined. But speedy as they were, they found they had been anticipated by Kay and Maretzo, who had set off to aid Blodget the instant the man had left. On arriving at the house they knocked boldly at the door. Gordon opened it, but upon seeing who the visitors were he attempted to slam it in their faces, but ere he succeeded a long Spanish knife was driven to his heart by Maretzo, and the wretch fell a bleeding corpse on the floor. Blodget was soon released.

‘Bear a-hand,’ cried Kay. ‘We must be out of this d—d quick. If Jenkins or any of his gang arrive, we’re gone chickens.’

‘One moment,’ cried Blodget. ‘I’ll have this d—d stubborn Spanish b—h if I have to carry her corpse across my saddle!’ as he spoke he sprang up stairs.

Alice had overheard what passed for she was sitting by Inez’s bedside watching her slumbers.

The brave girl instantly determined to save Inez, even at peril of her own life.

She extinguished the light, and throwing the veil of Inez over her head, and her mantle over her shoulders, she stood with beating heart, as she heard the villain Blodget’s steps upon the stairs.

‘Inez!’ cried the ruffian, as he opened the door of the chamber.

‘Who calls me?’ said Alice, imitating the voice of Inez.

The ruffian made no reply, but seizing her shrinking form in his arms, he bore her to the front of the ranch, where Kay and Maretzo stood ready to mount, holding a spare horse that they had brought to facilitate Blodget’s escape. The ruffian sprang to his horse’s back, dragging Alice up before, and dashing the rowels into his horse’s flanks, flew off at full speed, followed by Kay and Maretzo.

They had not been gone many moments, ere Jenkins, Monteagle, and their friends arrived. The bloody body of Gordon, which first arrested their attention at the threshold, filled them with dreadful forebodings.

Lights were procured, and Monteagle sought the chamber in which he was told he would find Inez. He burst into the room. A lady lay on the bed. ‘Inez!’ he shouted.

The lady turned her head, and his eyes fell upon her countenance!

‘Gracious Heaven!’ he almost shrieked; ‘is this some beauteous vision got up to torture me to madness? Inez!—My Inez!’

A wild shriek answered him!—It was no delusion! He sprang forward with delirious speed, just time enough to clasp the fainting form of his long-lost betrothed in his arms!

How shall our weak pen essay the task to describe the scene which followed this strange, this unexpected meeting?

Insensible, Inez was conveyed to an apartment in the cabaret, whither Monteagle followed, and could not be persuaded to leave her sight for an instant.

Again and again he enfolded her in his arms; pressed warm kisses on her lips, her cheeks, her temples, and laughed and wept like a child, by turns!—Then he threw himself upon his knees, clasps his hands vehemently together, and poured forth an eloquent prayer to the most High!

Joaquin began to entertain a fear that the sudden surprise, and so powerful a shock as it must be to his feelings, would have a fatal effect upon his senses; and he did all that he possibly could to calm his emotions.

His efforts were, however, for some time unavailing, but at length he became more tranquilized, and resigning Inez to the care of the persons who had been called in to attend her, he sank into a chair, and covering his face with his hands, gave full vent to the emotions that overflowed his heart, in a copious flood of tears.

Joaquin in this did not attempt to interrupt him, for he well knew what a relief it would be to him, and he turned his eyes from Monteagle to watch the progress which was being made towards the recovery of Inez.

His joy was scarcely less than that of Monteagle, although it did not exhibit itself in so violent a manner, and his heart teemed with gratitude to the Almighty, who had brought about their restoration to each other in so miraculous a manner.

It was not long before Inez was restored to animation; and, looking eagerly around her, she exclaimed:—

‘Where is he?—Was it a dream?—Oh, where is Monteagle?’

‘He is here, my love, my long lost one!—My only hope!’ cried Monteagle, and again they were enfolded to each other’s hearts, while further utterance was denied them by the power of their emotions!

We must hastily draw a veil over that scene which the imagination of our readers can depicture far better than any language of ours, however powerful, we could describe it!

Those moments were a foretaste of Heaven, succeeding the torment of purgatory! Their extacy was so great, that they could scarcely believe the evidence of their senses. It was some time ere they could satisfy themselves that they spoke, they breathed, or that they were still inhabitants of this sublunary scene!

But when, by the joint efforts of Joaquin and others, they became more tranquilized, the scene which followed was affecting in the extreme. They rested for a few hours, as they were not sufficiently composed to resume their journey to that home in which they had not together met for so long a period, and where they had never expected to meet again; and their friends, after a short time, left them to themselves, to enter into that mutual explanation, they were each so anxious to obtain.

With what feelings of horror, disgust, and indignation, did Monteagle listen to the recital of his love, but how did his heart overflow with gratitude, when he heard of the manner in which Inez had been enabled to resist the diabolical attempts and importunities of the villain Blodget; and as he pressed her to his heart, he again poured forth his thanks to the Almighty for her preservation from such accumulated and fearful dangers.

‘The monster! the fiend!—for he cannot be anything human, although he bears the form of man,’ cried Monteagle, speaking of Blodget; ‘oh, how I regret that he has been suffered to escape my vengeance!’

‘But he will not that of Heaven, dearest,’ ejaculated Inez; ‘oh, most assuredly that will ere long overtake him in its most terrible form, for the many, the almost unequalled crimes of which he has been guilty!’

‘True, my love,’ returned Monteagle, and his eyes sparkled with rapture as he gazed upon that dear countenance he had never expected to behold again; ‘and oh, if ever atrocity deserved punishment, dreadful will be his doom. To concoct so infernal a plot, by which he tore you from my arms.’

Inez smiled beautifully through her tears, and throwing her fair arms around the neck of Monteagle, the kisses she so fervently pressed upon his lips, convinced him powerfully of her affection.

‘Say no more upon that painful subject, my dearest,’ she ejaculated; ‘let it from this joyful moment be for ever buried in oblivion.’

‘It shall, it shall, my sweetest,’ replied Monteagle; ‘but oh, what a debt of gratitude do I owe to your generous preserver, Jenkins. Would that I could see him, that I might to himself express the power of my feelings. Nothing can ever sufficiently reward that man for the inestimable service he has rendered me.’

‘I need not assure you,’ rejoined Inez, ‘that I most warmly concur in your feelings; and I trust that at some future period, Jenkins may be able to visit us, and receive the demonstrations of our mutual gratitude, and, moreover, be persuaded to quit the life he is at present leading.’

‘Pity it is that he should, by some cursed fatality urging him on to crime, be driven from it,’ observed Monteagle; ‘but I dare say that his offences have never been so heinous as to exclude him from all hope of earthly pardon.’

‘No, I cannot believe that they have,’ replied Inez; ‘but he is so much attached to his present wild life of freedom, and his reckless associates, that I am doubtful whether he will ever be induced to abandon them.’

‘My influence and exertions to induce him to do so, shall not be wanting,’ said Monteagle. ‘Still I am sorry that he should have changed his first determination, namely, to deliver the wretch Blodget into the hands of justice. While I know that villain to be living and still at large, my mind cannot be entirely at rest, for, however watchful and vigilant we may be, after what we have experienced from his villainous artifices, have we not reason to fear that he will devise some means of further annoying us, and gratifying his demonical revenge?’

‘Do not, I beg of you, my love,’ said our heroine, ‘harass your mind by apprehensions.’

‘Heaven grant that your surmises may prove correct, Inez,’ observed Monteagle; ‘but I candidly own that I cannot entirely divest my mind of the fears which I have described; and should anything happen again to you, my love, all my manly fortitude would entirely forsake me, and I should never be able to survive the shock!’

‘Pray, Monteagle,’ urged Inez, ‘if you would not make me miserable, endeavor, struggle to banish such gloomy imaginings from your bosom, and trust to the goodness of Providence which has hitherto so mercifully preserved us, when the darkest snares of villainy sought to ruin and destroy us.’

‘For your sake, my own love,’ replied Monteagle, once more affectionately and passionately kissing her cheek, ‘I will endeavor to do so; still you surely will not blame me for not placing too much confidence in our security, which might prevent me from being watchful and wary to defeat any base plans that might be devised against our future peace?’

‘Oh, no, in that you will only act with prudence and wisdom, although, I must repeat that I sincerely trust there will not be found to be any necessity for that precaution. But my poor father—what of him?’

‘He is well in body.’

‘But how has he supported my absence?’

‘Oh, he suffered terribly.’

‘Did he give himself up to grief?’

‘At first he did—he was as one struck to the earth by a sudden, violent blow. Joaquin, however, roused him from his despondency, by urging the absolute necessity of pursuing the abductors. Thus urged, your father shook off his despondency, and appearing to forget his years, joined in the search for your abductors with all the ardor of youth. Indeed it became almost necessary forcibly to restrain him, lest he should become totally deranged.’

‘Totally deranged! Then his mind was affected by my loss?’

‘Oh, my love,’ ejaculated Monteagle, ‘Would that heaven had spared me that painful task; but pray be calm and bear the melancholy intelligence with fortitude and resignation.’

‘Speak on, speak on; I’m prepared for the worst,’ ejaculated our heroine— ‘Tell me of my poor father.’

‘When I left your home the physicians hoped he might recover, as at intervals reason seemed returning, when he would call for his daughter Inez, and then relapse into unconsciousness.’

‘Oh, let us hasten to my poor dear father.’

They were soon in their saddles, and on road to the Mission.