THE RUINED RANCHO.

The moon by this time had risen, and already far above the horizon was beginning to pour her light into the shadowy recesses of the forest.

Along the road they travelled, and although advancing only at an easy ambling canter, had traversed something better than twenty miles, when the distant barking of a large dog was distinctly heard by all the party, and within a few minutes after that sound became audible, the advanced dragoon, who was a hundred or two yards ahead of the party, reined up and informed the Partisan that a heavy body of horse were coming down the road rapidly toward them.

Pierre halted, and telling Julia that there was no danger, and desiring the men not to stir from the spot, or speak, or call out, whatever they might hear or see, dismounted from his horse, cast the rein to a dragoon, and then hurried back on foot, as fast as he could, directly toward the track which they had just left.

"Just as I thought, guerillas," muttered the Partisan to himself. "It is Juan de Alava's squadron, for a thousand."

The squadron was perhaps ten minutes or a quarter of an hour passing him, for there were, as he had conjectured by the sound, while they were yet at a distance, above a hundred of them—in fact, he reckoned about a score beyond that number—and they rode in very open order, and not much faster than a foot pace.

Pierre listened to every word that fell from their lips.

The next glance showed him that his life had not been worth a dollar's purchase had he fully arisen to his feet, for he needed nothing to tell him that the eyes of the two who now passed him—eyes wandering suspiciously at every step of their horses through the forest about them—were very different to encounter from those of the mere troopers who had hitherto passed by him.

These two men were of a wildly different aspect from the rest, and from each other also, though one of them was clad, except that the materials were richer, in the same costume with the men who preceded him.

The other, who rode a little the foremost of the two, and the nearest to the Partisan, was a little old shrivelled man. Yet within that frail and meagre frame, hardened as it was, and exercised into a mere mass of compact bone and sinew, it was easy to perceive that there resided a world of untamed youthful spirit, and all the strength of manhood.

"Now, Padre," exclaimed the younger, "for the love of God, let us set spurs to our horses and get the troop forward at a quicker pace. At this rate, we shall not reach the open ground before day-break; and, in that case, they will have the start of us."

"Not so, not so, Juan," replied the old man, in a clear, hard voice. "If our information be correct, and there be a lady with them, as I doubt not it is, they will have halted for the night, and the later we come upon the ground, the more chance of finding them."

They continued speaking as they rode along; but these were all the words that reached the ears of the Partisan. No more did he require, however, to inform him of all that he wished to know.

So soon as the clatter of their passage had died away into the ordinary silence of the woods, the Partisan hurried back to join his friends, who were awaiting his return in no small anxiety, at least, not to say trepidation.

"All is well," he exclaimed, as soon as he came into ear-shot of the little party; "all is well. It is Padre Taranta and young Juan de Alava, and troop. They are in search of us, too."

They then all hastened back to the main road, and cantered forward at a better pace than they had as yet ventured on trying. Half an hour's ride brought them to the banks of the rivulet which divided the clear grounds that surrounded the once splendid estate from the wild forest.

A minute or two afterward, however, as the hoofs of their horses began to clatter on the pavement, a fierce baying broke upon the stillness of the night, and two huge sheep-dogs, of the far-famed Mexican breed, came bounding out, furious, as if to attack the intruders.

But the Partisan soon quieted them; and then, as if aroused by the uproar, some one was heard to stir within the rancho, a light flashed through one of the casements, which was immediately thrown open—a loud voice hailing to inquire who came so late.

"Friends, friends!" cried the Partisan, in the Spanish tongue. "It is I, Sanchez; it is Pedro, the Forester."

"Thanks be to God!" shouted the old man, who had spoken from within; "welcome, senor. Wait till I open the door for you."

The lattice was pulled to, as he ceased speaking; but they could hear him hallooing within to arouse his mistress and the scanty household.

"Ho! senorita, senorita Marguerita; he, Pedro the Forester, Pedro el Salvador!"

A moment afterward, the bolts were withdrawn and the gate thrown open, and the lady, with her conductors, entered the ruined rancho.

The first sight which met the eyes of Julia Gordon, as she crossed the threshold of the door, and stood within the hall of that lonely dwelling, was the figure of a young, delicate, tall girl, who struck her, at the first glance, as being the very loveliest creature she had ever looked upon. And indeed she was exceedingly lovely.

In her left hand she carried a small lamp, which was the only light in the large apartment.

It seemed that she had not distinguished the words of old Sanchez, when he shouted to arouse her from her slumbers; for, as the Partisan advanced, who had stood hitherto in the back-ground, and had been concealed by the darkness which pervaded the whole room. Marguerita sprang eagerly forward to greet him.

"You! you!" she cried, fervently; "do my eyes tell me truly? Is it, indeed, you? Lord of my life! friend of my soul! preserver of my honour! is it, indeed, you, Pedro el Salvador. Oh, I am happy—oh, very, very happy."

And, as she spoke, in the intensity of her passionate feeling, she clasped her snowy arms about the rough soldier's neck, and letting fall her Madonna-like head on his iron shoulders, burst into a flood of tears.

"Nay, nay!" exclaimed the gallant rover, gently disengaging himself from the innocent girl's embrace; "nay, nay! weep not, sweet Senorita, this is no time for tears, for I have come to ask a favour—a favour as great as the lives of us all."

"Ask for my life, rather," she answered, emphatically, suffering the tears to trickle down her cheeks unheeded, "for it is yours; ask for my soul, you should have it, were it mine to bestow."

"Impossible, indeed, Marguerita," replied the Partisan; "impossible, indeed, that either I should ask, or you grant, were it to save a world. But, listen to me, and first look upon this beautiful young woman."

"Add one word more, Don Pedro; say that she is your wife," said the girl in a singular tone of half-resentful vehemence, which Pierre did not then comprehend.

"She is the wife of my friend, Lieutenant Gordon, lady," he replied; "no volunteer, I assure you, but one of May's dragoons."

"Pardon me," she said, turning to Julia, "pardon me, dear lady; but at times I am half distraught, and my mind wanders, I know not how or whither, since—since that day—but he has told you, doubtless. In one word, you are welcome. You are safe as if you were within the temple of your God. You are alone, you are in danger, he loves you, and I doubt not you love him; and I, Marguerita de Alava, swears it, by all the saints of Heaven, that I will die before one hair of your head, one nail of your finger, be injured. But this," she continued, after a moment's pause, "this is poor hospitality. Without there! Sanchez, Estefania, bring lights, and wine, and pile up the fire; the nights are chilly here among our forests."

The old shepherd, who had been awaiting her commands without, marvelling evidently at the long delay ere he was summoned, appeared instantly, bearing a pair of tall waxen candles, almost torches in size, in two massive silver candle sticks of different patterns, but of great value.

The Partisan then left the room for a minute or two, in order to give some instructions to the dragoons; for, in the present crisis Gordon had delegated the command to him; while the young husband drew near to the stove, unwilling to quit Julia, and more than half suspicious of the Spanish lady's motives.

So soon, however, as the girl's eye fell upon her own scanty attire, revealed as it was now by the bright lustre of the candles, she started, as if she had but that instant remembered how slenderly she was clad; blushed crimson, and raising both her hands to conceal her half-uncovered bosom, turned quickly, and fled with a swift step into the inner chamber.

"She is jealous of you, Julia," said Gordon.

"Jealous of me, Arthur?" she exclaimed, blushing deeply as she said the words; and he observed the blush, but observed not the indignant tone in which she spoke.

"Is that a blush of consciousness, or of shame, Julia?" he said, after a moment's pause, gazing at her sternly.

"Of indignation!" she answered, vehemently, her soft blue eyes flashing fire as she answered him. "Of indignation, sir, that any man should dare use such words, entertain such thoughts of me. Yes, Arthur Gordon, she is both in love and jealous. I saw that at a glance; and I will tell you something more; she is not jealous without a cause. Is your glance answered? For the man whom she loves, does not love her, and does love me."

The young man spoke not, stirred not, answered not. He stood abashed, crest-fallen, dumb before her. Conviction was borne in upon his soul by every word she uttered.

"Now listen to me, Arthur Gordon. I trust, I know, I thank my God! I am too proud, if not too pure, ever to do the thing that should make me know what shame is. But, mark me: if there be aught on earth which alienates love, it is to be suspected of not loving. If there be aught on earth that engenders evil thoughts in the heart, it is to be suspected capable of evil thinking. If there be aught on earth that makes a woman doubt herself, it is to be doubted by him who should sustain her; if once she doubt herself, others will soon have cause to doubt, to despise her. If I were not so proud, I should say to you, therefore, 'Make me not that which you would not have me!' I am too proud, too strong, too confident in the right to say so. But I do say, 'Make me not scorn you, cast you away from me, hate you.' I could do all these things, Arthur Gordon, and, though they kill me, I will do them, if ever more I hear from your tongue or see in your eye a doubt of my honour—of my love. I have said enough—should have said too much had I not seen in you aforetime the germs of this folly, which, if not nipped in the bud, will make you, will make both of us indeed wretched. Now I will go and join our hostess; and do you seek the Partisan and decide upon our future movements."

He raised his eyes slowly to meet her glance, and as he met it no longer fiery or indignant, but full of confidence and love, a faint smile played over his lips, and he stretched out his arms half timidly toward her, with this one word:

"Julia!"

And she refused not the proffered embrace, but fell on his bosom and kissed him tenderly; and then withdrawing herself gently from his arms, said, with her own bright, beaming smile:

"Now go—go your way, silly boy—and beware how you let that noble man perceive your folly."

"He should not, for my life!" answered the young dragoon, as with a light heart, a firm step, and a mind perfectly re-assured and easy he went forth by one door into the court-yard as she passed by the other into Marguerita's boudoir.