Stepping over the scattered splinters, Henrique saw a sight which filled him with horror.

Crouching on the bare floor, her hands twined convulsively in her long hair, was a woman, with three sleeping children leaning against her.

On a hard straw mattress, almost in shadow, lay Jarima, his face covered with blood, which oozed in streams from his mouth.

Henrique gazed for an instant on the awful sight, then turned towards his men.

"We have arrived a little too late; blind men cannot see, or dumb ones tell tales. Some horrible wretch has done this deed, fearful of his betraying them. I wonder who?"

The woman, when questioned, could tell them nothing. She only knew her husband had been brought home in his present condition at daybreak, and remained unconscious since.

"I regret to say it is our painful duty to take him; every care will be given him. He is suspected of having murdered Luiz Falcam."

"No, no; you are mistaken! It is some one else, not he. Jarima was much too gentle to kill any one!" the woman cried, pa.s.sionately.

Her prayers and supplications were unavailing. Henrique was obliged to do his duty, and bade his men take the suffering man to prison.

Some hours later, as Diniz stood in his room, just before setting out in search of Henrique, that man entered the house, followed by several soldiers.

"Diniz Sampayo, I arrest you on the charge of having stolen a poignard, set with jewels, from Manuel Tonza de Sepulveda."

Diniz started, and flushed angrily.

"I steal? When you know it is the weapon I bought from Phenee, the Jew, as proof against the murderer."

"So you said; but we have heard another tale to that. Anyhow, if you are innocent, you will be set free as soon as you are tried."

"But the man Jarima? Have you not been for him?"

"Yes, but he is useless; when we arrived, some one had been before us, and not only blinded him, but cut out his tongue, so that he could not speak."

"How horrible! How could any one have been so cold-blooded?" Diniz gasped, turning pale.

"Evidently it was done for some purpose. But come, Sampayo, I cannot wait here."

"Will nothing I say convince you I am innocent? If innocence gives strength, I shall soon be at liberty."

Henrique smiled scornfully, and hurried the young man away.

"You will not be alone; your prison-cell is shared by another--Phenee, the Jew. An old friend of yours, is he not?" Henrique asked.

"Friend--no! I have only spoken to him once in my life. What is he arrested for?"

"Being a receiver of stolen goods," grimly.

Diniz thought suddenly of Miriam, and wondered how she would bear this blow. Her only relative and dearly-loved parent torn from her side, to linger in a damp cell. How bitterly he blamed himself for having been the cause of Phenee's capture! If he had not disclosed the secret of Phenee having bought the poignard from Jarima, no one would have suspected him.

"Poor girl! She will regret now having helped a stranger, who, in return, has brought her only grief and desolation," he murmured, sorrowfully.

Miriam pa.s.sed nearly three days in sad thought, when her solitary mourning was broken by the visit of a thickly-veiled woman, whose low, sweet tones fell like softest music on Miriam's ear.

"Are you alone?" she asked, glancing questioningly round the room.

"Yes. Did you want me?"

"I do, very badly. I remembered only to-day that you once proved a true friend to Diniz Sampayo, and I came to know if you would again aid him?" throwing back her veil, and disclosing a pale, sweet face, stamped by deepest grief.

"Diniz Sampayo! But is he, then, in need of help--in danger?" a sudden fear lighting up her face.

"Yes, he is in prison," sadly.

"You are sure? How can it be possible? What has he done?" in amazed wonder.

"He has done nothing. Only his enemies have thrown the suspicion of his having stolen a poignard from Manuel Tonza--a poignard which I know he bought here. It is my fault this has happened. It was to avenge the death of the man I loved--his dearest friend--that he placed his life in peril!"

"I remember well. It is quite true he bought it here, soon after Jarima, the fisherman, had sold it to my grandfather. He, poor dear, is also in sorrow, imprisoned for having received stolen goods, as if he could tell when things are stolen!" indignantly.

"I am very sorry, Miriam; but if you help me, you will help your grandfather also," Lianor urged gently.

"I will!" Miriam cried firmly; "I will never give up until I have them both safely outside that odious prison!"

Lianor gazed with grateful affection at the girl's expressive face, which now wore such a look of determined courage.

"If I can do anything, let me know directly," Lianor said, gently.

"Gold may perhaps be useful, and I have much."

"Thank you, but I am rich; and I know grandfather would lose all, rather than his liberty. You are Don Garcia's daughter, are you not?"

"Yes," somewhat sadly. "You know me?"

"By sight, yes."

"I shall see you again, I hope," Lianor said, as Miriam followed her to the door. "You will tell me of your success or failure?"

"Yes; I will come or write."

When her charming visitor had gone, Miriam returned to her seat, a pained expression on her bright face.

"He also there. Poor Diniz! But I will save him yet," determinedly.

Hastily opening a heavy iron box, she drew out a handful of gold.

Placing this in her pocket, she softly left the house, and scarcely knowing what instinct prompted her, she hurried towards a small hotel not far from the sea.

"Can you tell me," she began breathlessly to a sunburnt man standing near, "if there are any ships leaving here to-morrow?"

"I don't know, senora. I will inquire," he answered politely, and after an absence of about ten minutes, he returned to say "that Captain Moriz, of the Eagle, was even then preparing for departure on the morrow."