"What is the meaning of this?" he asked, shaking his head meditatively.

"Nothing, father," she replied, as she tried to force a smile.

"Girl, girl," he muttered, "all this is not quite clear; I am only a poor hunter, very ignorant of matters of the world, and my mind is simple; but I love you, child, and my heart tells me you are suffering."

"I?" she exclaimed in denial; but all at once she burst into tears, and falling on the hunter's manly chest, she hid her face in his bosom, and murmured in a choking voice--

"Oh, father, father, I am so wretched."

Tranquil, at this exclamation, torn from her by the force of pain, started as if a serpent had stung him; his eye sparkled, he gave the girl a look full of paternal love, and compelled her with gentle constraint to look him in the face.

"Wretched? you, Carmela?" he exclaimed anxiously. "Great Heaven, what has happened then?"

By a supreme effort, the maiden succeeded in calming herself; her features rea.s.sumed their ordinary tranquillity, she wiped away her tears, and smiled at the hunter, who anxiously watched her.

"Pardon me, father," she said in an insinuating voice, "I am mad."

"No, no," he replied, shaking his head twice or thrice; "you are not mad, my child, but are concealing something from me."

"Father!" she said with a blush, and looked down in confusion.

"Be frank with me, child, for am I not your best friend?"

"That is true," she stammered.

"Have I ever refused to satisfy the slightest of your wishes?"

"Oh, never!"

"Have you ever found me severe to you?"

"Oh, no!"

"Well, then, why not confess to me frankly what is troubling you?"

"Because--" she murmured, in hesitation.

"What?" he answered, affectionately.

"I dare not."

"It must be very difficult to say, then?"

"Yes."

"Nonsense! Go on, girl, where will you find a confessor so indulgent as I am?"

"Nowhere, I know."

"Speak, then."

"I am afraid of vexing you."

"You will vex me a great deal more by obstinately remaining silent."

"But--"

"Listen, Carmela; while telling us a little while back what happened to-day at the venta, you confessed yourself that you wished to find me, no matter where I was, this very night; is that so?"

"Yes, father."

"Well, here I am, I am listening to you; besides, if what you have to say to me is so important as you led me to suppose, you will do well to make haste."

The maiden started; she gave a glance at the sky, where the gloom was beginning to be intersected by white stripes; all the hesitation disappeared from her face.

"You are right, father," she said, in a firm voice; "I hate to speak with you about an affair of the greatest importance, and perhaps I have deferred it too long, for it is a question of life and death."

"You startle me."

"Listen to me."

"Speak, child, speak, without fear, and reckon on my affection for you."

"I do so, my kind father, so you shall know all."

"It is well."

Dona Carmela seemed to collect herself for a moment, then, letting her dainty hand fall into her father's rough and large hand, while her long silken lashes drooped timidly, to serve as a veil to her eyes, she began in a weak voice at first, which, however, soon became more firm and distinct.

"Lanzi told you that meeting with a conducta de plata encamped a short distance from here, helped him to escape from the pursuit of the pagans.

Father, this conducta spent last night at the venta, and the Captain who commands the escort is one of the most distinguished officers in the Mexican army; you have heard him spoken of before now in terms of praise, and I even think you are personally acquainted with him; his name is Don Juan Melendez de Gongora."

"Ah!" said Tranquil.

The maiden stopped, all palpitating.

"Go on," the Canadian said, gently.

Carmela gave him a side glance; as the tigrero was smiling, she resolved to continue.

"Already accident has brought the Captain several times to the venta; he is a true Caballero--gentle, polite, honourable, and we have never had the slightest ground of complaint against him, as Lanzi will tell you."

"I am convinced of it, my child, for Captain Melendez is exactly what you describe him."

"Is he not?" she quickly asked.

"Yes, he is a true Caballero; unfortunately, there are not many officers like him in the Mexican army."

"This morning, the conducta set out, escorted by the Captain; two or three ill-looking fellows, who remained at the venta, watched the soldiers depart with a cunning smile, then sat down, began drinking and saying to me things a girl ought not to hear, until at last they even threatened me."