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152 "I have no father now," she said, in a voice at once firm and sweet; "lead on."

On hearing this my last scruples vanished, and we set out. We traversed the court in silence. The huesped was sleeping on the ground close to the gate. I touched him with the point of my lance without speaking; he started up with the mechanical promptness of a man accustomed to be roused at all hours of the night.

"For the road already?" on receiving the reckoning. "And this cavalier also, with his two horses?"

"Yes," I replied; "this cavalier, my valet, and myself, must be at the hacienda of San Francisco before daylight."

"A pleasant journey," he cried, on opening the gate, which soon closed behind us. We at first followed the road to Mexico, so as to tally with the false direction I had given to the huesped; we then turned bridle all at once in the direction of Celaya, making a wide detour to avoid passing near the hacienda. A damp, icy fog covered the plain as far as the eye could reach; the night-wind tore aside the curtain of mist from time to time, and showed us the surrounding country covered with hoar-frost. A few paces distant appeared the watch-fire of the Biscayan: it looked like a star just about to expire. Our horses made their way rapidly through the mist, the breath that is sued from their nostrils playing about their heads in immense volumes. Although not sharing in the feverish impatience of my two companions, I could not help feeling a kind of emotion when I compared the uncertain issue of the event into which they had blindly rushed with the thick vapors which enwrapped in darkness the road and the objects around. We were