"It is your lover," said her woman coldly from the doorway. "He is riding away from you." "----and those," added Rubia, "whom she has loved abandon her." IV. BELUNA Meanwhile Felipe, hatless, bloody, was galloping through the night, his pony's head turned toward the _hacienda_ of Martiarena. The Rancho Martiarena lay between his own rancho and the inn where he had met Rubia, so that this distance was not great. He reached it in about an hour of vigorous spurring. The place was dark though it was as yet early in the night, and an ominous gloom seemed to hang about the house. Felipe, his heart sinking, pounded at the door, and at last aroused the aged superintendent, who was also a sort of _major-domo_ in the household, and who in Felipe's boyhood had often ridden him on his knee. "Ah, it is you, Arillaga," he said very sadly, as the moonlight struck across Felipe's face. "I had hoped never to see you again." "Buelna," demanded Felipe. "I have something to say to her, and to the _padron_." "Too late, senor." "My God, dead?" "As good as dead." "Rafael, tell me all. I have come to set everything straight again. On my honour, I have been misjudged. Is Buelna well?" "Listen. You know your own heart best, senor. When you left her our little lady was as one half dead; her heart died within her. Ah, she loved you, Arillaga, far more than you deserved. She drooped swiftly, and one night all but passed away. Then it was that she made a vow that if God spared her life she would become the bride of the church--would forever renounce the world. Well, she recovered, became almost well again, but not the same as before. She never will be that. So soon as she was able to obtain Martiarena's consent she made all the preparations--signed away all her lands and possessions, and spent the days and nights in prayer and purifications. The Mother Superior of the Convent of Santa Teresa has been a guest at the _hacienda_ this fortnight past. Only to-day the party--that is to say, Martiarena, the Mother Superior and Buelna--left for Santa Teresa, and at midnight of this very night Buelna takes the veil. You know your own heart, Senor Felipe. Go your way." "But not _till_ midnight!" cried Felipe. "What? I do not understand." "She will not take the veil till midnight." "No, not till then." "Rafael," cried Felipe, "ask me no questions now. Only _believe_ me. I always have and always will love Buelna. I swear it. I can stop this yet; only once let me reach her in time. Trust me. Ah, for this once trust me, you who have known me since I was a lad." He held out his hand. The other for a moment hesitated, then impulsively clasped it in his own. "_Bueno_, I trust you then. Yet I warn you not to fool me twice." "Good," returned Felipe. "And now _adios_. Unless I bring her back with me you'll never see me again." "But, Felipe, lad, where away now?" "To Santa Teresa." "You are mad. Do you fancy you can reach it before midnight?" insisted the _major-domo_.