“It does not matter much about me,” he answered. “But all the same I have come to speak a little in regard to myself. Tonight Ben Thurston assuredly will die, and should I perish with him, the story of the vendetta cannot fail to be revived and the identity of the recluse, Ricardo Robles, with Don Manuel, the outlaw, will be established. This will come as a great shock to all my dear friends at La Siesta—to Mrs. Darlington as well as to Grace and Merle. But this counts for little—the name of Don Manuel is just as honorable a name as that of Robles. And you can tell them further that all the loot I ever took from the gringos lies today untouched in Joaquin Murietta’s cave. I sullied my hands with none of it. I was made rich by the sale of, my ancestral estates in Spain. And that wealth the law cannot confiscate, for I have been only its trustee during all those years. Everything I possess has been vested from the first in the names of Merle Farnsworth and Grace Darlington.” “Grace as well?” murmured Tia Teresa, enquiringly. “Certainly, for I love both the girls dearly; there is ample to divide between them, and by ranking them together I guard Merle from the thought that I was anything more to her than to Grace. To both alike I was just a deeply attached friend.” He paused a moment, then regarded Tia Teresa fixedly. “For my little girl must never know that her father was an outlaw, with a price on his head; yes, with blood on his hands, if it is only the blood of the worthless Thurston breed.” “That is no stain—it is an honor—it is a duty that you owed,” exclaimed the duenna with fervency, her hands clenched against her bosom as she spoke. “You understand—we understand the vendetta, you and I, Tia Teresa. But the Americanos do not understand. And I have brought up my little girl as an American, for her own happiness I long ago realized. So she would never understand. When she comes to know that her old friend Ricardo Robles was Don Manuel de Valencia as well, she will breathe a gentle prayer of rest for his soul. But she will not be distressed by the knowledge that her father was the bandit and outlaw—she will not have to face the cruel world with that stigma attached to her name. For that I have contrived, for that I have suffered the dumb agony of childlessness all these years.” “And that, in God’s name,” exclaimed Tia Teresa, “is part of the price Ben Thurston, thrice accursed, has to pay.” “And tonight will pay,” responded Don Manuel, determinedly. “But I speak of all this just to put you on your guard. It will be necessary for me to say something to Mrs. Darlington as well. I have brought for her the papers that will establish the rights of Merle and Grace to all I leave behind.” As he spoke he touched his coat where the shape of a packet in an inner pocket showed. “Your will?”