"Juan!" cried my mother.--"Rosa! what is the matter? Why are you crying? But come to me, darling;" and in another moment she was pressing the girl to her bosom. At a sign from her I left the room, but did not go far away. Rosa's action was so odd that I waited with impatience to hear the reason. She must have left her home hurriedly and unobserved, since it was an unheard-of thing that the daughter of Don Felipe Montilla should be out on foot and unattended. I was sure that should her father discover it he would be greatly annoyed. The whole affair was so mysterious that I could make nothing of it. The girl's sobs were more under control now, and she began to speak. As she might not wish me to hear her story, I walked away, meaning to chat with Antonio at the gate, and to await my father's return. He might not come for hours yet, as it was still early evening, but I hoped he would, and the more so now on Rosa's account. She might need help which I was not old enough to give; while, as it chanced, Joseph Craig, my father's trusty English servant, had gone that afternoon into Callao. However, he also might be back at any moment now, and would not, in any case, be late. Half an hour had perhaps passed, and I was turning from the gate, when two horsemen dashed up at full speed. One was Joseph Craig, or Jose as the Spaniards called him, and my feeling of uneasiness returned as I noticed that his face, too, wore a strange and startled look. Jose, as I have said, was my father's servant; but we all regarded him more as a friend, and treated him as one of ourselves. He was a well-built man of medium height, with good features and keen gray eyes. He spoke English and Spanish fluently, and could make himself understood in several Indian dialects. He kept the accounts of the estate, and might easily have obtained a more lucrative situation in any counting-house in Callao. He excelled, too, in outdoor sports, and had taught me to fence, to shoot, and to ride straight. The second man I did not know. He seemed to be an Indian of the mountains, and was of gigantic stature. His dress was altogether different from that of the Spaniards, and in his cap he wore a plume of feathers. His face was scarred by more than one sword-cut, his brows were lowering, and his massive jaw told of great animal strength. Jose's horse had galloped fast, but the one ridden by the stranger was flaked with foam. Antonio would have opened the big gate without question: but I, thinking of Rosa, forbade him, saying to Jose in English, "Does he mean harm to the girl?" You see, my head was full of the one idea, and I could think of nothing else. I imagined that Rosa had run away from some peril, and that this man with the savage face and cruel eyes had tracked her to our gate. So I put the question to Jose, who looked at me wonderingly. "The girl?" he repeated slowly; "what girl?" "Rosa Montilla," I answered.