“No, Don Luis, I have no _proof_ of that; but those who ordered such deeds only to inspire terror, will not scruple at higher victims for greater advantages. Thorne’s bold accusation, I may call it of indifference or neglect on the part of the magistrate, and the way your name was alluded to, will protect you from open attack. The prison will be your first doom--I shudder to think of what may follow. Thorne is a brave fellow, but he was mad to brave them as he did. There is not a _Masorchero_ in the city who does not thirst for his blood. Thorne knows this and defies them. I hate him for his suspicions, but yet, Mendoza, I admire him--with a hundred men like him, this city would not now be a nest of cut-throats. Yes,” continued Le Brun, who felt pungently the whole truth of what he said, “their spies would be ashamed to show their degraded heads, Masorcheros afraid, ay, afraid to execute the hated commissions intrusted to them, and an end put to the whole brutal cowardly system, which none can more detest and deplore than I do. But to business. To-morrow morning you must come to town; to avoid suspicion, let there be a small party at the house in the evening. I return to town to-night I shall busy myself to-night and to-morrow in having every penny of your capital and debts secured, transferred, or in some way rendered intangible to your persecutors, and recoverable in better times to yourself. Stop, stop--don’t interrupt me. As soon as possible I will arrange my own affairs, and then, my dear sir, I shall bid adieu to this city, which is now doomed, and join you in your exile, there to claim the reward of all my exertions in the hand of Anita. Shall it not be so?--yes or no!--time is precious, time flies?” “It shall, Le Brun--my hand upon it. Arrange my affairs as best you may, I rely upon you for every thing.” “Now, then, let us proceed to the house, and talk slowly over the details.” The gay inmates of the house were disturbed in the midst of their mirth and music by the entrance of a servant, announcing that her father desired to speak to Señorita Anita. “Daughter,” said Luis Mendoza, as she entered his presence with a smiling face, and a courteous bow to Le Brun; “my dearest daughter, I am sorry to be the bearer of intelligence which will throw a shade of gloom over your happy face. Are you prepared to hear of sad truths and dismal forebodings?” “Yes, dearest father, I am prepared. We are now surrounded by our best friends, keep me no longer in dark suspense--I am prepared to hear every misfortune which I may share with you.” “The cloud of misfortune,” interrupted Le Brun, “now hovering over our heads, Anita, will, I predict, only prove a summer thunder-storm, which may sweep every thing exposed and unprotected before it, during its first burst, but pass harmless by those who have watched its coming and prepared for its approach.”