But into the arena rode the unknown, and, dismounting, he threw his glove down at the feet of the champion. It was promptly picked up by the victor, who was the commander of a crack command of lancers, and the two soon advanced to face each other. Like fiery serpents the steel blades writhed around each other and flashed in the sunlight, and men, and women, too, had begun to feel that at last the unknown had more than met his match. “The unknown was a fool to offer combat to Major Delano, after being tired out with his other combats,” said a rich banker, a kinsman of Nina de Sutro. Through all, the young girl had watched with white face every contest, her eyes riveted upon the masked face of the unknown; but she caught the words of her kinsman, and said quickly: “A hundred pesos, señor, that the unknown defeats Major Delano.” “Bravo! just hear the child! But I accept your wager, Nina, and---- Holy Heaven, see there!” A cry of bravo went up from the crowd, for somehow the major was seen to catch the point of the unknown’s sword, and it pierced his heart. How it happened no one seemed to know, and the explanation of the unknown was accepted, for, instantly unmasking, he faced the judges, and said in a voice that reached every ear: “Pardon, señors, but the officer was so confident of disarming me he pressed forward, slipped, and, not guarding my thrust, my sword pierced his breast.” He bowed his head, to await the decision of the judges, while from the lips of Nina de Sutro fell the words in a quivering voice: “I felt that it was so. He is my hero of the Rio Grande!” CHAPTER II. DESERTED. A year after the fatal tournament in the City of Mexico, a grand masquerade ball was being held in a salon in New Orleans, and thither had flocked the beauty and the chivalry of the Crescent City. Among the cavaliers present who had attracted much attention by his elegance of form and gorgeous attire was one in Mexican costume. He had flirted with many of the fair belles, and was always in demand for a waltz, so gracefully did he dance, and a favored maiden present was envied by all the others as the Mexican seemed to devote more of his attention to her than to any one else present. At last he said to her: “Though unknown to you, señorita----” “How do you know that I am a señorita?” was the low query, in the sweetest of voices. “My heart tells me that you have never loved, that you are not a wife; but though unknown to you, let me beg that you take a stroll with me in the moonlight. Will you go?” “Yes.” The word was hardly audible, but the Mexican drew the tiny hand into his arm and led her from the salon, out upon the piazza, and thence into the moonlit garden, halting at an arbor. “Do you know that I can tell who you are, señorita?” the man asked. He saw the start that she gave at his words, and then she asked: “Who am I?”