“Would death wipe out the stain, I had not lived this long! Why did you take the poniard from me, Señora Vallejo? Give it me again!” “Death would not prevent the revolt, _señorita_, and you are young to die.” “And what remains but death? Would you have me take this man as husband--this man with his treasonable soul and bloody hands? Would you have me reign queen over a nation of ignorant savages, with a throne, sitting on a daïs of white men’s bones? How he lured us here, so we might not be hurt at the mission, so he could hold us until his nefarious work is done! What dupes we have been! If he wins, what hope is left? If he loses, how could I ever face the good frailes and the soldiers and other decent men again? Nothing but death is left--and even that will not wash away the stain!” A sudden noise in the fireplace in the corner--not much of a noise, to be sure, but enough to be heard in the silence that followed the girl’s outburst. She stopped in the middle of the room, looking toward the pile of wood there. Señora Vallejo turned with fear in her face, and thus they remained, breathless, wondering if they were about to face a new horror. Again the noise--as if a dagger were being used to pry the blocks of stone and adobe apart. Then a stone fell--and another--and then there was silence for a moment, while the _señora_ and the girl gazed spellbound. The elder woman ran to the girl’s side and clasped her in her arms; her hand gripped the hilt of the poniard. A third stone fell with a clatter. Again, silence. Then a head appeared, slowly, inch by inch, first the crown of black hair now covered with dust and soot, then a sooty brow, two piercing eyes, a moustache that looked absolutely disreputable now, a well-formed mouth that flashed open in a smile and showed two rows of even white teeth, an aggressive chin! The two women scarcely breathed; their eyes seemed to be bulging from their sockets. Two hands gripped the edge of the fireplace, more blocks of adobe bulged, and the man himself stumbled into the room, bowing before them and throwing wide his arms as if to indicate the state of his apparel. “_Señorita! Señora!_” he said, and bowed again, once to each of them. “’Tis Captain Fly-by-Night!” the _señora_ gasped. “Such I am called, sweet lady. ’Tis unceremonious, I realise, to call upon ladies without being announced, especially when they are in a bed-chamber, and twice especially when a man enters by means of a fireplace that is none too clean. My condition desolates me, _señora_ and _señorita_, but circumstances are such that I am unable to appear before you properly shaved and dressed in clean clothing. I trust you will overlook the matter this once? It never will happen again--if I can prevent it.” “You? Here?” The _señorita_ had found her voice now. “I do not wonder you have difficulty in recognising me----”