A whispered consultation ensued between the pair, but of brief duration; for Eltorena seemed in haste. “Keep due south,” said he, as he prepared to return, “until you reach Martiniez’ avenue—then turn west, until you are opposite the south entrance, and approach cautiously.” With those words he turned away; and retracing his steps with great rapidity, soon came in view of the sentinel, who had permitted him to pass. “_Quien va la?_” hailed the latter, presenting his musket. But Eltorena only answered by a low whistle, and boldly advanced. As he approached, the sentinel again shouldered his piece, and a consultation ensued between _them_, also—the youth pointing out the direction which he had indicated to his confederate at the river, and then passing into the mansion. The sentinel resumed his pace up and down his post—pausing from time to time with his ear bent toward the east, as if waiting for some expected sound. But every thing was as still as a summer night in the north; and though the moon was now rising over the eastern hills, there was not a moving thing perceptible to the eye. * * * * * While these things were going on without, the hour appointed for the ceremony of marriage was fast approaching; and one of the parties, at least, was filled with anxious fears. Margarita had delayed her preparations as much as possible; but the assistance of her women, with which it would have been more politic to have dispensed, had, even against her will, so expedited them, that she was fully ready at the time. Nor, had it been otherwise, was the count disposed to permit any further procrastination; for, punctually to the minute, he knocked at her door, and, without waiting a summons to enter, threw it open and stepped across the threshold. “I am glad to see you ready,” said he, throwing as much kindness into his manner as his consciousness of wrong permitted. “Come, the chapel is prepared, and the _padre_ awaits us.” “Count,” said the intended bride, trembling with apprehension, but anxious to make another effort for delay, “cannot this ceremony be as well performed to-morrow? I do not like this indecent haste.” “It must be performed to-night—_now_,” he replied calmly. “If you refuse, you know the alternative. I will not be trifled with.” “I am not trifling with you, indeed,” said she hurriedly. “But reflect—my mother is scarcely cold in her grave!” “The better reason why you should observe her wishes,” De Marsiac replied. “I have considered all that, and find no reason to change my mind. If you intend to redeem your pledge at all, it is as well to-night as to-morrow. If you are willing to sacrifice your friends, _los Americanos_, your refusal to-night will only give me my revenge sooner!”