Mantanez, the boatman, learned before long that the shop was closed, and naturally fearing that Miralda had been taken ill, he hurried around to make inquiry. What he heard was disquieting enough, but he could not, would not believe it, until he had gone to Cerito to see for himself. In the gown of a monk he gained access to the grounds, and walked slowly by, singing the verse of a song that Miralda liked, meanwhile scanning the windows closely. His heart gave a leap, and then sank miserably low, for his love appeared behind the bars of an upper window. She stretched her hands to him appealingly, told him in a few half-whispered words the story of her abduction, implored him to hurry back to town, put the case before General Tacon and demand justice. Mantanez did so. The tale was so unusual that the general made him swear to the truth of it on his knees before the crucifix. Then he sent for the count and ordered him to bring the girl with him. In two hours they were at the palace. The general looked searchingly at Almonte. "It is a strange charge that has been brought against you, count," said he, "that of stealing a woman in open day, taking her to your house and keeping her under lock and key." "The young woman has been well treated, general." "You arrested her?" "Yes." "In our uniform?" "It was the only way. I loved her." "You still love her?" "To distraction." "Humph! We shall see. Orderly, send a priest to me, and tell him to come prepared to perform a marriage ceremony." Tacon was sphinx-like, and busied himself with his papers. The count was puzzled, yet smiling, and disposed to be incredulous. The girl and her lover wore looks of doubt and fear. The priest arrived. "Father," said Tacon, "you will make the Count Almonte and Miralda Estalez man and wife." "Impossible!" exclaimed the count. "You have just said that you loved her." "But, your Excellency, you seem to forget that she is but a girl of the people. I have to remind you that I am of the Spanish nobility; that my ancestors--" "Tush, tush! What have your ancestors to do here? You have ruined the girl, and you shall make amends, here and now." Miralda clasped her hands in a passion of entreaty, and her betrothed, the boatman, sank upon a bench, overcome with despair. "I am sorry for you," continued Tacon, "but there is no other way. Proceed with the ceremony."