A dyspeptic, worn with work and anxieties, his nervous system shattered, Garcia was subject to fits of petulance which were ludicrous. In these rages he called everybody who would bear it pigs, dogs, and other more unsavory nicknames. Coronado bore it because thus he got his living, and got it without much labor. "I want you," gasped Garcia, seizing the young man by the arm and dragging him into a private room. "I want to speak to you in confidence--in confidence, mind you, in confidence--about Muñoz." "I have heard of it," said Coronado, as the old man stopped to catch his breath. "Heard of it!" exclaimed Garcia, in such consternation that he turned yellow, which was his way of turning pale. "Has the news got here? O Madre de Dios!" "Yes, I was at our little cousin's this evening. It is an ugly affair." "And _she_ knows it?" groaned the old man. "O Madre de Dios!" "She told me of it. She is going there. I did the best I could. She was about to go overland, in charge of the American, Thurstane. I broke that up. I persuaded her to go by the isthmus." "It is of little use," said Garcia, his eyes filmy with despair, as if he were dying. "She will get there. The property will be hers." "Not necessarily. He has simply invited her to live with him. She may not suit." "How?" demanded Garcia, open-eyed and open-mouthed with anxiety. "He has simply invited her to live with him," repeated Coronado. "I saw the letter." "What! you don't know, then?" "Know what?" "Muñoz is dead." Coronado threw out, first a stare of surprise, and then a shout of laughter. "And here they have just got a letter from him," he said presently; "and I have been persuading her to go to him by the isthmus!" "May the journey take her to him!" muttered Garcia. "How old was this letter?" "Nearly three months. It came by sea, first to New York, and then here." "My news is a month later. It came overland by special messenger. Listen to me, Carlos. This affair is worse than you know. Do you know what Muñoz has done? Oh, the pig! the dog! the villainous pig! He has left everything to his granddaughter." Coronado, dumb with astonishment and dismay, mechanically slapped his boot with his cane and stared at Garcia. "I am ruined," cried the old man. "The pig of hell has ruined me. He has left me, his cousin, his only male relative, to ruin. Not a doubloon to save me.' "Is there _no_ chance?" asked Coronado, after a long silence. "None! Oh--yes--one. A little one, a miserable little one. If she dies without issue and without a will, I am heir. And you, Carlos" (changing here to a wheedling tone), "you are mine." The look which accompanied these last words was a terrible mingling of cunning, cruelty, hope, and despair. Coronado glanced at Garcia with a shocking comprehension, and immediately dropped his dusky eyes upon the floor. "You know I have made my will," resumed the old man, "and left you everything."