“No more mourning,” she whispered rapidly. “No more. I am too young to have a lover’s grave in my life--and too proud to submit....” “Never,” I protested ardently. “That couldn’t be.” “Therefore look to it, Juan, that you do not sacrifice your life which is mine, either to your love--or--or--to revenge.” She bowed her head; the falling hair concealed her face. “For it would be in vain.” “The cloak is perfectly dry now, Señorita,” said Castro, reclining on his elbow on the edge of the darkness. We two stepped out towards the entrance, leaving her on her knees, in silent prayer, with her hands clasped on her forehead, and leaning against the rugged wall of rock. Outside, the earth, enveloped in fire and uproar, seemed to have been given over to the fury of a devil. Yes. She was right. O’Brien was a formidable and deadly enemy. I wished ourselves on board the _Lion_ chaperoned by Mrs. Williams, and in the middle of the Atlantic. Nothing could make us really safe from his hatred but the vastness of the ocean. Meantime we had a shelter, for that night, at least, in this cavern that seemed big enough to contain, in its black gloom of a burial vault, all the dust and passions and hates of a nation.... Afterwards Castro and I sat murmuring by the diminished fire. He had much to say about the history of this cave. There was a tradition that the ancient buccaneers had held their revels in it. The stone on which the senorita had been sitting was supposed to have been the throne of their chief. A ferocious band they were, without the fear of God or devil--mostly English. The Rio Medio picaroons had used this cavern, occasionally, up to a year or so ago. But there were always ugly affairs with the people on the estate--the _vaqueros_. In his younger days Don Balthasar, having whole leagues of grass land here, had introduced a herd of cattle; then, as the Africans are useless for that work, he had ordered some peons from Mexico to be brought over with their families--ignorant men, who hardly knew how to make the sign of the cross. The quarrels had been about the cattle, which the _Lugareños_ killed for meat. The peons rode over them, and there were many wounds on both sides. Then, the last time a Rio Medio schooner was lying here (after looting a ship outside), there was some gambling going on (they played round this very stone), and Manuel--(_Si, Señor_, this same Manuel the singer--_Bestia!_)--in a dispute over the stakes, killed a peon, striking him unexpectedly with a knife in the throat. No vengeance was taken for this, because the _Lugareños_ sailed away at once; but the widow made a great noise, and some rumours came to the ears of Don Balthasar himself--for he, Castro, had been honoured with a mission to visit the estate. That was even the first occasion of Manuel’s hate for him--Castro. And, as usual, the Intendente after all settled the matter as he liked, and nothing was done to Manuel. Don Balthasar was old, and,