“What mean you, Nascio?” he said, grasping the man's arm, which was still mechanically making the sign of the cross, as he muttered incoherently. “Speak, I command you!” “It is Jose, the little vacquero, who is even now at the padre's house, raving as a lunatic, stricken as a madman with terror! He has seen him,--the dead alive! Save us!” “Are you mad yourself, Nascio?” said Clarence. “Whom has he seen?” “Whom? God help us! the old padron--Senor Peyton himself! He rushed towards him here, in the patio, last night--out of the air, the sky, the ground, he knew not,--his own self, wrapped in his old storm cloak and hat, and riding his own horse,--erect, terrible, and menacing, with an awful hand upholding a rope--so! He saw him with these eyes, as I see you. What HE said to him, God knows! The priest, perhaps, for he has made confession!” In a flash of intelligence Clarence comprehended all. He rose grimly and began to dress himself. “Not a word of this to the women,--to any one, Nascio, dost thou understand?” he said curtly. “It may be that Jose has been partaking too freely of aguardiente,--it is possible. I will see the priest myself. But what possesses thee? Collect thyself, good Nascio.” But the man was still trembling. “It is not all,--Mother of God! it is not all, master!” he stammered, dropping to his knees and still crossing himself. “This morning, beside the corral, they find the horse of Pedro Valdez splashed and spattered on saddle and bridle, and in the stirrup,--dost thou hear? the STIRRUP,--hanging, the torn-off boot of Valdez! Ah, God! The same as HIS! Now do you understand? It is HIS vengeance. No! Jesu forgive me! it is the vengeance of God!” Clarence was staggered. “And you have not found Valdez? You have looked for him?” he said, hurriedly throwing on his clothes. “Everywhere,--all over the plain. The whole rancho has been out since sunrise,--here and there and everywhere. And there is nothing! Of course not. What would you?” He pointed solemnly to the ground. “Nonsense!” said Clarence, buttoning his coat and seizing his hat. “Follow me.” He ran down the passage, followed by Incarnacion, through the excited, gesticulating crowd of servants in the patio, and out of the back gate. He turned first along the wall of the casa towards the barred window of the boudoir. Then a cry came from Incarnacion. They ran quickly forward. Hanging from the grating of the window, like a mass of limp and saturated clothes, was the body of Pedro Valdez, with one unbooted foot dangling within an inch of the ground. His head was passed inside the grating and fixed as at that moment when the first spring of the frightened horse had broken his neck between the bars as in a garrote, and the second plunge of the terrified animal had carried off his boot in the caught stirrup when it escaped. CHAPTER XI.