"Only of late," continued Don Eusebio, "in fact within the last few days, was I made acquainted with a circumstance, that caused me both anger and alarm. I learnt that some intimate relations had become established between my elder daughter, Dolores, and a young man in no way worthy of forming an alliance with our family. Know, sir, that the name _Villa-Senor_ is one. But why dwell upon that? I could not look upon my child, and think of her disgrace. For that reason I determined that she should pass the rest of her days in expiating the crime she had committed." "Crime! What crime?" It would be difficult to describe the sensation I felt while putting this question, or the agony with which I awaited the answer. "That of consenting to unite herself--for it had come to giving her consent--to one of low birth; of listening to vows of love from the lips of a peasant--a _lepero_!" "Was he this?" "Si, senor; was, and is. Through the state of anarchy and revolution from which this unfortunate country has long suffered, like many others of his class, he has risen to the paltry distinction of being an officer in our army--a captain, I believe. Among you, I am aware, the title is one of distinction--not so easily earned, and substantial when obtained. In the army of our so-called Republic, a swineherd to-day may be a captain to-morrow; and the captain of to-morrow a _salteador_ the day following!" "Of course you know the name of this captain--whom you deem so unworthy of your daughter?" The question was put mechanically, and without care for the answer. I knew that the name would be "Francisco Moreno." It was. CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. DON SAMUEL BRUNO. Before separating from Don Eusebio I received from him a detailed account of the coach robbery, with all the allied incidents. It was necessary I should know everything; and everything was made known to me. In addition to what he had already communicated, there was one fact of a curious, if not comical, character. Before permitting him to depart in the _diligencia_, the brigands had taken his bond for ten thousand dollars--as collateral security against the ransom of his daughters! They had even gone so far as to require it in the shape of a written _acceptance_--to be cancelled and sent back along with the senoritas, whenever the cash should be forthcoming! Such were the quaint stipulations of the _salteadores_! Though sounding strange to English ears, no Mexican would be at all surprised at them. Oft and again have similar bargains been made--and kept--among the mountains of Mexico! There was something that still perplexed me. How was this queer contract to be carried out?