When otherwise--when the preferred rival is worthless, socially or morally, then is the humiliation complete--overwhelming. It is self-love stung to the quick. Such a humiliation was I called upon to suffer. With all my pretensions of pride--a conceit in the possession of certain superiorities, mental as well as physical; courage, talent, strength, activity; a position not humble; a reputation each day increasing; with, and in spite of all these, I saw that my suit had been slighted, and the favour I coveted more than aught upon earth, bestowed upon another. And who that other? A _bandolero_! A robber! It was the very wantonness of woe that swept over my heart, whelming it with terrible desolation! I stood like a stranded ship with the huge seas breaking over her. Waves of passion rushed impetuously through my breast, black as the billows of the storm-contorted ocean. The spectacle, while stirring me to anger, at the same time kept me fixed to the spot. I made no movement--either forward or backward. I felt paralysed with a passion, such as I hope I may never feel again. The world seemed full of woe! For a time I was unable to reflect. My thoughts were but instincts, now woeful, now wicked--now despairing, now tending to resolves. One a little nobler at length took possession of me. My own fate was sealed; but not that of Dolores Villa-Senor--which to me seemed equally dark, and drear. Was it possible to save her? I had not heard those mystic words that rivet the golden chain of wedlock, "With this ring I thee wed." The shining symbol had not yet appeared upon her finger. There was still time to interrupt the ceremony. A single breath into the silver tube, that hung suspended over my breast, would stay it; and, before it could be resumed, the green jackets would be around me. It was no thought of danger that withheld me from sounding that signal. I was too unhappy to have a feeling of fear; too reckless to care a straw for any consequences to myself. At that moment I could have rushed into the presence of the bridal group, and defied one and all to the death! It was neither caution, nor a craven spirit, that restrained me; but an instinct more ignoble than either--an instinct of revenge. Dolores had adopted her destiny. However dark it might prove, it was not for me to attempt turning it aside. She would not thank me for saving her. Sweeter would be my triumph to show her the man she had chosen for husband, in my power--a scorned captive at my feet. So ran my ungenerous reflections. "Let the marriage go on!" I muttered to him by my side. "She shall be wed, and--widowed!" In all my life I never felt so spitefully cruel--so desirous of retaliation. Every spark of chivalric thought had departed from my soul.