Inside all was darkness; though we could tell that the place was still tenanted,--by the groans that proceeded from the adjacent chamber. A light was struck; and we commenced exploring the apartments. In the dining-room there was no one--a banquet spread--but without guest to partake of it! We turned into the _sala grande_--from whence proceeded the lugubrious sounds. The scene--so late one of merriment--was now a spectacle of death! Two men were lying along the floor. One might have been supposed asleep: as he lay quite silent. But a red rivulet, trickling from its source underneath him, and terminating on the tiles in a pool of blood-- told that it was the silence of death. The other, also surrounded by seams of smoking gore, still lived and moved. It was he who was making moan. On stooping over him, I recognised the features of Francisco Moreno. They were still handsome, though terribly distorted by his struggle, as I supposed, with death. It was no use asking an explanation from him. I saw that he did not know me! There was a thought in my mind at the moment--an unsanctified thought. A rival had been removed from my path. Francisco Moreno was no longer in my way! But it could not matter now. The relief had come too late! "Hilloa, what's this?" exclaimed one of the men, poking his rifle under the _banquette_, and pressing it against what appeared a large bundle done up in Kentucky jeans. "By the Almighty, it's a monk!" "You're right, caballero," answered a voice, from under the envelope of grey-blue serge, which, on closer inspection, proved to be the gown of a Franciscan friar. "A monk I am--at your service, caballeros. _Sangre de Crista_! It's the merest, accident that I'm a living one. O, senores; I perceive that you are _hombres buenos_; and that the _ladrones_ have retreated at your approach. Say that they are gone; and that I need have no further fear?" "Two on 'em haint gone fur," replied the stage-driver; "thar they lie-- right afore yur eyes, Padre Cornaga." "Ah! you know me, good sir? _Santissima_, it's the driver of the _diligencia_--the worthy Don Samuel Bruno! What! _these_ robbers? _Por Dios_, no! They are gentlemen!" "A queery kind o' gentlemen, I reckin'." "'Tis true as I say it, Senor Don Samuel. _Caballeros--hombres honestos_--both these unfortunate young men. _Ay de mi_!" added the monk, stooping down over one of the prostrate forms. "This is the son of our _Juez de Letras_ (judge of the Criminal court). Many a robber have I shrived after sentence passed by his honoured father. And this," he continued, turning to Francisco, "Ah! senores, this is the bridegroom himself--_asesinado_--in the presence of his bride, and under the sacred shadow of the altar, that should have protected him from anything! _Pobre Dolores! Pobre Dolores_!" "It is the name of a lady. How came _she_ to be here? You say these men are not robbers--what are they?"