"Miscreants, knaves, cutthroats!" shrieked Rogelio. "You shall pay dear for this night!" Duero surveyed him darkly, hunched his shoulder, and thrust out his chin, and the _veedor_ sank into a chair. The soldier eyed him for a moment, and turned to the lady. "Señora, I surmise thou hast come to care for the girl. She needeth it, God knoweth, and the less time lost the better. Come. I have the key." Rogelio sprang up to follow, but once more the hunch of shoulder, the thrust of chin, and the scowling look askance, and he sat. Duero winked at the señora as he turned to lead the way, and ignoring her snort of resentment of the liberty, went out. She followed, and halting at the Ñusta’s door, he said, as he unfastened, "Pedro hath told thee of this Rogelio?" "Briefly, that he is a toad," responded the señora. "Brief, but most precise! Pedro hath a good head. Now, Señora, I’ll leave thee to enter, and the door unlocked. If thou hast need of aught, thou’lt find us entertaining the _veedor_ for an hour or more. I’ll have him send a bowl of broth at once. Adiós." Duero rejoined the others, and they sat long making their host unhappy; then, having promised him with evident sincerity that if he whispered a complaint he would find himself some morning with a severed windpipe, they took their leave. Señora Bolio went to the couch. Rava had raised her head, but perceiving the invader was a woman, rose to her knees, her eyes streaming, and voice broken with sobs. With arms outstretched, she poured forth an impassioned supplication in words to the stranger unknown,—in words unknown, but with meaning clear, and an eloquence that went straight to the heart of the señora. For the señora had a heart. It beat somewhat wildly at times, and at times with vehement hostility toward the sex which had worked it countless wrongs; but like other hearts that flame, it had its gentler warmth. The appeal of the injured and helpless girl touched her womanliness, and she hastened to her side. "Poor dearie!" she exclaimed, seating herself and drawing the sobbing prisoner to her breast. "Poor little waif! Have they been cruel, these men? Ah, may the devil roast them well! Do not weep, love. Do not weep, chiquita. They shall not harm thee more. Let the _veedor_ beware. Let him come to trouble thee, and we’ll unjoint him—will we not, little one? We’ll put a twist in his neck, thou and I, that will let him look at his shoulderblades to his heart’s content—will we not, my dove? Ah! That we’ll do, and more, if he but roll his eyes aslant at thee!"