He was detained in Acapulco several days before he had an opportunity of leaving for the isthmus. During that time he learned, by a messenger whom Don Miguel sent him, that, during the Don's absence from the house in the two days of his journey to town and back, Dr. Seltzer had returned there, possessed himself of every article of value which he could carry away upon his person, including the Donna's jewels, which she had inherited from her mother, and a large sum in gold, and had persuaded his wife to accompany his flying fortunes to some unknown region. In the letter which Don Miguel wrote to the stranger, he expressed himself as one robbed and left desolate. It was not the loss of money or jewels, but the loss of his poor, confiding, loving child, that he dwelt upon. The Donna's was one of those impulsive, impassioned natures which must love, even if it knows the object unworthy. No deed which her husband could commit could make him otherwise to her than the man with whose fate her own was linked for "better or worse." Mr. Burton folded up the letter with a sigh; no power of his could amend the fate of this young creature, which promised to be so sad. While he remained in the ruinous old place he used extraordinary precautions to insure his own safety; for he believed that Dr. Seltzer, or George Thorley, would seek revenge upon him, not only for the sake of the revenge, but to silence the accusation which he might carry back to the States. It was well that he was thus careful, as, among other proofs that he was thus pursued, was the following. One afternoon, as he sat in the great, breezy corridor of the hotel, an old woman came in with a basket and offered to sell him some particularly fine oranges. He bought a couple of the largest, and was about to eat one, when he observed that she did _not_ offer the fruit to any other customer; upon this, he regarded her more closely, and was satisfied that all was not right. When she had lingered a time to notice if he ate the fruit, he strolled out to the street, and in her presence called up a stray pig, to which he fed pieces of the orange. When she saw this, the old hag, who was an Indian, quickly disappeared, and shortly after the pig died. It was, therefore, with feelings of satisfaction that the detective finally bade farewell to Acapulco on a return steamer. He had waited some time at the isthmus, where the days had hung heavily, but he had comforted himself with his motto about patience; and now, as he assured me at the close of his narrative, "If heaven would give us a propitious passage home we should be _in time_--all would be right." Day was breaking when Mr. Burton finished his narrative; the rain had ceased, but a thick fog hung over the sea and land, making every thing gloomy and disagreeable. "I must go now, and awaken my little girl," he said, rising. "But you have not read me the written confession of that Thorley."