Gertrudis again sighed. "Ah! I can distinguish him now," continued Marianita. "It is a priest who rides the mule. Well, a priest is better than nobody--especially if he can play as well on the mandolin as the last one that travelled this way, and stayed two days with us. He! He is coming on a gallop--that's not a bad sign. But no! he has a very grave, demure look. Ah! he sees me; he is waving a salute. Well, I must go down and kiss his hand, I suppose." Saying these words, the young Creole--whose education taught her that it was her duty to kiss the hand of every priest who came to the hacienda-- pursed up her pretty rose-coloured lips in a saucy mocking fashion. "Come, Gertrudis!" continued she; "come along with me. He is just by the entrance gate!" "Do you see no one upon the plain?" inquired Gertrudis, not appearing to trouble herself about the arrival of the priest. "No other horseman-- Don Fernando, for instance?" "Ah, yes!" answered Marianita, once more looking from the window. "Don Fernando transformed into a mule-driver, who is forcing his _recua_ into a gallop, as if he wished the loaded animals to run a race with one another! Why, the muleteer is making for the hacienda, as well as the priest, and galloping like him, too! What on earth can be the matter with the people? One would think that they had taken leave of their senses!" The clanging of bolts and creaking hinges announced the opening of the great gate; and this, followed by a confused clatter of hoof-strokes, told that the mule-driver with his train of animals was also about to receive the hospitality of the hacienda. This circumstance, contrary to all usage, somewhat surprised the young girls, who were wondering why the house was being thus turned into an hostelry. They were further surprised at hearing an unusual stir in the courtyard--the servants of the establishment talking in a clamorous medley of voices, and footsteps falling heavily on the pavements and stone stairs leading up to the _azotea_ of the building. "Jesus!" exclaimed Marianita, making the sign of the cross; "is the hacienda going to be besieged, I wonder? Mercy on us! I hope the insurgent brigands may not be coming to attack us!" "Shame, sister!" said Gertrudis, in a tone of calm reproach. "Why do you call them brigands?--these men who are fighting for their liberties, and who are led by venerable priests?" "Why do I call them brigands?" brusquely responded Marianita. "Because they hate the Spaniards, whose pure blood runs in our veins; and because," continued she--the impetuous Creole blood mounting to her cheek--"because _I_ love a Spaniard!" "Ah!" replied Gertrudis, in the same reproachful tone; "you perhaps only fancy you love him? In my opinion, sister, true love presents certain symptoms which I don't perceive in you."