She ran for her lover.--Her artifice succeeded. Elfred was admitted to the lodge. The music of his flute, his frequent conversations with the Mexican in his own language, tended somewhat to revive humanity in the seared breast of the outlaw. But the doting father could not be induced to yield up his daughter to the solicitations of Clermont, who was at length obliged, quite in despair, to cease pressing his suit with the old man, though he still visited at the lodge. Almirena’s filial piety was too closely interwoven with her father’s happiness to allow her to thwart his wishes, yet at the same time she twined about Elfred in all the artlessness and strength of her love. The exiles were seated one afternoon in the front apartment of the cottage, when the door was darkened by a strange form. The features of Velasque broke upon them like a fiend’s, hellish with revenge, blood-shot with lust. The outlaw stirred not, only hoarsely uttered ‘devil!’ ‘I have come for my revenge,’ alternated the intruder, in a tone of cool, malignant triumph. Almirena shrieked out as the tiger-like eyes of Velasque gleamed upon her. The young Mexican immediately assumed a more familiar manner, and declared to the imperturbed outlaw, that he had been convicted of piracy in his own country, and that himself was accompanied by a party of United States officers, who were furnished with a warrant for his arrest from their Government. While they delayed in the woods, he had advanced professedly to reconnoitre, but really to parley. ‘You may escape if’---- ‘If!’ thundered out the infuriated father. He checked his words. For a moment the storm of feeling raged within his breast. ‘I die,’ at length he said. ‘But we will pray before we go. Yonder is the image of our Mother.’ He led his daughter into a back room. ‘Now pray for protection.’ He whispered in agony, ‘fly--fly to your boat--you will be safe. I suffer for my guilt.’ The terrified child, the affectionate daughter, would have stayed by her father. But he sternly urged her forward. She sped her way to the lake. Velasque, suspecting an artifice, advanced; and missing his victim, dashed impetuously by Herraras, hurling the old man to the floor as he impotently endeavored to oppose him, and ran down the wood-skirted path to the waters. The resolute girl had pushed her canoe from the shore, and standing erect was vigorously plying her oar. Her pursuer seized her father’s boat; but the wind was up, and the waves mocked his strong-nerved efforts. She seemingly leaped from crest to crest. He called after her. The wind returned upon him his voice; and her flowing locks streamed in wilder witchery to his view. Nearing the shore, she sprang from her boat, and bounded away like a young fawn through the forest, leaving her vexed pursuer far behind.