"'Mi Paquita poco,' said I, taking her sweet face between my hands—so—when she had come to know me for her uncle and the tears of her greeting were dry, 'Paquita mia, henceforth, and in memory of the great sorrow that was thy mother's and mine, thou shalt be Dolores. May God and the Blessed Virgin ever fend you from the like!' And, repeating my vow inwardly as a prayer, I kissed her solemnly and departed, leaving her in the care of the women, who had come to love her as their own."
After pawning the dagger to an American dealer in curios, he departed for the mines. Thence onward his progress was marked by success from a worldly point of view, and he was soon able to establish intimate business relations with the object of his hatred. Two incidents marked his return to the city, both of which were destined to exercise a powerful influence over the future. One was the fact that the dealer with whom he had left the dagger as a pledge had departed, no one knew whither, and the dagger was not to be found; the other was the astonishing intelligence, acquired by an infinity of toil and patient waiting, that De Sanchez and General Westbrook were responsible for his uncle's bankruptcy. The General was straightway included in his hatred and scheme of vengeance.
But a controlling strain of fatalism and superstition in the man stayed his hand; he was convinced that his sister's dagger would come to him again; that its return would be the signal to strike; and he bided the time, watching De Sanchez as a cat might watch the mouse marked for its prey. With instinctive caution, though, Castillo had avoided General Westbrook, so the latter never became familiar with his presence and appearance. He continued:
"I gradually won the confidence of Alberto de Sanchez; soon we had immense interests in common—here—there—everywhere; and these, I always took care, should be profitable for him, even though I might lose thereby myself.
"But never, for some reason, could I gain his unreserved friendship, though I strove to that end daily. There was something intangible, unnamable, unseen by either of us, that ever stood between him and me, and this I could not overcome. Nothing could have surprised my mask of a face or my near-sighted eyes into betraying, by so much as would cover a needle's point, the seething fire of hate for this man that burned within; but as I watched him, unceasingly, I caught now and then a puzzled look in his eyes as they regarded Juan de Vargas—an expression in which there was something of fear; and I knew that he was reminded, in a dim way, of the evil he had done. There was something in my presence that made him ponder without understanding, and would not allow him to forget.
"In many ways Alberto de Sanchez, without knowing it, allowed to escape him that upon which his mind was turning when his brooding glance rested upon me. Once, at the organization of a mining company in which I then had some small interest, the question of a name arose. The Señor de Sanchez was regarding me with the wondering look that had become so familiar.
"'Paquita,' he said, half aloud, as one musing, 'The Paquita Gold Mining and Milling Company.' And I, señores—I perforce led the laugh that followed, the while my fingers twitched for his throat.
"What emotions stirred uneasily in that dark bosom, señores? Quien sabe?"
During this time General Westbrook was usually in the United States. On one occasion Joyce accompanied him to Mexico, and De Sanchez fell madly in love with her.
"As you know," said Castillo, "the Señor Westbrook's one virtue was his regard for and pride in his family; for their sake had he resorted to infamy. He knew the Señor de Sanchez to be a rascal; he might do very well as a business associate; but deliver his cherished daughter into that rascal's possession? No. On the other hand, De Sanchez had that which could defeat the very object of the other's villany—knowledge of it. He had but to come forward with the proofs, and the proud General would be humbled to the dust; his name would become an execration on the lips of his friends; his fortune would be taken from him—all that for which he had stolen would be lost. However great as a soldier the Señor Westbrook might have been, he was a coward here; and De Sanchez was too cunning and shrewd a scoundrel to overlook this weak spot in striving for his ends. Fate had started this game of conflicting interests, and I had but to watch and encourage it. Of course, you would say, the Señor de Sanchez would have likewise ruined himself by such an exposure; but to such a madness was he driven, when the señorita was not immediately given to him, that I feared for a time he would destroy all.