The anteroom of the fort they found in a state of wild confusion. The dead bodies of the sentry and the others the two cavaliers had cut down on the stairs were ruthlessly thrust aside, and the party of gentlemen with the Viceroy in the lead poured into the guardroom. There, on his back, was stretched the hideous body of the half-breed where he had fallen. There, farther away, the unfortunate de Tobar lay, gasping for breath yet making no outcry. He was leaning on his arm and staring across the room, with anguish in his face not due to the wound he had received but to a sight which broke his heart.
"Alas, de Tobar!" cried the Viceroy. "Where is Mercedes?"
He followed the glance of the dying man. There at the other side of the room lay a prostrate body, and over it bent a moaning, sobbing figure. It was Mercedes.
"Mercedes!" cried the Viceroy running toward her. "Alvarado!"
"Tell me," he asked in a heartbreaking voice. "Art thou——"
"Safe yet and—well," answered the girl; "they came in the very nick of time. Oh, Alvarado, Alvarado!" she moaned.
"Señorita," cried one of the officers, "Don Felipe here is dying. He would speak with you."
Mercedes suffered herself to be led to where de Tobar lay upon the floor. One of his comrades had taken his head on his knee. The very seconds of his life were numbered. Lovely in her grief Mercedes knelt at his side, a great pity in her heart. The Viceroy stepped close to him.
"I thank you, too," she said. "Poor Don Felipe, he and you saved me, but at the expense of your lives. Would God you could have been spared!"
"Nay," gasped the dying man, "thou lovest him. I—watched thee. I heard thee call upon his name. Thou wert not for me, and so I die willingly. He is a noble gentleman. Would he might have won thee!"