"No I won't," retorted Jack, grimly, "I'll hold out until I find Dolores. And find her I will, whether she is in that d—d temple, or with the cursed Don Hypolito."
"If she is with Don Hypolito," said Philip, as he hurried along beside his friend, "we can go up to Acauhtzin in my yacht, and demand her to be given up; but if the Indians have her, I am afraid we shall never see her. No one knows where the temple is."
"I don't care if it is in the moon," cried Duval, doggedly. "I'll hunt those infernal Indians out and make them pay for this. Of two evils I choose the least, and I trust and believe she is with those opal-stone fanatics rather than at Acauhtzin."
"Don Hypolito——"
"He is a devil!" rejoined Jack, fiercely. "If she is with him, God help her! And God help him!" added the young man, in a low voice of concentrated hatred, "if I get my fingers on his throat."
Philip heartily endorsed this opinion; but, afraid of adding to Jack's worry, kept his thoughts to himself. They speedily arrived at Casa Maraquando, and found Rafael on the azotea, looking seaward with a marine telescope. He turned round sharply as he heard their footsteps, and pointed due east.
"She is gone," he said, with a gesture of despair.
"Dolores?" said Jack, whose brain only held one idea.
"Yes; and The Pizarro!"
"In that case, I am afraid Doña Dolores has been carried off by Don Hypolito," observed Philip, taking the glass from Rafael. "No doubt that cursed zambo induced her to go down to the sea-gate on some pretext, and then took her off to the war-ship, which stood in to land under cover of darkness."