"Where is Don Miguel?"
"My father was summoned before dawn to a special meeting of the Junta. I believe the assemblage has been sitting all night to deliberate on what is to be done."
"Oh, my poor Dolores," groaned Jack, covering his face with his hands; "where are you now?"
"She is on board The Pizarro, I doubt not, Don Juan," said Rafael, approaching the young English-man, "I feel sure this is the case. But courage, mi amigo, we will save your dear one yet."
"My dear one!" stammered Duval, in some perplexity.
Don Rafael slipped his arm within that of Jack's, and smiled kindly. "Oh, I know all, Juan. Dolores told me of your love when I returned from Acauhtzin."
"And you are not angry?"
"Eh! mi amigo! Why should I be angry? It is true you are an Americano—a heretic! but do I not know what love is myself? This makes me kind to you, and when the war is over, I will do all in my power to aid you with my father."
"Gracias Rafael!" rejoined Duval, wringing his friend's hand with intense gratitude; "but first we must rescue Dolores from the Indians."
"I tell you she is not with the Indians, Jack," said Philip, who had been at the other end of the terrace and just returned within earshot; "she is on board The Pizarro."