"Buenos Dias, Señores," said Maraquando, as the young men arose from their meal. "I have news."
"Of Doña Dolores, Señor?"
"Yes, Don Felipe. Sad news! Alas! there is no doubt of it. She is on board The Pizarro."
"How is this, my father?" asked Rafael, as Jack resumed his seat with a visage of despair.
"A fishing-boat came into the port late last night, and the men reported that they had passed a skiff containing a man and a veiled woman, making for The Pizarro."
"Dolores!" sighed Jack, sadly; "but then, Señor Maraquando," he added, with reviving hope, "it might have been Marina."
"No, Señor. Marina was here when Padre Ignatius told us the boat was taken. I fear it is true. My poor niece has been decoyed away by that accursed zambo, and carried to the war-ship. Now she is on her way to Acauhtzin—to the rebel Xuarez."
"Cheer up, old fellow!" cried Tim, thumping Jack on the shoulder, with a heavy but kindly fist. "We'll have the colleen back soon. We're all going to fight the rebels this day."
"What's that, Tim? The Bohemian——"
"Hold on, Jack! Don Miguel is speaking; he'll tell you all!"