Stoneheart gazed with admiration at the mother who did not hesitate to sacrifice her son to her sense of duty, regardless of the boundless love she bore him. He felt himself a weakling, compared with this self-denial. Words failed him, and he could only manifest by signs his acquiescence in a wish so energetically expressed.
"Go, my sons," she continued, raising her eyes to heaven with an expression of holy fervour; "God, who sees all, sees your devotedness. He will reward you. The rule of the wicked on earth is short; the protection of the Almighty will be with you—will defend you in every danger. Go without fear; He tells me you will prosper in your undertaking. Farewell!"
"Farewell, mother," replied the two men, moved even to tears.
The noble woman pressed them to her heart, but could not part from them without an effort. "Remember this law," she said,—"it is the basis of honour: do your duty, whatever may happen. Farewell, farewell!" She turned, and hastily entered the jacal for, in spite of herself, tears were regaining the mastery, and she would weaken their resolution. The others were silent for a time, looking steadfastly at the jacal.
"You see," said Don Estevan, at last, "my mother herself orders me to follow you."
"Be it as you will, then," said Stoneheart, with a sigh; "I will no longer oppose your wishes."
"Thank Heaven!" exclaimed the mayor domo.
Stoneheart carefully examined the heavens. "It is two o'clock," he said; "at half past three it will be daylight. We must go."
Don Estevan left him, to bring up the horses. They were soon saddled. The men left the camp, gave their horses the spur, and dashed into the desert. By sunrise they had ridden six leagues. They were following the course of one of those nameless rivers which traverse the wilderness in every direction, and ultimately fall into some larger stream.
"Let us halt here a while," said Stoneheart; "first to breathe our horses, and then to take a few precautions indispensable to our success."