Don Torribio was terribly agitated when he left the house. He looked back, and cast a venomous eye on the windows of the room, on which he could see the graceful shadow of Doña Hermosa.
"Proud girl," said he in a terrible voice, "I hate you with all the power of the love I once felt for you! Soon, very soon, I will punish you for your disdain."
Then, wrapping his cloak around him, he rapidly took the direction of the nearest patio (out-buildings), where he hoped to find his horse. Indeed, he found him there; a peon holding the bridle. Don Torribio seized the reins, threw the peon a piastre, flung himself into the saddle, and rode off at a gallop.
"Wagh!" said the Indian, picking up the money; "What ails the young master? One would think him mad. How he scampered off!"
In the meantime Don Torribio had left the hacienda behind him, and was making all haste on the road to San Lucar.
But he had not ridden more than a quarter of an hour, when suddenly, at a turn of the road, his horse gave a start of terror, reared, and flew round, with his ears laid close to his head. Don Torribio looked to see what had alarmed the animal.
A man of tall stature, mounted on a strong black horse, held the middle of the road four or five paces in advance of him, and completely barred his passage.
Don Torribio cocked a pistol.
"Holloa, caballero!" he cried in a sharp tone; "Move to the right or the left."
"Neither to one nor the other, Don Torribio de Quiroga. I want to speak to you."