"To yourself, Señor Don Torribio Quiroga," replied the wounded man, whose voice grew stronger under the excitement of his feelings.
"You are very weak, my son, for a conversation with any one," said Manuela.
"Perhaps, my friend," said Don Pedro, "it would be more prudent to defer it for a few days."
"No," was the reply; "it must be today—must be this instant."
"Just as you please, headstrong!" said Don Pedro. "We will go into the anteroom, where we shall be within call. Come, Manuela."
Don Estevan kept his eyes fixed on the door till it closed behind them; then he turned to Don Torribio, who was still standing in the centre of the room.
"Come nearer, señor, that you may be better able to hear what I have to say to you."
"I am listening to you, señor; but, at the same time, must beg you not to delay your communication."
"You shall have it. I warn you, that I tore the mask from one of the bandits who attacked us, and recognised him."
"I am at a loss to understand," said Don Torribio.