"No," Valentine said authoritatively; "close and bar the gate, Belhumeur."
The Canadian hastened to obey.
"Stay," Don Rafaël said.
"Loyal Heart," Valentine continued, "you are no longer the master to act as you please, and throw yourself headlong into desperate enterprises. You must live for your wife and your children; besides, can we expose Doña Angela to the risk of being killed among us?"
"That is true," he answered. "Pardon me; I was mad."
"Oh!" Doña Angela exclaimed, "what do I care about death if I am not to see again the man I love?"
"Señorita," the hunter said sententiously, "allow events to follow their course. Who knows if things are not better so? For the present return to the house, and leave us to manage this affair."
"Come, my child, come," Doña Luz said to her affectionately; "your presence is useless here, and perhaps it may soon become injurious."
"I obey you, señora," the maiden said sadly; and she retired slowly, leaning on the arm of Doña Luz, who lavished on her all the consolations her heart dictated. Don Rafaël had given all his servants orders to arm, and hold themselves in readiness to offer a vigorous resistance in case the hacienda was attacked, an event which, from the orders given by the general to his troops, might be expected at any moment. The peons of the hacienda were numerous, and devoted to their master; hence the struggle threatened to be serious.
Suddenly repeated blows were struck on the gate. Valentine, who had been thinking deeply for several moments, bent down to Don Rafaël's ear, and whispered a few words.