"Yes, yes, no parting between us, dear Ulla. We will remain friends always. Columbia and Caledonia forever. Hip, hip, hur—"
But she did not conclude her burlesque cheering. The two girls were in one another's arms, weeping tears of hope and joyfulness, when a sharp, yet low hiss pierced the silence, and made Doña Rosario prick up her ears. She came from a climate where abounded reptiles making such a sound.
Presently, a spent revolver cartridge shell was neatly cast so as to roll in under the tent edge, almost to the girls' feet. Miss Maclan picked up the cylinder, being the nearer and the more courageous. A paper was curled up in it, and slightly protruded. She pulled it out with trembling fingers. It opened, and she saw it was addressed to her. She rapidly ran her eyes over it, and then slowly and thankfully read it aloud.
These were the contents:—
"Dear Miss Maclan,—All obstacles are overcome, so that I have been more than happy enough to discover your whereabouts, for I am even close to you. I am on the watch, so hope! I may even succeed in getting speech with you. Much to say. Ranald Dearborn."
There was a postscript, wishing her hope and courage, and bidding her burn the note.
"That must come from a friend, no doubt?" observed Rosario, slyly.
"Oh, indeed," replied the Scotch girl, suppressing a sigh, "a very dear, leal friend, in whose promises I can place complete trust."
"Why, things go better and better. I should not wonder if we were freed before a great while."
"Heaven grant it."