Don Martial's eye followed the maiden.
"When do you intend starting?" he said, stifling a sigh.
"Tomorrow, if possible."
"Be it so. Let us trust in Heaven."
After conversing for some short time longer, and making their final arrangements, Don Sylva wrapped himself up in his coverings, and soon fell asleep. As for the Tigrero, he left the house to see that the peons were carefully watching over their common safety.
"Provided that Cucharés has not fulfilled my orders!" he muttered.
[CHAPTER XXII.]
THE MANHUNT.
On the next morning at daybreak the little band quitted the Casa Grande and two hours later entered the Del Norte. At the sight of the desert the maiden felt her heart contract; a secret presentiment seemed to warn her that the future would be fatal. She turned back, cast a melancholy glance on the gloomy forests which chequered the horizon behind her, and could not repress a sigh.