"That is probable, but I cannot say positively, for I was, I repeat, in a condition which rendered it impossible for me to perceive anything clearly."
"Well," said Don Pablo, pursuing his idea; "what became of Ambrosio?"
"I do not know; after the earthquake, my father and his comrades rushed in different directions, each seeking his safety in flight. My father, more than any other, had an interest in concealing his trail, the monk left us almost immediately, and I have not seen him since."
"Has Red Cedar never spoken about him before you?"
"Never."
"That is strange! No matter. I swear to you, Ellen, that I will find him again, if I have to pursue him to hell; it is that scoundrel who has stolen the coffer."
"Don Pablo," the maiden said as she rose, "the sun is setting, my father and brothers will soon return, we must part."
"You are right, Ellen, I leave you."
"Farewell, Don Pablo, the storm is bursting; who knows if you will reach your friends' bivouac safe and sound?"
"I hope so, Ellen, but if you say to me farewell, I reply that we shall meet again: believe me, dear girl, put your trust in Heaven, for if we have been permitted to love, it is because that love will produce our happiness."