His long hair, soaked with rain, fell upon his breast, his clothes were in disorder, spotted with blood, and torn in many places.
His right hand convulsively clasped the stock of a discharged pistol.
Don Ramón had likewise recognized the juez de letras, and had unconsciously darted a glance at his son, which the latter could not support.
Thanks to the intelligent care that was bestowed upon him by Doña Jesuita and her women, he breathed a deep sigh, opened his haggard eyes, which he rolled round upon the assembly, without at first seeing anything, and by degrees recovered his senses.
All at once a deep flush covered his brow, which had been so pale a minute before, and his eye sparkled. Directing a look towards Don Rafaël which nailed him to the floor, a prey to invincible terror, he rose painfully, and advancing towards the young man, who saw his approach without daring to seek to avoid him, he placed his hand roughly on his shoulder, and turning towards the peons, who were terrified at this strange scene, of which they comprehended nothing, he said solemnly,—
"I, Don Inigo Tormentes Albaceyte, juez de letras of the city of Hermosillo, arrest this man, accused of assassination, in the king's name!"
"Mercy!" cried Rafaël, falling on his knees, and clasping his hands with despair.
"Woe! woe!" the poor mother exclaimed, as she sank back fainting in her chair.