At the gate the Indian waited for us, and he followed a few paces in the rear.
I thought this strange, and asked José about it.
"It may be well to have a friend to guard our backs," he replied.
So in the gathering darkness I stole away from my home, with my heart sore for my father's death and my mother's suffering. And it was the eve of my birthday—the eve of the day to which I had looked forward with such delight!
Being so young, I did not really understand the peril that surrounded me; but my faith in José was strong, and I felt confident that in taking me away he was acting for the best.
Our path through the park led us near the lake, and I glanced sorrowfully at its calm waters and fern-fringed border. I would have liked to linger a moment at its margin, dwelling on past joys; but José hurried me on, remarking there was no time to waste.
Only, as the great gates swung open, he let me stop, so that I might bid a silent adieu to the beautiful home where my happy days of childhood had been passed.
"Keep a brave heart," said he kindly; "we shall be back some day. And now for a word of advice. Ride carefully and keep your eyes open. I don't want to frighten you, but the sooner we're clear of Lima the better I shall be pleased."
With that he put spurs to his horse, and with the clanging of the gate in our ears we rode off on the road to Callao, while the gigantic Indian followed about twenty paces behind.