"On the contrary, I hope to see you often. Your father has given me the kindest of invitations."
At this she opened her eyes wide; but quickly recovering herself, she smiled pleasantly, and accompanied me to the hall. As I rode by, she was standing at a window waving her hand.
I had much to think of during the short ride home, but I got little satisfaction from my thoughts. Nothing had been gained by my visit to Montilla, and his story only went to confirm the truth of the reports of my father's death. As to my faith in his startling promises, it grew weaker with every step my horse took.
I said nothing to my mother; but José, to whom I related all that had passed, laughed loudly.
"The cunning old fox!" cried he; "he hasn't his equal for craft in Peru! You will see that, whoever sinks, Don Felipe Montilla will swim."
"Not at my expense," I exclaimed, "while I have strength to raise an arm."
The rest of that day I spent with my mother, forcing myself to forget that any trouble existed in the world. It was only a brief spell of happiness, but we enjoyed every second of it, and by nightfall my mother's face had lost some of its sadness, and her eyes shone brightly as in the olden days.
Early next morning an order was brought to me to rejoin Colonel Miller, as it was arranged that, for a time at least, José should remain behind to look after the affairs of the hacienda. The servants assembled in the courtyard to see me off, and my mother came to the hall door. There she embraced me, and stood smiling bravely as I mounted. Whatever sorrow she felt was locked up tightly in her own breast.
Accompanied by the man who had brought the order, I rode briskly to Mirones, the headquarters of the Patriot army, and about a mile from Callao.
The colonel was with San Martin and a group of officers, watching the enemy's movements; but he turned to me at once, saying, "General, this is Lieutenant Crawford, of whom I spoke."