There was no dawn in the dark, evil-odored storeroom, but Señor Zorro, by peering through the crack and into the little cabin, could tell of the approach of the day. The interior grew gray, and then brighter, and finally a ray of sun penetrated and touched the dingy hole with glory.
Señor Zorro put his lips close to the tiny opening and whispered his call:
“Señorita!”
Her swoon had changed to a deep, unnatural slumber by now, and she came from the midst of it at his sibilant call, bewildered for a moment.
“Sí?” she asked.
“You were silent for a time, and I was afraid.”
“Señor Zorro afraid?” she mocked.
“Afraid and not ashamed of it, where you are concerned, señorita,” he replied. “Curl up and try to get some natural sleep. It is in my mind that these pirates will be busy beating out to sea or trying to reach their land den, and will have no time to bother you.”
“And what do you intend doing?” she asked. “Do you intend to sleep also?”
“Don Diego Vega might feel called upon to sleep now and then,” he answered, “but Señor Zorro dare not. Worry not your pretty head about me, señorita! Rest your pretty eyes, and by the time you awake fate perhaps will have been kind and revealed to us a way out of this present difficulty.”