"Since the soul of the young girl is in mourning, let her look beyond the house of her father, beyond the city where she suffers and weeps; beyond the mountains, the palm-trees lift up their heads in freedom, the birds strike the air with an independent wing; men have immensity to live in, and the young girls may unfold their spirits and their hearts!"
Sarah raised her head toward Martin Paz. The Indian had drawn himself up to his full height, and with his arm extended toward the summits of the Cordilleras, was pointing out to the young girl the path to liberty.
Sarah felt herself constrained by an irresistible force. Already the sound of voices reached her; they approached her chamber; her father was undoubtedly about to enter; perhaps her lover would accompany him! The Indian suddenly extinguished the lamp suspended above his head. A whistling, similar to the cry of the cilguero, and reminding one of that heard on the Plaza-Mayor, pierced the silent darkness of night; the young girl swooned.
The door opened hastily; Samuel and André Certa entered. The darkness was profound; some servants ran with torches. The chamber was empty.
"Death and fury!" exclaimed the mestizo.
"Where is she?" asked Samuel.
"You are responsible for her," said André, brutally.
At these words, the Jew felt a cold sweat freeze even his bones.
"Help! help!" he exclaimed.
And, followed by his domestics, he sprang out of the house.