“A monk I am—at your service, caballeros. Sangre de Crista! It’s the merest, accident that I’m a living one. O, señores; I perceive that you are hombres buenos; and that the ladrones have retreated at your approach. Say that they are gone; and that I need have no further fear?”
“Two on ’em haint gone fur,” replied the stage-driver; “thar they lie—right afore yur eyes, Padre Cornaga.”
“Ah! you know me, good sir? Santissima, it’s the driver of the diligencia—the worthy Don Samuel Bruno! What! these robbers? Por Dios, no! They are gentlemen!”
“A queery kind o’ gentlemen, I reckin’.”
“’Tis true as I say it, Señor Don Samuel. Caballeros—hombres honestos—both these unfortunate young men. Ay de mi!” added the monk, stooping down over one of the prostrate forms. “This is the son of our Juez de Letras (judge of the Criminal court). Many a robber have I shrived after sentence passed by his honoured father. And this,” he continued, turning to Francisco, “Ah! señores, this is the bridegroom himself—asesinado—in the presence of his bride, and under the sacred shadow of the altar, that should have protected him from anything! Pobre Dolores! Pobre Dolores!”
“It is the name of a lady. How came she to be here? You say these men are not robbers—what are they?”
“Oh, señor capitan!—for I perceive you are the chief—it is a strange story. Shall I tell it to you?”
“As you please about that. I came here to capture a gang of ladrones; or kill them, if need be. I only want to know which are the thieves, and which the honest men. There does not appear to be any great difference between them?”
“O caballero! why should you say that? Surely you do not mistake the honourable capitan Moreno for a salteador? A worthy young gentleman who but ten minutes ago was standing up to be wedded to one of the fairest and most Christian ladies in our good city of Puebla—the daughter of Don Eusebio—”
“Villa-Señor. I know all that. But how came it to pass? Why was the ceremony here? Why not in her father’s house?”