“Ladies,” he said, with a bow and air of maudlin humility, “I have to apologise for requiring you to start out on a journey at such a late hour. Duty is often an ungracious master. Luckily, your drive is not to be a very extended one—only to the city; and you’ll have company in the carriage. The Doña Luisa will find her father at home.”
Neither vouchsafed rejoinder—not a word—scarce giving him the grace of a look. Which a little nettling him, his smooth tone changed to asperity, as addressing himself to the soldier, he gave the abrupt order:
“Cabo! take them on to the carriage.”
On they were taken; as they approached it, perceiving a face inside, pale as the moonbeams that played upon it. It was a very picture of dejection; for never had Don Ignacio Valverde experienced misery such as he felt now.
“’Tis you, father!” said his daughter, springing up, throwing her arms around him, and showering kisses where tears already trickled. “You a prisoner, too!”
“Ay, nina mia. But sit down. Don’t be alarmed! It will all come right. Heaven will have mercy on us, if men do not. Sit down, Luisa!”
She sat down mechanically, the Countess by her side; and the door was banged to behind them. Meanwhile, Pepita, who insisted on accompanying her mistress, had been handed up to the box by a cochero strange to her; one of the soldiers, pressed into the service for the occasion, a quondam “jarvey,” who understood the handling of horses as every Mexican does.
All were now ready for the road; the dismounted Hussars had vaulted into their saddles, the “march” was commanded, and the driver had drawn his whip to lay it on his horses, when the animals jibbed, rearing up, and snorting in affright!
No wonder, with such an object suddenly coming under their eyes. An oddly-shaped creature that came scrambling in through the saguan, and made stop beneath their very noses. A human being withal; who, soon as entering, called out, in a clear voice,—“Where is the Colonel?”