“Bienhichor—de mi vida Salvador—y de que a una mujer esa mas querida, la honra—adios—adios!
“Isidora Covarubio De Los Llanos.
“Al Señor Don Mauricio Gerald.”
Literally translated, and in the idiom of the Spanish language, the note ran thus:—
“Dear Sir,—I have been staying for a week at the house of Uncle Silvio. Of your mischance I have heard—also, that you are indifferently cared for at the hotel. I have sent you some little things. Be good enough to make use of them, as a slight souvenir of the great service for which I am your debtor. I write in the saddle, with my spurs ready to draw blood from the flanks of my horse. In another moment I am off for the Rio Grande!
“Benefactor—preserver of my life—of what to a woman is dearer—my honour—adieu! adieu!
“Isidora Covarubio De Los Llanos.”
“Thanks—thanks, sweet Isidora!” muttered the mustanger, as he refolded the note, and threw it carelessly upon the coverlet of his couch. “Ever grateful—considerate—kind! But for Louise Poindexter, I might have loved you!”