“Tiburcio, the adopted son of the famous gambusino, Marcos Arellanos.”
“How! his mother dead! I am sorry. He is a brave youth, and I have not forgotten the service he once did me. But for him we should all have been dead of thirst, my daughter, my people, and myself. If he is left without resources, I hope you have said to him that he will find a welcome at the Hacienda del Venado.”
“No—I have not,” replied the monk.
“And why?”
“Because this young fellow is desperately in love with your daughter; it is my duty to tell you so.”
“What signifies that, so long as my daughter does not love him?” replied Don Augustin. “And if she did, where would she find a man possessing higher physical or moral qualities than this same Tiburcio? I never dreamt of having for my son-in-law any other than an intelligent man, brave enough to defend the frontier against these hordes of savage Indians, and just such a man is young Arellanos. But in truth I forget myself; I have this day designed for Rosarita a husband of a more exalted station.”
“And it may be that you have done wrong,” rejoined the monk, in a serious tone; “from what I suspect—in fact, what I may say I know—this Tiburcio might make a more valuable son-in-law than you imagine.”
“It’s too late then,” said Don Augustin. “I have given my word, and I cannot retract it.”
“It is just about this matter I wish to speak to you, if you have time to hear me.”
At this moment the two horsemen, having passed the stockade, had arrived at the foot of the stone stairway—which led up to the portico, and thence into the grand sala of the hacienda—and while dismounting, their dialogue was interrupted.