Concluding that if he had made a mistake it was now too late to amend it, he turned on his heel, and was about to pursue his way toward Piedritas on foot, when his attention was arrested by a voice pronouncing his name.
“Señor Harding, let me speak with you for a moment.”
He turned, and beheld a female in the very bloom of mature womanhood—tall, elegantly formed, and possessing a countenance of singular force and beauty. She was standing near the door at which he had knocked, and he had no difficulty in determining from the resemblance that she was the mother of his messenger. He advanced with the ordinary salutation, and followed her within the house.
“I am perfectly well acquainted,” she commenced abruptly, without offering him a seat, “with the object of your visit to the hacienda. You are here to wed the daughter of the woman who calls herself the Señora Eltorena—”
“Calls herself!” repeated Harding.
“And you are doubtless like other men,” she continued, without noticing the exclamation, “more attracted by the property than the bride. Now, I wish to warn you that this estate, with all that the late Colonel Eltorena owned, belongs to his son—and mine—the youth whom you have just sent away; and that I hold General Santa Anna’s pledge to see him righted as soon as the army marches this way. So, if you marry her, it is with your eyes open.”
“You are mistaken, madam,” said Harding, after a pause given to surprise; “I am here on no such errand: I am, on the contrary,” he added, with a smile, “only a humble ambassador, suing for the lady’s hand in the name of another, more potent individual.”
“In the name of the murdering thief, De Marsiac?” she exclaimed.
“Even so,” Harding replied, “the very same, without mistake.”
“You are a strange ambassador,” she said, with a laugh. “But,” she continued, resuming her somewhat wild manner, “I warn him through you, as I have done to his face, that the man who marries that woman’s daughter, must take her portionless!”