“Yes,” he returned, smiling, “that was my name at that moment. My friends,” he continued, resting a hand on my shoulder, and speaking to the others, “I have met this young Englishman before. A few days ago, when I was on my way hither, I was arrested at Las Cuevas in his company; it was by means of his assistance that I succeeded in making my escape. He did this good deed, believing at the time that he was helping a poor peasant, and not expecting any return.”
I might have reminded him that only after he had given me a solemn assurance that he did not intend attempting to make his escape, did I consent to get his legs out of the stocks. However, as he thought proper to forget that part of the affair I was not going to recall it to him.
There were many surprised exclamations from the bystanders, and, glancing at that beautiful girl, who was standing near with the others, I found her dark eyes fixed on my face with an expression of tenderness and sympathy in them that sent the blood rushing to my heart.
“They have hurt you badly, I fear,” said the General, addressing me again. “To continue your journey now would be imprudent. Let me beg of you to remain where you are, in this house, till your arm is better.” Then, turning to the young lady, he said, “Dolores, will you and your mother take charge of my young friend till I return, and see that his injured arm is attended to?”
“My General, you will make us happy by leaving him in our care,” she replied, with a bright smile.
He then introduced me as Don Ricardo simply—for he did not know my surname—to the lovely señorita, Dolores Zelaya; after which he again bade us adieu and hurried away.
When he had gone, Alday advanced, hat in hand, and gave me back my revolver, which I had forgotten all about. I took it with my left hand, and put it in my pocket. He then apologised for having treated me roughly—the Major had taught him that word—but without the faintest trace of servility in his speech or manner; and after that he offered me his hand.
“Which will you have,” I said, “the hand you have injured or the left hand?”
He immediately dropped his own hand to his side, then, bowing, said he would wait till I had recovered the use of my right hand. Turning to go, he added with a smile that he hoped the injury would soon heal, so that I would be able to wield a sword in my friend Santa Coloma's cause.
His manner, I thought, was a little too independent. “Pray take back your horse now,” I said, “as I have no further use for it, and accept my thanks for conducting me thus far on my journey.”