Then he was perplexed, and his heart smote him that he had done unwisely; and as he thought of the desolation he had accomplished there rose up before him from a pile of mangled corpses one ghastly figure, covered with blood and wounds, which, frowning angrily upon him, rushed upon him with a dagger to stab him to the heart. Fiercely he struck at this phantom with his sword; as he struck, another figure rushed in between them, the figure of a woman, whose long dishevelled hair enveloped her with a radiance as of molten gold. His sword buried itself in her breast; wildly she threw up her arms, gazing upon him out of a pair of large grey eyes, full of terror and reproach.
"Always my friend, whatever happens!" she shrieked out, then threw herself at his feet to die. It was Dolores.
With a loud cry Evaña started from his couch and woke.
[CHAPTER IX]
THE DAY AFTER
Mother and sister received the rescued prisoner with open arms. Far into the night they sat together talking over the events of the last three weeks, while of the day itself the events were detailed to them by Evaristo after a fashion somewhat hard of comprehension.
When they separated, Marcelino retired to his couch with a heavy heart. During his imprisonment and since, he had learned sufficient to tell him that his father, though professing the greatest indignation at his arrest, had taken no one step towards his deliverance, and had rather hindered the plans of those who had interested themselves for him. During his imprisonment he had been subjected once only to a cursory examination, when the questions put to him showed him that the cause of his imprisonment was the scheme for inviting the Princess Carlota to Buenos Aires, which he had been the first to enunciate. In this scheme he had taken no further part, yielding to the wish of his father, though he still looked upon it as the only means of achieving independence without plunging the country into civil war.
That his father knew the cause of his imprisonment, and could have procured his release at any moment, he felt certain, yet he had neither written to him nor had been once to see him. The Viceroy would hardly have ventured upon such a step without consulting him, he must at least have consented to, perhaps even suggested his imprisonment. So Marcelino pondered within himself, lying on his couch sleepless through the night until the dawn of another day, his mind filled with bitter thoughts and his heart with anger.