gold, over a full white shirt, puffing out at the hips, open sleeves, a scarlet-silk sash round the waist sustaining a brace of pistols and a Spanish knife. Finally, boots of tanned leather with heavy spurs hanging with little bells. Over all his finery, Jack wore a picturesque zarape of dark blue, and a sombrero of the same colour encircled with a broad band of gold. In this picturesque costume, his fine figure was seen to its best advantage; but Jack was already regretting his plain English riding-suit of unadorned grey.
At present, however, he was not thinking of his fine feathers, or of the two men waiting for him in the Plaza de San Jago, but of the last remark of Dolores.
Jack had no reason to be jealous of Don Rafael, as he, to all appearances, cared more for war than for women; yet, because Dolores admitted that she liked her cousin, this foolish young man began to sulk. The girl watched him with great amusement for a few minutes, and then made a malicious remark in reference to his uniform.
“Pajaro precoso!”
“Oh, I am a precious bird, am I?” said Jack, ungraciously; “but not precious to you, Dolores. Don Rafael——”
“Is my cousin—nothing more.”
“I don’t like cousins,” muttered Duval, obstinately, keeping his eyes away from her face, whereat Dolores rapped him smartly on the fingers with her closed fan.
“I will eat all the cousins of your killing, Juan. Turn your face to me, child that you are. Santissima! What a cross face! Señor Caballero, you are jealous!”
“Yes,” admitted Jack, reluctantly.
Dolores glanced at her aunt, to make sure that she was asleep, then bending towards this foolish lover, kissed him on the cheek.
“Are you jealous now, querido?”
“No,” answered Jack, returning the kiss with interest; “I am a fool not to trust you thoroughly.”
“You are! Hush! Enough! My aunt may awake.”
“Not she! So you love me only, Dolores? And Don Rafael——”
“Is betrothed to a lady of Acauhtzin.”
“Oh, Dolores!” sighed Jack, much relieved, and kissed her again. In fact, he would have saluted her several times, had not Dolores spread her fan between their two faces as a shield.
“No, no! Doña Serafina may awaken, and then—‘Dios de mi alma,’ what would my uncle say?”
“He must know sooner or later.”
“Wait till the war is over, querido. Till Don Hypolito is slain, and you return covered with glory. Then my uncle can refuse you nothing.”
“Bueno! I will wait. And, after all, Dolores, I am not quite a foreigner. I have dwelt so long in Mexico that I know all your manners and customs. Now I have even assumed the dress of Cholacaca, so I am quite one of your own people.”
“And a heretic!”
“Ah! Padre Ignatius has been talking to you?”
“No, querido; my aunt——”
“Oh, never mind your aunt. If I mistake not, she admires a heretic herself.”
“El hombrecillo!”
“If by the little man you mean Don Pedro, yes. But oh, my soul, do not let such things as this separate us. You love me, Dolores? You will be true to me?”
“I swear it!” cried the girl, throwing herself on his breast; “I swear it—by the opal!”
“No, no! not that. You surely don’t believe in the devil stone?”
“Am I a child to believe?” laughed Dolores, scornfully. “No; I am a true daughter of the Church; but I believe this opal to be mine, and if I can get it I will do so.”
“We will both try and obtain it, though I am afraid there is but little chance of doing so. We know not where is the temple.”
“Cocom knows.”
“Yes; but Cocom will not tell. But enough of the opal. We will talk of it again. Meanwhile, tell me to whom is Rafael engaged? He has told me nothing about it.”
“No; he has told no one save me, lest it should reach the ears of my uncle, and thus anger him. The lady my cousin loves is Doña Carmencita de Tejada——”
“What!” ejaculated Jack, in surprise. “The daughter of Xuarez’s right-hand man?”
“Yes, the daughter of Don José de Tejada, the rebel. So, you see, he does not let his father know of his love, for Don Miguel would never consent to his son becoming the husband of a traitor’s child.”
“True, true. Poor Rafael! The course of his love does not seem likely to run smooth. Still, when the war is over, he may be more fortunate.”
“Ah! the war,” said Doña Dolores, sadly. “This terrible war. How I tremble to think of what is before us. Should Don Hypolito conquer——” She covered her face with her hands, shuddering violently.
“Don Hypolito will not conquer,” replied Jack, soothingly taking her to his breast. “We will humble him to the dust before three months are ended. Besides, if the worst comes, we can fly to Europe.”
“Ay, de mi. May it not come to that.”
“Amen!” said Duval, solemnly; and they remained clasped in each others arms, with hearts too full for speech.
Suddenly they heard the sound of a prolonged yawn, and had just time to separate before Doña Serafina caught them in that close embrace. Fortunately, they had been hidden by an angle of the azotea wall, so the good lady, who had just awakened, and was still bemused with sleep, saw nothing. When she was thoroughly awake, however, she espied Jack in all the bravery of his uniform, and came forward with a light step and an exclamation of delight.
“El Regimiento de los Caballeros!” she exclaimed, admiringly. “Santissima! how the uniform does become you, Don Juan. I do so admire handsome Americanos,” added the lady, languidly. Dolores laughed at this naïve confession, but Jack, modest Jack, blushed through the tan of his skin.
“Really, Doña Serafina, I am much obliged, I kiss your hands,” he answered, confusedly. “I have just arrived”—he had been there half an hour—“just arrived, Señora, and I had not the heart to disturb you.”
“Has the child spoken?” said Doña Serafina, waving her fan towards Dolores, who stood with downcast eyes, inwardly convulsed, outwardly demure.
“Oh yes; a little. She has not the brilliant tongue of her aunt,” replied Jack, artfully.
“Pobrecita! She is young; she is a kitten. She will yet improve. I was the same at her age.”
“The deuce you were,” thought Jack, with secret apprehension, surveying her portly form. “I hope Dolores won’t be the same at your age.”
“And Don Pedro?” asked the duenna, languidly.
“Will lay his heart at your feet this evening, Señora.”
“It is his Don Juan,” responded the lady, graciously. It was a mere figure of speech; but Jack was secretly amused to think how alarmed Peter would be hearing of such an offer.
“Oh, this war, Señor Americano; this terrible war! How I fear it.”
“Do not be afraid, Señora. We will protect you.”
“Oh yes; I am sure of that. But my nephew, Señor? Don Rafael! He is much angered.”
“At the war?”
“Santissima, no! At his ship, which still sails up and down in front of Tlatonac. What does it mean, Señor?”
Jack turned in