“Our deliverers,” murmured Donna Ana, who had never entirely ceased trembling, and she cast a spiteful glance at Jack.  To the duenna, young men, and especially one so unceremonious, were terrible creatures.

“Silence,” hissed the girl, and the old duenna in evident fear of her imperious young mistress, trembled the more.

“Quick,” whispered Rafaela to Jack, “get under here.”

Rising, she seized him by an arm and partly led, partly pushed him to the chair upon which she had been sitting.  It was a wicker chair, with wicker-latticed sides extending clear to the floor.  Lifting it, she ordered Jack to kneel down and crouch into as small a space as possible.  He complied.  Then she clapped the chair over him.  He was completely hidden, except in front, where the wicker latticing did not extend.

Seating herself calmly in the chair, Rafaela so disposed her skirts that Jack could not be seen.  Then she picked up her pen and sat as if just interrupted at her writing.

The knocking on the door was repeated, louder this time, and the voice of the Don himself impatiently bade that the door be opened.

Bending low so that Jack could hear her words, the girl whispered: 

“Have no fear.  Trust me.”

To the duenna, she said: 

“Open the door.  And if you betray me——­”

And she shot at Donna Ana a terrible glance, which caused the latter to cringe.  Evidently, the duenna stood in considerable awe of her temperamental young mistress.

The old woman unlocked the door and stepped back, revealing on the threshold Don Fernandez with several armed retainers at his back.

“What does this mean?” he demanded, glaring at his daughter as he advanced a step or two into the room.  “Locked doors at so early an hour?”

“Why, papa, dear, we heard the shouts and several revolver shots,” said his daughter.  “Was it not natural for two lone women to lock their door?”

“Humm!”

The Don glanced quickly about the room.

“Papa, what is the matter?  What is the meaning of all this noise?  Of those shots?” Rafaela anxiously inquired.

“Some man impersonating one of my lieutenants gained entrance,” said the Don.  “I believe him a government agent.  He may have come to attempt my life.”

“Oh, no, papa, dear,” protested Rafaela, shocked.  “Why, he—­”

Frantic lest she might betray herself and him, Jack reached forward cautiously and tapped the tiny ankle dangling before him.

He was none too soon.  Thus brought to a realization of her position, Rafaela checked the words.

“What’s that?” asked her father.  “What did you say?”

“Why, papa,” she answered, “I was going to say he couldn’t be so mean.  To come here to kill you.  Oh, no.  That would be too terrible.”

“But I do believe it,” affirmed the Don.  “What do you know of how politics is carried on in our poor, distracted country?  Tut, tut, you are just a girl.  What I came to ask was whether the man had hidden here?  We have searched all the rooms on this balcony, without success.  Yet most certainly Pedro and Pancho”—­indicating the armed men in the corridor—­“saw him bound up the stairs.”