“Is it possible, Captain Bezan, that we are indebted to you for this most opportune deliverance from what seemed to be certain destruction?”

“Isabella Gonzales!” exclaimed the young officer, with unfeigned surprise.

“You did not know us, then?” she asked, quickly, in reply.

“Not I, indeed, or else I should sooner have spoken to you.”

“You thus risked your life, then, for strangers?” she continued.

“You were the weakest party, were attacked by robbers; it only required a glance to realize that, and to attack them and release you was the next most natural thing in the world,” replied the soldier, still wiping the perspiration from his forehead and temples.

“Father!” exclaimed Isabella, with undisguised pleasure, “this is Captain Bezan!”

“Captain Bezan?” repeated the old don, as surprised as his daughter had been.

“At your service,” replied the soldier, bowing respectfully to Don Gonzales.

“Why, sir,” said the old man, “what possible chance could have brought you so fortunately to our rescue here, a dozen leagues from the city?”

“I was returning with these two companions of my company from a business trip to the south side of the island, where we had been sent with despatches from Tacon to the governor of the department.”

“No, matter, what chance has brought you here, at all events we owe our lives to you, sir,” said Don Gonzales, extending his hand cordially to the young officer.

After some necessary delay, under the peculiar circumstances, the horses were finally arranged so as to permit of proceeding forward on the road.  The bodies of the servants were disposed of, and all was ready for a start, when Isabella Gonzales turned to her father and pressing his arm said: 

“Father, how pale he looks!”

“Who, my child!”

“There, see how very pale!” said Isabella, rising up from her seat.

“Who do you speak of, Isabella?”

“Captain Bezan, father; see, there he stands beside his horse.”

“He does look fatigued; he has worked hard with those villains,” said the old man.

“Why don’t he mount?  The rest have done so, and we are ready,” continued the old man, anxiously.

At that moment one of the horsemen, better understanding the case than either Isabella Gonzales or her father, left his well-trained animal in the road, and hastened to his officer’s side.  It required but a glance for him to see that his captain was too weak to mount.

Directing the outrider, who had now mounted one of the horses attached to the volante, and acted as postilion, to drive towards him whom his companion was partially supporting, Don Gonzales asked most anxiously: 

“Captain Bezan, you are ill, I fear; are you much hurt?”

“A mere trifle, Don Gonzales; drive on, sir, and I will follow you in a moment.”

“He is bleeding from his left arm and side, father,” said Isabella, anxiously.