This, of itself, had been enough to pique curiosity in a young girl, just escaped from her convent school; but added to the outward semblance of the stranger, by the sun made lustrous--so lustrous inwardly--Adela Miranda was moved by something more than curiosity.

As she stood regarding the likeness of Frank Hamersley she felt very much as he had done looking at hers--in love with one only known by portrait and repute.
In such there is nothing strange nor new.

Many a reader of this tale could speak of a similar experience.
While gazing on the carte-de-visite she was roused from the sweet reverie it had called up by hearing footsteps outside.

Someone coming in through the _saggan_.
"Valerian at last!" The steps sounded as if the man making them were in a hurry.

So should her brother be, having so long delayed his return.
She glided out to meet him with an interrogatory on her lips.
"Valerian ?"--this suddenly changing to the exclamation, "_Madre de Dios_! 'Tis not my brother!" It was not, but a man pale and breathless--a _peon_ of the establishment--who, on seeing her, gasped out,-- "Senorita! I bring sad news.