“Ah, yes!” responded Dona Isabel.  “Since the Senora is not of the revolutionary party.”

Mrs. Brimmer cast a supplicatory look at Miss Keene, and hastily quitted the room.  Miss Keene would have as quickly followed her, but the young Ramirez girls threw themselves again tragically upon her breast, and, with a mysterious gesture of silence, whispered,—­

“Fear nothing, Excellencia!  We are yours—­we will die for you, no matter what Don Ramon, or the Comandante, or the Ayuntamiento, shall decide.  Trust us, little one!—­pardon—­Excellencia, we mean.”

“What is the matter?” said Miss Keene, now thoroughly alarmed, and releasing herself from the twining arms about her.  “For Heaven’s sake let me go!  I must see somebody!  Where is—­where is Mrs. Markham?”

“The Markham?  Is it the severe one?—­as thus,”—­said Dona Isabel, striking an attitude of infantine portentousness.

“Yes,” said Miss Keene, smiling in spite of her alarm.

“She is arrested.”

“Arrested!” said Eleanor Keene, her cheeks aflame with indignation.  “For what?  Who dare do this thing?”

“The Comandante.  She has a missive—­a despatch from the insurrectionaries.”

Without another word, and feeling that she could stand the suspense no longer, Miss Keene forced her way past the young girls, unheeding their cries of consternation and apology, and quickly reached the patio.  A single glance showed her that Mrs. Brimmer was gone.  With eyes and cheeks still burning, she swept past the astounded peons, through the gateway, into the open plaza.  Only one idea filled her mind—­to see the Commander, and demand the release of her friend.  How she should do it, with what arguments she should enforce her demand, never occurred to her.  She did not even think of asking the assistance of Mr. Brace, Mr. Crosby, or any of her fellow-passengers.  The consciousness of some vague crisis that she alone could meet possessed her completely.

The plaza was swarming with a strange rabble of peons and soldiery; of dark, lowering faces, odd-looking weapons and costumes, mules, mustangs, and cattle—­a heterogeneous mass, swayed by some fierce excitement.  That she saw none of the Excelsior party among them did not surprise her; an instinct of some catastrophe more serious than Mrs. Brimmer’s vague imaginings frightened but exalted her.  With head erect, leveled brows, and bright, determined eyes she walked deliberately into the square.  The crowd parted and gave way before this beautiful girl, with her bared head and its invincible crest of chestnut curls.  Presently they began to follow her, with a compressed murmur of admiration, until, before she was halfway across the plaza, the sentries beside the gateway of the Presidio were astonished at the vision of a fair-haired and triumphant Pallas, who appeared to be leading the entire population of Todos Santos to victorious attack.  In vain a solitary bugle blew, in vain the rolling drum beat an alarm, the sympathetic guard only presented arms as Miss Keene, flushed and excited, her eyes darkly humid with gratified pride, swept past them into the actual presence of the bewildered and indignant Comandante.