"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
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