Manuel Tonza watched the happy lovers with bitterest hate gnawing at
his heart, deadly schemes against his fortunate rival flitting through
his subtle brain.

Late that night, when the weary guests were parting, Tonza stole
noiselessly from the palace; and when he returned, in less than half
an hour, his face wore an expression of fiendish triumph and delight.

He was even polite to Luiz, much to that young man's surprise, though
he doubted the sincerity of Manuel's words.

Happy and content, after a tender adieu to Lianor, the captain left
the viceroy's palace, to seek his own apartments.

Not far had he gone, however, when a shadow stole silently behind him,
and the next moment he felt himself suddenly grasped by powerful hands
and flung to the ground.

Almost stunned by the fall, he was yet able to see the dark face
bending over him.

From the shadows came another form, one he recognized. A gleaming
poignard was placed in the assassin's hand, which descended ere he
could break from that strong hold, and was buried deep in his heart.

Guiltily two forms glided away in opposite directions, leaving Luiz,
pale and cold, lying in a stream of blood--dead!

* * * * * * * * * * *