e., the rummaging over the trunks, drawers, and portmanteaus of
the poor little painter, Carmen de Haro, and even ripped up the mattress
of her virginal cot. But they found not what they sought.
"What is that yonder on the easel, covered with a cloth?" said Miguel:
"it is a trick of these artists to put their valuables together."
Pedro strode to the easel and tore away the muslin curtain that veiled
it; then uttered a shriek that appalled his comrade and brought him to
his side.
"In the name of God," said Miguel hastily, "are you trying to alarm the
house?"
The ex-vaquero was trembling like a child. "Look," he said hoarsely,
"look, do you see? It is the hand of God," and fainted on the floor!
Miguel looked. It was Carmen's partly-finished sketch of the deserted
furnace. The figure of Concho, thrown out strongly by the camp fire,
occupied the left foreground. But to balance her picture she had
evidently been obliged to introduce another,--the face and figure of
Pedro, on all fours, creeping towards the sleeping man.
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