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"Will you take me, Lazaro?" she repeated. "Holy Flower of the Quince!" was all that I could murmur, whereat she gently smiled. "Santo Fior di Cotogno!" And then a great sadness overwhelmed me. A tide that neaped the frail bark of happiness high and dry upon the shores of black despair. "To-morrow Madonna, comes the Lord Ignacio Borgia," I groaned. "I know, I know," said she.
"No, no; I assure you what I do others do, and with more success and intelligence than I. One of the inspectresses of the other quarter of Saint Lazaro, destined for those accused of other crimes, will interest you much more. She related to me the arrival, this morning, of a young girl, accused of infanticide. Never have I heard anything more touching.
He drew his feet from beneath the table, placed them at one side of his chair and half turned on the seat, looking round at the man indicated by Lazaro. As Old Gripper did this the Mexican leaned far over the table and reached out his hand as if to touch his companion on the elbow.
I looked straight into his eyes, and it gave me a fearful shock, for they seemed to be the eyes of Porfias del Norte!" "How did the man look?" "He had a strange face that was deeply lined, and his hair was very white." "Alvarez Lazaro!" thought Merry. "The self-styled avenger is seeking his opportunity."
"It seems that I have heard of Señor Merriwell. Has he not a rich mine down there somewhere in Sonora?" "He has." "Then it is likely he will be the one most benefited by the building of this road?" "It certainly will be a great thing for him." Lazaro nodded slowly. He knew Watson Scott was surveying him in a puzzled manner, but he seemed wholly unconscious of the fact.
"That's the last of Alvarez Lazaro!" said Bart Hodge, who had escaped serious injury and was watching in company with Browning and Merriwell. "His murderous plotting is finished. He'll never trouble you again, Frank." In a private ward of a New York City hospital lay Felipe Jalisco so hidden with bandages that scarcely more than his eyes could be seen.
"Sir: In your issue of the 7th of July there appeared a paragraph embodying a shameful libel of the administration of the San Lazaro Hospital, which reads as follows: "'Un cuadro verdaderamente aterrador es el que prezenta el patio del Hospital de San Lazaro.
They sipped their coffee, Lazaro continuing talking. Scott emptied his cup. "I've had a hard day, but that will keep me awake for the next four hours," he remarked. "I'm going to the theatre with a party of friends to-night, and I don't want to nod over the old play." After a brief time a vexed look came to his rugged face, and he swept his hand across his eyes.
Don't be after breathing that I told you; but it's a fancy I have that Señor Lazaro could tell us the cause of the mysterious illness of Watson Scott, and could explain just why the automobile of Warren Hatch plunged down an embankment and smashed him up, while his chauffeur leaped and escaped. Lazaro is striking first at the railroad builders." "And I am cooped here!" cried the boy.
Have you an idea, Merry?" "Never yet have I seen but two men with such eyes," declared Merriwell. "One man is dead. The other man, Alvarez Lazaro, claims to be Del Norte's avenger. I thought him dead, but it must be that he escaped from the burning building on the East Side. How he escaped I cannot tell; but, as it was not Del Norte who peered through the transom, it must have been Lazaro."
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