the Americans we had seen in the
_paseo_ were there, more interested than I in such fragments as they could
catch of Pilar's tales. Dungeons where Theodofredo had been blinded, and
Witica the wicked had paid for his crimes; vanished halls where Rodrigo
reigned and loved before the dark day beside the Guadalete lost the crown
for him and Christendom; what did they hold of interest since the garden
of lilacs and roses which covered their ruins was empty of one Presence?

When we had seen everything, I left my friends in the hall of the hotel
choosing curios from glass cases, and went out again in search of news
concerning the automobile which had passed in the morning.

Presumably it had attracted a crowd, yet no one seemed to know anything of
it until at last, just as I was giving up hope, I met an old man who had
seen a large grey motor-car at the railway station. A few minutes later, I
had solved the mystery of the Lecomte's disappearance. It had arrived
early; its passengers had been conducted round Cordoba in the smallest
possible time by Carmona; it had then been driven to the station; and with
its late occupants had gone to Seville by the same train.

There might have been several motives for this move. The car might have
been partially disabled, not having been properly prepared at Manzanares;
or Carmona might have determined to thwart the destiny which so far had
kept me near him. I was inclined to accept the latter theory, and it did
not tend to promote my peace of mind.

I was glad to hear, however, that the train was not due at Seville until
late that evening. If we made an early start next day, it was not likely
that the situation could be much changed before I arrived, free of
obligations to the Duchess.

Of course, said Pilar, before I had time to ask, they would be ready to
start early, oh, very early. It would be beautiful to be in the country
before the sun had drunk up the dew on the grass, and withered the roses
of dawn in the clouds. There was no fear of cold now that we were in dear
Andalucia. Yes! we would have coffee at six, and leave at half-past.

I should not have dared suggest such a trial of moral courage, but I
accepted the sacrifice; so the roses of morning which Pilar loved still
bloomed in the garden of the sky, and trailed their reflection in the
Guadalquivir, as we rolled over the old bridge and past the white, Moorish
hills.

A morning in Paradise could scarcely be more beautiful