me day you will."

Juanita looked at him, pen in hand, momentarily grave.

"You are always thinking of what I shall do ... some day," she said.

And Marcos did not deny it.

"You seem to hedge me around with precautions against that time," she
continued, thoughtfully, and looked at him with bright and searching
eyes.

At length all the formalities were over, and they were free to go to
Torre Garda. Events were moving rapidly in Spain at this time, and the
small wonder of Juanita's marriage was already a thing half forgotten.
Had it not been for her great wealth the whole matter would have passed
unnoticed; for wealth is still a burden upon its owners, and there are
many who must perforce go away sorrowful on account of their great
possessions. Half the world guessed, however, at the truth, and every man
judged the Sarrions from his own political standpoint, praising or
blaming according to preconceived convictions. But there were some in
high places who knew that a great danger had been averted.

Cousin Peligros had consented to Sarrion's proposal that she should for a
time make her home with him, either at Torre Garda or at Saragossa. She
had lived in troublous times, but was convinced that the Carlists, like
Heaven, made special provision for ladies.

"No one," said she, "will molest me," and she folded her hands in
complacent serenity on her lap.

She had a profound distrust of railways, in which common mode of
conveyance she suspected a democratic spirit, though to this day the
Spanish ticket collector presents himself, hat in hand, at the door of a
first-class carriage, and the time-table finds itself subservient to the
convenience of any Excellency who may not have finished his coffee in the
refreshment-room.

Cousin Peligros was therefore glad enough to quit the train at Pampeluna,
where the carriage from Torre Garda awaited them. There were saddle
horses for Sarrion and Marcos, and a handful of troops were waiting in
the shadow of the trees outside of the station yard. An officer rode
forward and paid his respects to Juanita.

"You do not recognise me, Senorita," he said. "You remember the chapel of
Our Lady of the Shadows?"

"Yes. I remember," she answered, shaking hands. "We caught you saying
your prayers when we arrived."

He blushed as he laughed; for he was a simple man leading a hard and
lonely life.

"Yes, Senorita; why not?"

"I have no doubt," said Juanita, looking at him shrewdly, "th