ould have suffered, even if his pain was only hunger. What was
hunger, she asked herself, compared with a broken heart? One was a
passing pang that could be alleviated, could be confessed to the first
comer, while a broken heart must be hidden at any cost from all the
world.

She met Cousin Peligros coming towards the drawing-room in her best black
silk dress, and in what might have been called a fluster of excitement at
the thought of a visitor, if such a word had been applicable to her
placid life of self-deception. Juanita made some small jest and laughed
rather eagerly at it as she passed the pattern lady on the stairs.

She was very calm and collected; being a determined person, as many
seemingly gay and light-hearted people are. She was going to leave Torre
Garda and Marcos, who had married her for her money. It is characteristic
of determined people that they are restricted in their foresight. They
look in front with eyes so steady and concentrated that they perceive no
side issues, but only the one path that they intend to tread. Juanita was
going back to Pampeluna, to Sor Teresa at the convent school in the Calle
de la Dormitaleria. She recked nothing of the Carlists, of the disturbed
country through which she had to pass.

She had never lacked money, and had sufficient now for her needs. The
village of Torre Garda could assuredly provide a carriage for the
journey; or, at the worst, a cart. Anything would be better than
remaining in this house--even the hated school in the Calle de la
Dormitaleria. She had always known that Sor Teresa was her friend, though
the Sister Superior's manner of indicating friendship had not been
invariably comprehensible.

Juanita took a cloak and what money she could find. She was not a very
tidy person, and the money had to be collected from odd trinket-boxes and
discarded purses. Marcos was still talking politics with his friend from
the mountains when she passed beneath his window. Sarrion and Evasio Mon
had gone to the dining-room, where, it was to be presumed, Cousin
Peligros had followed them. She professed a great admiration for Evasio
Mon, who was on familiar terms with people of the highest distinction. An
hour's start would be sufficient. In that time she could be half-way to
Pampeluna. Secrecy was of course out of the question.

The drawing-room window was open. Juanita paused on the threshold for a
moment. Then she went into the room and scribbled a hurried note--no