horse towards one of the rough stones laid on the outer edge
of the road to mark its limit at night.

"I can only give you one hand," he said. "Can you get up from this
stone?"

"Behind you?" asked Juanita; "as we used to ride when I was--little?"

For Marcos had, like most Spaniards, grown from boyhood to manhood in the
saddle, and Juanita had no fear of horses. She clambered to the broad
back of the Moor and settled herself there, sitting pillion fashion and
holding herself in position with both hands round Marcos.

"If he trots, I fall off," she said, with an eager laugh.

They soon quitted the road and began to descend the steep slope towards
the river by a narrow path only made visible by the open space in the
high brushwood. It was the way down to a ford leading to a cottage by
courtesy called a farm, though the cultivated land was scarcely an acre
in extent, reclaimed from the river-bed.

The ground was soft and mossy and the roar of the river covered the tread
of the careful horse. In a few minutes they reached the water's edge, and
after a moment's hesitation the Moor stepped boldly in. On the other bank
Marcos whispered to Juanita to drop to the ground.

"The cottage is here," he said. "I shall leave the horse in their shed."

He descended from the saddle and they stood for a moment side by side.

"Let us wait a few moments, the moon is rising," said Marcos. "Perhaps
the Carlists have been here."

As he spoke the sky grew lighter. In a minute or two a waning moon looked
out over the sharp outline of hill and flooded the valley with a reddish
light.

"It is all right," he said; nothing is disturbed here. They are asleep in
the cottage; the noise of the river must have drowned the firing. They
are friends of mine; they will give us some food for to-morrow morning
and another dress for you. You cannot go in that."

"Oh!" laughed Juanita, "I have taken the veil. It is done now and cannot
be undone."

She raised her hands to the wings of her spreading cap as if to defend it
against all comers. And Marcos, turning, suddenly threw his uninjured arm
round her, imprisoning her struggling arms. He held her thus a prisoner
while with his injured hand he found the strings of the cap. In a moment
the starched linen fluttered out, fell into the river, and was carried
swirling away.

Juanita was still laughing, but Marcos did not answer to her gaiety. She
recollected at that instant having once threatened to