she went:

"What matter--for one night?"

So, at last, she would learn the truth. Salvador was out there, alone.
She would soon judge him. If he were innocent, she would know. If he
had merely been made the sport of a designing woman, she was ready to
forgive. In a more amiable mood than she had displayed at any moment
since her arrival at Las FIores, Carmela hastened along a dark corridor,
crossed a bare hall, passed through a porch, and searched the shadows of
the pateo for the form of her one-time lover.

A voice whispered, in French:

"Come quickly, Senhora, I pray you!"

It startled her to find San Benavides talking French, until it occurred
to her that Iris and he must converse in that language or hardly at all.
The thought was disquieting. The volcano stirred again.

"Senhora, je vous prie!" again pleaded the man, who was on horseback
under the trees.

She did not hesitate, but ran to him. Without a word of explanation, he
bent sideways, caught her in his arms, drew her up until she was seated
on the holsters strapped to a gaucho saddle, and wheeled his horse into a
gallop. Filled with a grim determination, she uttered no protest. Not a
syllable crossed her lips lest he should strive to amend his woeful
blunder. She noticed that they were not going toward the camp, but
circling round the enclosed land in the direction of the hills. Though
the night was dark, the stars gave light enough for the horse to move
freely. Carmela's head was bent. A gauze-like mantilla covered her
black hair, and, strange though it may seem, one woman's small waist and
slim figure can be amazingly like the same physical attributes in another
woman.

But San Benavides wondered why the cold Ingleza had surrendered so
silently. He expected at least a scream, a struggle, an impassioned
demand to be released. He was prepared for anything save a dumb
acceptance of this extraordinary raid.

So he began to explain.

"One word, Senhora!" he muttered. "You must think me mad. I am not.
All is lost! Our army is defeated! In an hour Las Flores will be in
flames!"

The girl quivered in his arms. A moaning cry came from her.

"It is true, I swear it!" he vowed. "I mean you no ill. I fought till
the end, and my good horse alone carried me in advance of the routed
troops. Dom Corria may reach the _finca_ alive, but, even so, he and the
rest will be killed. I refused to escape without you. Believe me or
not, you are