But, alas! a burned child dreads the fire. There still was a bump on Lorraine’s head from the staff of Don Alcides; and Camilla’s eyes were too like Claudia’s to be trusted all at once. Moreover, Hilary thought of Mabel, of all her goodness, and proven trust; and Spanish ladies, though they might be queens, had no temptation for him now. And perhaps he thought--as quick men think of little things unpleasantly--“I do not want a wife whose eyes will always be deeper than my own.” And so he resolved to be off as soon as it could be done politely. Camilla, having been disappointed more than once of love’s reply, clearly saw what was going on, and called her pride to the rescue. The cavalier should not say farewell to her; she would say it to the cavalier. Also, she would let him know one thing. “If you must leave us, Captain Lorraine, and return to your native land, you will at least permit me to do what my father would have done if he were at home--to send you with escort to Malaga. The roads are dangerous. You must not go alone.” “I thank you. I am scarcely worth robbing now. I can sing in the presence of the bandit.” “You will grant me this last favour, I am sure, if I tell you one thing. It was not that wicked Claudia, who drew the iron from your wound.” “It was not the Donna Claudia! To whom then do I owe my life?” “Can you not, by any means, endeavour to conjecture?” “How glad I am?” he answered, as he kissed her cold and trembling hand--“the lady to whom I owe my life is gentle, good, and truthful.” “There is no debt of life, Senhor. But would it have grieved you, now, if Claudia had done it? Then be assured she did not do it. Her manner never was to do anything good to anyone. And yet--how wonderful are things!--everybody loved her. It is no good to be good, I fear. Pedro, you are at the door, then, are you? You have taken care to hear everything. Go order a repast for the cavalier of the best we have, and men and horses to conduct him to Malaga. Be quick, I say, and show no hesitation.” At her urgent words the steward went, yet grumbling and reluctant, and glancing over his shoulder all the way along the passage. “How that old man amuses me!” she continued to the wondering Hilary, who had never dreamed that she could speak sharply; “ever since my sister’s disgrace, he thinks that his duty is to watch me! Ah! what am I to be watched for?” “Because,” said Hilary, “there is no Spaniard who would not long to steal the beautiful young Donna.” “No Spaniard shall ever do that. But haste; you are in such hurry for the sunny land of Anglia.” “I do not understand the Senhorita. Why should I hurry to my great disgrace? I shall never hear the last of the money I have lost.” “’Tis all money, money, money, in the noble England. But the friends of the Captain need not mourn; for the money was not his, nor theirs.”