"I am glad to hear it, Señor Capitan," said Jack gravely. Then, abruptly changing the subject, he continued: "Can you tell me where I should be likely to find Padre Consolacion?" "At the Franciscan convent, no doubt; you will pass it on the way back to your district. The padre is doing grand work." Jack thanked the general and took his leave. He was anxious to find Padre Consolacion and discover from him the whereabouts of Juanita Alvarez. As he walked along the Coso towards the Franciscan convent he came to the house where he had left the young Señorita whose acquaintance he had made on his first entrance to the town, and remembering the trinkets of hers he had in his pocket, he decided to call and leave them with her, and at the same time enquire after her welfare and the health of the fragile old lady whom they had rescued. Rapping at the door, he was in a minute confronted by a pleasant-looking old duenna, who, on learning the object of his call, at once asked him in. "The Señorita said that if you called you were to be shown up, Señor. Follow me." There was nothing unusual in this; in Spain a message is always delivered in person, be the messenger high or low. Jack followed the old woman into a vast salon, darkened by the closing of the shutters except at a small window at the back. "The Señora is ill; the Señorita receives," said his guide, and went out, closing the door. In a chair sat the old lady, looking vacantly around the room, mumbling her lips and fingering the ends of her lace mantilla. She paid no attention to the visitor, but the younger lady rose and came forward a few steps, then stood in an attitude of mingled enquiry and expectancy. "You will pardon me, Señorita; I could not help calling to enquire—I am not sure of your name—" "I don’t think we mentioned it, Señor. And that reminds me of my own neglect—my unpardonable neglect. I should certainly have asked the name of our—deliverer." At this word Jack looked uncomfortable. His fluency in Spanish seemed for the moment to have utterly deserted him. "Oh," he exclaimed at a rush, "my name is Lumsden—Jack Lumsden." "Ah! an English name, is it not? Then you are not a Spaniard. And yet you speak—just like one of ourselves." Jack’s reply was half-apologetic. "Oh, well, I had a good deal of practice as a child. I used to live in Spain." "And now?" "Now—I’m in the army—the English army—lieutenant in the 95th regiment." "Lieutenant?—May I congratulate you?" "Congratulate me!" repeated Jack in some surprise. "Yes; is it not permitted? Among us it is quite the custom to congratulate a friend on his promotion." "Certainly, Señorita—" began Jack, wondering still more; but before he could collect himself the girl continued, with a twinkle of amusement in her eyes: "Surely it is only the other day that you were an ensign. Can you have forgotten that too? You were not always so forgetful. I fear—"