"I can’t run away. I have to defend my quarter till the last. And then—well, it’s the fortune of war—the French will make sure of all the officers, you may depend on that. But about yourself, Juanita; you won’t be in any danger—except from Miguel." "Why from Miguel? Won’t he be a prisoner too?" Jack laughed grimly. "Miguel has taken care of that. Last night he disappeared from Saragossa—just in time to escape being gibbeted as an afrancesado, a traitor, and a spy." Juanita’s eyes blazed, her cheeks flamed with the hot Spanish blood. "Kill him! Kill him, Jack!" she cried. "He was a traitor to my father; he is a traitor to Spain! Oh, if I were a man!" Jack was amazed at the girl’s fury. "I don’t think I’d like to soil my hands with him," he said quietly. "Besides, he will keep out of my way. But don’t you see, Juanita, that he will come in with the French, and then—I’m afraid he might bother you, you know." Juanita drew herself up with a proud air. "I could borrow a knife!" she said. "A Spanish girl is not afraid to die." "Don’t talk like that. What need is there for you to die? I shall have to give you orders, as I give my men. Señorita Juanita Alvarez, you are to make your way, after the capitulation, to some place of safety, where I will find you— "You, a prisoner?" "Oh, I don’t mean to remain a prisoner! I shall say good-bye to my captors at the earliest possible moment, and then find you, and we will steal our way to the coast, and find a ship and sail for England. Mother will be glad to see you." "I have always wanted to see England," said Juanita musingly. "But what about my property—that all this mystery is about?" "We don’t know where it is; but, you remember, a duplicate letter was sent to father in London, and we can find out all about it there. And then, when the war is over, no doubt father will come back with you and put everything straight. And then—" "Well, Señor?" said Juanita archly. "Oh, then I suppose you’ll marry a Don—of some sort—" "How dare you, Señor Lumsden!" she cried with flashing eyes. Jack looked astonished at her sudden anger. "But never mind that," he went on. "The question is, is there anywhere that you can go to when the city falls?" "Ay de mí! Our old country house near Morata was shut up months ago; only one old man remains in charge. The garden must now be a waste. But I have friends at Calatayud, some miles farther away, and I could stay with them. It is quite sixty miles distant. Could I get there safely?" "I think so. After the siege many peasants will be returning to their homes. I will enquire if any are going in that direction, and will let you know if I find some respectable people with whom you might travel. Your old duenna would, of course, go with you. And then I thought of lending you a special friend of my own, who has done me many a good turn; he is outside now—a young gipsy boy who— "Pepito! Oh, he and I are good friends!" "You know him, then?"