"Well, he’s peeling onions at this moment. A little change for him, but all in the same line of business. It was he told me what had happened; lucky I can make out two French words out of ten. By Jove! what bloodthirsty ruffians these Spaniards are! If it hadn’t been for me all the prisoners would have been garroted or roasted before slow fires, or something. When I saw what was in the wind my blood boiled. I couldn’t stand that; no Englishman could; so I made ’em a speech. Lord! I never knew I could rattle it off so; I must go into Parliament. Of course they couldn’t understand what I said, but I threw my arms about, and pointed to my neck, and shook my head, and generally played the goat, as I’ve seen ’em do at the hustings; and they made out what I meant, and so the prisoners are here still,—except the captain, who died of over-drinking." At this moment Antonio came quietly into the cave; he had been in and out during Jack’s periods of unconsciousness, and now showed every mark of delight at his impending recovery. "The saints be praised, Señor!" he said. "We feared you would die. We should have grieved." Jack was touched by his simple sincerity. "I am not gone yet," he said, smiling, "thanks, I understand, to my friend Señor Dugdale here." "He is a clever doctor, Señor," said Antonio. "He tells me that you have the Frenchmen we captured at Morata." "Sí, Señor, and another lot too." "Indeed! It is well that he managed to persuade you to do them no harm." "What does the Señor mean?" "My friend Señor Dugdale tells me that you were going to torture the prisoners, and he made a speech and—" "Oh, that!" exclaimed Antonio, with a wave of the hand. "We didn’t understand. We thought the Señor wanted us to cut all their throats; but I knew you would not like that." Jack became almost hysterical with laughter at this explanation, and Dugdale bundled Antonio out of the cave, and told Jack he must go to sleep again. He allowed no more talk on that day, but the patient was so much better next morning that he made no objection when Jack asked to see the guerrillero again. "I want to hear what has happened," said Jack to him. "I am anxious." "I know, Señor; but there is no need. The day after we got back with the prisoners, the gitano Pepito came and said the Señorita Juanita had been captured by the French and was living with a colonel’s lady in Morata. I got my men together and we went down at once, and in the night surprised the French, killed a great many, and captured the rest. But the Señorita was not among them. We found the colonel’s lady; she told us that the Señorita had escaped." "Where is she?" asked Jack anxiously. "We do not know, Señor. The boy Pepito was frantic; he said you would punish him for losing the lady, and he went away to find her. He has never come back." "Did he say anything about Señor Priego—the man who was in Saragossa, you remember?"