‘Ah, I see the reverendo knows a horse.’ ‘And an ass,’ added Concha. At this moment the General emerged from the shadow of the staircase, which was open and of stone. He was followed by Estella, as it would appear, and they hurried across the sunlighted patio, the girl carrying her fan to screen her face. ‘Are you rested, my child?’ asked Concha at the carriage door. The lady lowered the fan for a moment and met his eyes. A quick look of surprise flashed across Concha’s face and he half bowed. Then he repeated his question in a louder voice: ‘Are you rested, my child, after our long journey?’ ‘Thank you, my father, yes.’ And the ostler watched with open-mouthed interest. The other carriage had been drawn up to that side of the courtyard where the open stairway was, and here also the bustle of departure and a hurrying female form, anxious to gain the shade of the vehicle, were discernible. It was all done so quickly, with such a military completeness of detail, that the carriages had passed through the great doorway and the troopers—merely a general’s escort—had clattered after them before the few onlookers had fully realised that these were surely travellers of some note. The ostler hurried to the street to watch them go. ‘They are going to the north,’ he said to himself, as he saw the carriages turn in the direction of the river and the ancient Puerta de Toledo. ‘They go to the north—and assuredly the General has come to conduct her to Toledo.’ Strange to say, although it was the hour of rest, many shutters in the narrow street were open, and more than one peeping face was turned towards the departing carriages. CHAPTER XXVII A NIGHT JOURNEY ‘Let me but bear your love, I’ll bear your cares.’ AT the cross-roads on the northern side of the river the two carriages parted company, the dusty equipage of General Vincente taking the road to Aranjuez that leads to the right and mounts steadily through olive groves. The other carriage—which, despite its plain and sombre colours, still had an air of grandeur and almost of royalty, with its great wheels and curved springs—turned to the left and headed for Toledo. Behind it clattered a dozen troopers, picked men, with huge swinging swords and travel-stained clothes. The dust rose in a cloud under the horses’ feet and hovered in the sullen air. There was no breath of wind, and the sun shone through a faint haze which seemed only to add to the heat. Concha lowered the window and thrust forward his long inquiring nose. ‘What is it?’ asked the General. ‘Thunder—I smell it. We shall have a storm to-night.’ He looked out mopping his brow. ‘Name of a saint! how thick the air is.’ ‘It will be clear before the morning,’ said Vincente the optimist.