‘You must take steps at once,’ urged Señora Barenna when they were alone again. She was endowed with a magnificent imagination without much wisdom to hold it in check, and at times persuaded herself that she was in the midst, and perhaps the leader, of a dangerous whirl of political events. ‘I will, my dear Iñez; I will. And we will take a little maraschino, to collect ourselves, eh?’ And his manner quite indicated that it was he and not Madame Barenna who was upset. The lady consented, and proceeded to what she took to be a consultation, which in reality was a monologue. During this she imparted a vast deal of information, and received none in return, which is the habit of voluble people, and renders them exceedingly dangerous to themselves and useful to others. Presently the two men conducted her to her carriage, with many reassurances. ‘Never fear, Iñez; never fear. He will be gone before you return,’ said the General, with a wave of the hand. He had consented to invite Julia to accompany Estella and himself to Madrid, where she would be out of harm’s way. The two men then returned to the General’s study, and sat down in that silence which only grows to perfection on the deep soil of a long-standing friendship. Vincente was the first to speak. ‘I have had a letter from Madrid,’ he said, looking gravely at his companion. ‘My correspondent tells me that Conyngham has not yet presented his letter of introduction, and, so far as is ascertainable, has not arrived in the capital. He should have been there six weeks ago.’ The Padre took a pinch of snuff, and held the box out towards his companion, who waved it aside. The General was too dainty a man to indulge in such a habit. ‘He possessed no money, so he cannot have fallen a victim to thieves,’ said Concha. ‘He was accompanied by a good guide, and an honest enough scoundrel, so he cannot have lost his way,’ observed the General, with a queer expression of optimistic distress on his face. ‘His movements were not always above suspicion—’ the priest closed his snuff-box and laboriously replaced it in the pocket of his cassock. ‘That letter—it was a queer business!’ and the General laughed. ‘Most suspicious.’ There was a silence, during which Concha sneezed twice with enjoyment and more noise than is usually considered necessary. ‘And your letter,’ he said, carefully folding his handkerchief into squares; ‘that anonymous letter of warning that your life is threatened—is that true? It is the talk of Ronda.’ ‘Ah, that!’ laughed Vincente. ‘Yes, it is true enough. It is not the first time—a mere incident, that is all.’ ‘That which the Señora Barenna said just now,’ observed the priest slowly, ‘about our English friend—may be true. Sometimes thoughtless people arrive at a conclusion which eludes more careful minds.’ ‘Yes—my dear Padre—yes.’ The two grey-headed men looked at each other for a moment in silence. ‘And yet you trust him,’ said Concha.