All at once they were there. A lovely paradise opened before them. They rode through the grove before the front of the hacienda. A windmill was lazily pumping water that overflowed tanks and troughs, and slipped clear and brimming through the _acequias_, the irrigation ditches that nourished the fields of El Escondido. On through the arched gateway to the courtyard, where there was a strange silence and not a sign of life. Raquel called. There was a flash of a bright skirt, and a young Mexican girl appeared from the hacienda. “Concha,” cried Raquel. “Don’t you remember me? It is Raquel Daniels.” She pronounced it in the Spanish way, Dan-ee-el, with the accent on the last syllable. Concha hurried forward, smiling with relief. But indeed, she did well remember _el señorito_. So he had escaped safely? That was good. No, she shook her head commiseratingly, the little brother had not returned. Raquel’s heart sank. He must be with the army. He must. And Don Nestor, she inquired. How was he? And where were all of the _sirvientes_? Don Nestor was ill, Concha recited. He had been ill nearly three weeks--ever since the night of the raid, and was still lying in the basement where he had taken refuge. He could not himself walk up the _escalera_, and who was she, Concha, to carry him! Indeed, _el padrón_ had shouted at her with terrible wrath when she had offered to push from behind. Piedad was cooking for them, but then _el señorito_ remembered how fat was Piedad. He could scarcely move himself further than the kitchen door, and was of no assistance in the dilemma. All the others had departed. Manuel had not returned after that night. Concha always had suspected Manuel anyway, and that hussy Maddalena, who had disappeared too. Worst of all, her _novio_, Concha’s _novio_, whom she was to wed next month, had been seized by the troops and carried off, she knew not where. Concha’s tongue was all for running on, but Raquel interrupted with the request that a room be made ready at once for the _señorita_ with her. The one she herself had had before, Raquel suggested. Concha disappeared round a corner of the house, and in a moment was heard unbarring the strong front door from within. The girls stepped into the cool dimness of the _zaguan_ and passed through into the patio. Raquel caught Lois by the arm for, now that they had arrived at their refuge, she gave signs of collapsing. With Concha’s aid, Raquel got Lois upstairs and to the high white bed. Her face was pinched with fatigue, and gray; her blonde hair hung in dry and brittle wisps about her face. She was covered with dust. This was not the delicately lovely Lois Raquel had known, and her heart was touched with pity as well as concern. “Concha, _ve_, see! She faints. Get me quickly some water, some wine if there is any still, and tell Don Nestor I will be there at once as soon as I have attended my friend.”