"A party of soldiers have found the house, senor. They are coming to surround it. There is yet a moment to fly, if you will come at once," he cried, excitedly. "The senor will fly, Juan. You can get him away. You must go instantly," exclaimed Sarita. "You will come with me. I will go then." She looked at me earnestly and imploringly. "For the Holy Mother’s sake, save yourself," she cried, in a voice of pain. "If you will come, yes. If you will not come, no. Where you are, I stay, Sarita." The old woman and the lad stood staring at us in dismay. "Come, senor, come," he said. "We are not going, Juan," I answered, quietly; and Sarita put her hands to her face distractedly, and then she cried again impulsively— "Oh, you must go. You must go." "Come, then," and, grasping her hand, I led her toward the door. "Quick, senor, quick," said the boy again. "Quick, Sarita," I repeated. "Every moment lost may be fatal." "I will go. Yes, I will go. Quick, Mother Calvarro, my things;" and, smiling to me with every sign of agitation, she took them from the old woman’s hand. "It is for your sake," she whispered, as we hurried out into the passage. But the chance was lost. We had delayed too long. Outside, the sound of horses’ feet, the clang of arms, and the jingle of bits, told us the soldiers were there at the door already, and a strong voice uttered a word of command. "This way, senor, by the back," cried Juan; and he darted down the passage, and opened the door. But as he did so we heard a man’s gruff voice, followed by a heavy step, as a soldier entered. At the same moment a loud knock, as from the butt end of a musket, sounded on the front door, and a stern voice demanded admittance. "It is too late, Sarita," I said, quietly. "We will wait for them in the room there;" and I led her back. *CHAPTER XXVII* *SARITA HEARS THE TRUTH* Sarita went to her old place on the settle, where I had found her so disconsolate on my arrival, and I stood nearer the door, which purposely I left ajar that I might hear what passed. She was pale, but quite calm, and her only sign of agitation was when she whispered to me, with a gesture of regret— "You should have gone, Ferdinand. I have brought this upon you." "Nothing has happened yet. They may not know us," I said, in reply; and was in the act of whispering a further word of reassurance, when I stopped and started, held silent by surprise at recognising the voice of the questioning soldier. "Is this Calvarro’s farm?" Sarita recognised it too, and with a quick catch of alarm she said— "It is Colonel Livenza, Ferdinand. You are lost. Holy Mother have pity on us! how can he have come here?"