The girl arose. "Señora Valentino--" she began. The señora extended her unbandaged hand. "I have tried to perform a difficult and a distasteful task. I trust some good will come of it. I will say but one thing more: Do not trifle too far with Captain Morando." "Captain Morando is nothing to me; nor can he ever be. I would not wish it otherwise." "Well, señorita, I have fulfilled my promise. I have done my duty. Shall we now visit the wounded soldiers?" "If you so desire, Señora Valentino." The two passed out of the house, and across the courtyard to the hospital department of the Mendoza hacienda. Five of Captain Morando's men lay on cots in a large, well-lighted ward. Señora Valentino went from one to another making inquiries and speaking words of encouragement. One of the men had been in Morando's company in the North Africa campaigns, and had taken service again under him in California. "I regret, señora and señorita, that I am disabled, and cannot be with my Captain in this present fighting," he said. "No doubt, good man," replied Señora Valentino. "My Captain was the handsomest and the best man in General Guerrero's division," the soldier went on. "You are loyal," commented the señora. "With good reason. I have followed him into the thick of battle. I have followed him through the enemy's camp; and," laughing, "I have followed him when he galloped across country to tinkle his guitar beneath the window of the beautiful one--" "In Spain, or North Africa?" interrupted the señora jokingly. "I tell no tales out of school," rejoined the man, continuing the banter. "You interest me, as all soldiers do," from the señora. "Are you not one of the picked fighting men whom your Captain keeps near him for emergencies?" "Yes, señora. The morning Captain Morando was called from his visit to Colonel Barcelo, in Monterey, he had made me first sergeant. Thus I held his horse, Señora Valentino, while he was within speaking with you. You see, I know, kind lady. Benito, the porter, told me--" "Hush, man; remember you are wounded." "Benito told me," the soldier insisted. "Benito told me--" he laughed. "Ah! wounded men have strange dreams. I doubt not, you have been dreaming." "I think you have talked already as much as the physician's orders will allow," interposed Carmelita. "Of that I am sure," agreed the señora. "Come, señorita doña, let us be going. Now," shaking her finger at the soldier, "see that your dreams follow a more orderly fashion." "But," Benito said, "soon the San José Captain leads our beautiful señora to the padre. The Captain rides much beside her--" "Not another word, Sergeant. Now, I bid you good afternoon." She walked toward the door. "Forgive me, señora," called the sergeant, anxiously. "Benito spoke as if everyone knew already. Maybe I wouldn't have presumed to say anything--leastwise to yourself--if that blow on the head the other day hadn't loosened my tongue as well as my teeth--"