He wandered and pondered for an hour, then gave it up, saddled his horse, and rode off down the valley. However inscrutable Cristoval was to Rava, or however perplexing she was at times to him, their separate problems did not mar the harmony of the days in the Vale of Xilcala. They were much together, for they had neither occupation nor preoccupation to keep them apart. There were long walks along the lake or among the hills; and visits to the cottagers, to whom their beloved Ñusta came as a gentle spirit of sympathy in their sorrows, or a sharer of their simple joys. There were quiet hours in the garden, often with Maytalca and the daughters of the _curaca_, Huallampo; but much of the time the Princess and Cristoval were alone, strolling the shaded paths, or sitting in the hemicycle, where Rava busied herself with some dainty fabric while Cristoval watched and mused in the intervals of fitful conversation. Under these conditions it is less than strange that Rava should wonder, not without disappointment, that the cavalier should turn his thoughts to war and its cruel glory. And it is not more than strange that his thoughts should take this bent with growing infrequency, or that he should look forward with more and more reluctance to the time when his role of guardian must be resigned, and the days in Xilcala be of the past. For, if the difference of race, of age, of culture, combined with the brevity of their association to make difficult to each the real nature of the other, yet the circumstances and the sentiment consequent upon their lately shared dangers were favorable for a live and romantic sympathy. Upon the heart of the girl, indeed, such incidents could have but one effect.