"As it is commonly spoken--yes," she replied, "we have talked many a time for sport. But this which is spoken by the Sergeant and La Giralda is deep Romany, the like of which not half a dozen in Spain understand. It is the old-world speech of the Rom, before it became contaminated by the jargon of fairs and the slang of the travelling horse-clipper." "Then," said El Sarria, slowly, "it comes to this--'tis you and not I who mistrust these two?" "No, that I do not," cried Concha, emphatically; "I have tried La Giralda for many years and at all times found her faithful, so that her bread be well buttered and a draught of good wine placed alongside it. But the Sergeant is a strong man and a secret man----" "Well worth the watching, then?" said El Sarria, looking her full in the face. Concha nodded. "Carlist or no, he works for his own hand," she said simply. "Shall ye mention the matter to Don Rollo?" asked El Sarria. "Nay--what good?" said Concha, quickly; "Don Rollo is brave as a bull of Jaen, but as rash. You and I will keep our eyes open and say nothing. Perhaps--perhaps we may have doubted the man somewhat over-hastily. But as for me, I will answer for La Giralda." "For me," said El Sarria, sententiously, "I will answer for no woman--save only Dolores Garcia!" Concha looked up quickly. "I also am a woman," she said, smiling. "And quite well able to answer for yourself, Senorita!" returned El Sarria, grimly. For the answers of Ramon Garcia were not at all after the pattern set by Rollo the Scot. CHAPTER XXVII THE SERGEANT AND LA GIRALDA The dust-heat of the desolate plains of Old Castile was red on the horizon when the Sergeant and his companion started together on their strange and perilous mission. Would they ever return, and when? What might they not find? A Court deserted and forlorn, courtiers fleeing, or eager to flee if only they knew whither, from the dread and terrible plague? A Queen and a princess without guards, a palace open to the plunder of any chance band of robbers? For something like this the imp of the deserted village had prepared them. At all events, the Sergeant and La Giralda went off calmly enough in the direction of the town of San Ildefonso, driving their donkey before them. For a minute, as they gained the crest, their figures stood out black and clear against the coppery sunrise. The next they had disappeared down the slope, the flapping peak of Cardono's Montera cap being the last thing to be lost sight of. The long, dragging, idle day was before the party in the dry ravine.