But by this time he had gone round the gable by the little narrow path over which the reeds continually rustled. He passed the window with the broken _reja_, and he smiled when he thought of the ignominious flight of Don Rafael down the village street. With a quickened step and his heart thudding in his ears he went about the little reed-built hut in which he had kept Concha's firewood, and stood at the back-door. It was closed and impervious. No ray of light penetrated. "Perhaps Concha has gone out, and the little one, being afraid, is sitting alone in the dark, or has drawn the clothes over her head in bed." He had always loved the delightful terrors with which Dolores was wont to cling to him, or flee to throw herself on his bosom from some imaginary peril--a centipede that scuttled out of the shutter-crack or a he-goat that had stamped his foot at her down on the rocks by the river. And like a healing balm the thought came to him. For all that talk in the venta--of Concha this and Concha that, of lovers and aspirants, no single word had been uttered of his Dolores. "What a fool, Ramon! What an inconceivable fool!" he murmured to himself. "_You_ doubted her, but the common village voice, so insolently free-spoken, never did so for a moment!" He knocked and called, his old love name for her, "Lola--dear Lola--open! It is I--Ramon!" He called softly, for after all he was the outlaw, and the Migueletes might be waiting for him in case he should return to his first home. But, call he loud or call he soft, there was no answer from the little house where he had been so happy with Dolores. He struck a light with his tinder-box and lit the dark lantern he carried. There was another bill on the back-door, and now with the lantern in his hand he read it from top to bottom. It was dated some months previously and was under the authority of the _alcalde_ of Sarria and by order of General Nogueras, the Cristino officer commanding the district. "This house, belonging to the well-known rebel, outlaw and murderer, Ramon Garcia, called El Sarria, is to be sold for the benefit of the government of the Queen-Regent with all its contents----" And here followed a list, among which his heart stood still to recognise the great chair he had bought at Lerida for Dolores to rest in when she was delicate, the bed they twain had slept in, the very work-table at which she had sewn the household linen, and sat gossiping with Concha over their embroidery. But there was no doubt about the matter. Dolores was gone, and the eye of El Sarria fell upon a notice rudely printed with a pen and inserted in a corner of the little square trap-door by which it was possible to survey a visitor without opening the door.