"All of twenty leagues it will be when we've done with it. But our ride won't be over then. If I'm not mistaken, we'll be back this way before we lay side on a bed. There's another nest not far off will claim a visit from us, one we're not likely to find so empty. I'd rob it now if I had my way; but for certain reasons, mustn't without permit from headquarters; the which I'm sure of getting! _Carajo_! if the cock birds have escaped, I'll take care the hens don't." And as if to make sure of it, he dug the spurs deep into the flanks of his now jaded charger, again commanding the "quick gallop." CHAPTER FIFTY SIX. A DAY OF SUSPENSE. Dawn was just beginning to show over the eastern _Cordilleras_, its aurora giving a rose tint to the snowy cone of Popocatepec, as the Hussars passed back through San Augustin. The bells of the _paroquia_ had commenced tolling matins, and many people abroad in the streets, hurrying toward the church, saw them--interrogating one another as to where they had been, and on what errand bound. But before entering the _pueblo_ they had to pass under the same eyes that observed them going outward on the other side; these more keenly and anxiously scrutinising them now, noting every file as it came in sight, every individual horseman, till the last was revealed; then lighting up with joyous sparkle, while they, thus observing, breathed freely. For the soldiers had come as they went, not a man added to their number, if none missing, but certainly no prisoners brought back! "They've got safe off," triumphantly exclaimed the Countess, when the rearmost files had forged past, "as I told you they would. I knew there was no fear after they had been warned." That they had been warned both were by this aware, their messenger having meanwhile returned and reported to that effect. He had met the Hussars on their way up, but crouching among some bushes, he had been unobserved by them; and, soon as they were well out of the way, slipped out again and made all haste home. He had brought back something more than a mere verbal message--a _billetita_ for each of the two who had commissioned him. The notes were alike, in that both had been hastily scribbled, and in brief but warm expression of thanks for the service done to the writers. Beyond this, however, they were quite different. It was the first epistle Florence Kearney had ever indited to Luisa Valverde, and ran in fervid strain. He felt he could so address her. With love long in doubt that it was even reciprocated, but sure of its being so now, he spoke frankly as passionately. Whatever his future, she had his heart, and wholly. If he lived, he would seek her again at the peril of a thousand lives; if it should be his fate to die, her name would be the last word on his lips.