"I shall see her safe to the gate of the Engracia convent," said Quentin; "and how about returning the cattle, Don Baltasar?" "Leave them there, too--my free gift to the convent. And now, adios," said he, with a low bow; "doubtless we shall meet again when the army is in motion." "I hope not," muttered Quentin. "Adios, senores." A few minutes more and they had left the puebla, with its lawless garrison, its cannon, and earthen bastions, on which the scarlet and yellow ensign of Castile and Leon was waving, far behind them, and were riding at a rapid trot down the green mountain path which Quentin had travelled alone last night. Soon he saw the place where the road branched off to Valencia, and where he had parted from Ribeaupierre; and, ere long, he passed the dead horse, already torn and disembowelled by the wolves or the wandering dogs which infested all the wild parts of Estremadura. How changed were the scene, the circumstances, and the companionship since he had last been in the saddle, cantering along the road to Maybole, escorting Flora Warrender! Leaving this path, and striking off to the left, Donna Ximena, to whose guidance he silently and implicitly committed himself, and who rode a little way in front, managing her mule with ease, and, considering her years, with undoubted grace, conducted him up a steep and narrow track that led into the wildest part of the mountains, where the summits of slaty granite were already beginning to be powdered by frost and snow in the early hours of morning, and where the valleys, which the industry of the Moors made gardens that teemed with fertility and beauty, are now desert wastes, abounding only in rank pasturage. Their cattle soon became blown, and, as the pleasant breeze that fanned the foliage in the forenoon, had already died away, and been succeeded by an oppressive and sultry closeness, they proceeded slowly, and now Quentin thought he might venture to converse a little with his silent companion, for the monotony of travelling thus became tiresome in the extreme. "Donna Ximena," said he, as their nags walked slowly up the mountain path. "Donna Ximena!" he repeated, in a louder key, before she said, without turning her head-- "Well, senor?" "It surprises me much that Don Baltasar permits a girl so lovely as his sister to reside among those dangerous guerillas." To this remark the haughty old lady made no response, so, raising his voice, he added-- "He may now be without a home to leave her in; but, certainly, Isidora is, without exception, the most beautiful and winning girl I ever saw--in her own style, at least," he concluded, as he thought of Flora Warrender. He had to shout this remark at the utmost pitch of his voice before the old lady replied, with a gloved hand at her right ear,-- "Yes, senor--she put a large and beautiful sausage into the alforja."