"I shall tell you, senor," said the now blushing girl; "it means simply that my brother was most anxious that I, and not Donna Ximena, should reach the St. Engracia convent, as a place of permanent safety till these wars and tumults are over. He also wished to supply you with a guide to Portalegre, where, but for the loss of our horses, we should have been last night. Thus my brother----" "Deemed that as old Donna Ximena you would be safer with me than in your own character?" "Exactly," she replied, laughing; "we thought there would be little chance of your attentions annoying her." "Do you imagine that when the French appeared I would have turned my horse's head and left you without thought or ceremony, as I left her--she whom I considered an old, deaf bore and encumbrance? You have acted well your part, senora. How you made me roar and shout, as if I was commanding a whole brigade!" "And now, senor, that you know I am not Donna Ximena, will you respect me the less?" "On the contrary, I shall respect you a great deal more," said Quentin with enthusiasm, as he took her hand in his; but she withdrew it as if to adjust her veil. "Then, am I to understand that in your country, youth is more honourable than age?" "Nay, it is not, but youth is more pleasing, certainly." "You have been most kind to me, senor." "Kind, senora?" Quentin thought she was quizzing him. "Yes; I cannot forget how, even as old Ximena, you lifted me from my mule, conveyed me in here, made a couch and pillow for me, and so forth. _Beso usted la mano, caballero_ (I kiss your hand, sir)," she added, taking his hand in hers. "Oh, Donna Isidora, I cannot permit you to do this--unless----" "Do you not know the customs of Castile? Well, unless what?" "You permit me to kiss yours." "How simple! there, senor," she added, presenting a very lovely little hand, which he pressed to his lips. "Your cheek now--ah, you will permit me?" urged Quentin, becoming a little bewildered by the whole situation, and by the clear dark eyes that looked so softly into his. "Do so, senor." Quentin was promptly pressing forward, when the point of a very unpleasant looking little stiletto met his cheek! "Senora," he exclaimed, "what do you mean?" "That I shall stab you to the heart if you molest me--that is all!" said she, as a gleam came into her dark eyes that vividly reminded Quentin of Baltasar. "So, so, senora," said Quentin, with an air of pique, "you are certainly able to take care of yourself." "I live in times when it is necessary I should be so," was the dry retort. Quentin surveyed her with growing interest, for her beauty was very remarkable in its delicacy and darkness. She had a short crimson upper lip, that seemed to quiver with every passing thought, for she was an impressionable, enthusiastic, and high-spirited girl. After a pause, "Now that you have done admiring me, I suppose," said she, "you will kindly say what we are to do?" "How?"