Phil and his comrades drew near. He saw the women glance at them, and he saw the youngest of them look at him several times. She stared with a vague sort of wonder in her eyes, and Phil’s heart suddenly began to pound so hard that he grew dizzy. Since the letter, coming out of the unknown and traveling such a vast distance, had found him in the little town of Paris, Kentucky, he had felt at times the power of intuition. Truths burst suddenly upon him, and for the moment he had the conviction that this was the woman. Moreover, she was still looking at him. "Speak to her, Bill! Speak to her!" he exclaimed. "Don’t let her go until you ask her." But Breakstone had already noticed the curious glances the woman was casting at Phil, and in the Spanish patois of the region he bade them a light and courteous good morning. Here all the charm of Breakstone’s manner showed at its very best. No one could take offense at it, and the three women, smiling, replied in a similar vein. Breakstone understood Phil’s agitation. The boy might be right, but he did not intend to be too headlong. He must fence and approach the subject gradually. So he spoke of the little things that make conversation, but presently he said to the youngest of the women: "I see that you notice my comrade, the one who is not yet a man in years, though a man in size. Does it chance that you have seen some one like him?" "I do not know," replied the woman. "I am looking into my memory that I may see." "Perhaps," said Breakstone smoothly, "it was one of the Texan prisoners whom they brought through here two or three years ago. A boy, tall and fair like this boy, but dusty with the march, bent with weariness, his feet cut and bleeding by the lava over which he had been forced to march, stood here at this well. He was blindfolded that he might not see which way he had come, but you, the Holy Virgin filling your heart with pity, took the cup of cool water and gave it to him to drink." Comprehension filled the eyes of the woman, and she gazed at Breakstone with growing wonder. "It is so!" she exclaimed. "I remember now. It was three years ago. There was a band of prisoners, twelve or fifteen, maybe, but he was the youngest of them all, and so worn, so weak! I could not see his eyes, but he had the figure and manner of the youth who stands there! It was why I looked, and then looked again, the resemblance that I could not remember." "It is his brother who is with me," said Breakstone. "Can you tell where these prisoners were taken?" "I do not know, but I have heard that they were carried into the mountains to the south and west, where they were to be held until Texas was brought back to Mexico, or to be put to death as outlaws." "What prisons lie in these mountains to the south and west?" "I do not know how many, but we have heard most of the Castle of Montevideo. Some of our own people have gone there, never to come back."