"You are always writing letters," she said. "You began writing them on the splash-board of the carriage at the mouth of the valley and you have been doing it ever since." "They are making use of my knowledge of the valley," he replied. He continued his task after a very quick glance up at her. Juanita had found out that he rarely looked at her. "I am not at all tired after our adventure," she said. "I made up last night for the want of sleep. Do I look tired?" "Not at all," answered Marcos, glancing no higher than her waist. "But I had a dream," she said. "It was so vivid that I am not sure now that it was a dream. I am not sure that I did not in reality get out of bed quite early in the morning, before daylight, when the moon was just touching the mountains, and look out of my window. And the terrace, Marcos, was covered with soldiers; rows and rows of them, like shadows. And at the end, beneath my window, stood a group of men. Some were officers; one looked like General Pacheco, fat with a chuckling laugh; another seemed to be Captain Zeneta--the friend who stood by us in the chapel of Our Lady of the Shadows--who was saying his prayers, you remember. Most young men are too conceited to say their prayers nowadays. And there were two civilians, in riding-boots all dusty, who looked singularly like you and Uncle Ramon. It was an odd dream, Marcos--was it not?" "Yes," answered he with a laugh. "Do not tell it to the wrong people as Joseph did." "No, your reverence," she said. She stood looking at him with grave eyes. "Is there going to be a battle?" she asked, curtly. "Yes." "Where?" He pointed down into the valley with his pen. "Just above the bridge if it all comes off as they have planned." She went out on to the terrace and looked down into the valley, which was peaceful enough in the morning light. The thin smoke of the pine wood-fires rose from the chimneys in columns of brilliant blue. The sheep on the slopes across the valley were calling to their lambs. Then Juanita returned to the library window and stood on the threshold, with brooding eyes and a bright patch of colour in her cheeks. "Will you do me a favour?" she asked. "Of course." He lifted his pen from the paper, but did not look up. "If there is a battle--if there is any fighting, will you take great care of yourself? It would be so terrible if anything happened to you ... for Uncle Ramon I mean." "Yes," answered Marcos, gravely. "I understand. I promise to take care." Juanita still lingered at the window. "And you always keep your promises, don't you? To the letter?" "Why shouldn't I?" "No, of course not. It is characteristic of you, that is all. Your promise is a sort of rock that nothing can move. Women, you know, make a promise and then ask to be let off; you would not do that?" "No," answered Marcos, quite simply.