"That is the millstone that he has tied round Juanita's neck," said Sarrion, folding the paper and returning it to his pocket. "To saddle with three million pesetas a girl who is at a convent school, in the hands of the Sisters of the True Faith, when the Carlist cause is dying for want of funds, and the Jesuits know that it is Don Carlos or a Republic, and all the world knows that all republics have been fatal to the Society--bah!" the Count threw out his hands in a gesture of despair. "It is to throw her into a convent, bound hand and foot. We cannot leave that poor girl without help, Marcos." "No," said Marcos, gently. "There is only one way--I have thought of it night and day. There is only one way, my friend." Marcos looked at his father thoughtfully, and waited to hear what that way might be. "You must marry her," said the Count. CHAPTER VIII THE TRAIL The Count rose again and went to the window without looking at Marcos. They had lived together like brothers, and like brothers, they had fallen into the habit of closing the door of silence upon certain subjects. Juanita, it would appear, was one of these. For neither was at ease while speaking of her. Spaniards and Germans and Englishmen are not notable for a pretty and fanciful treatment of the subject of love. But they approach it with a certain shy delicacy of which the lighter Latin heart has no conception. The Count glanced over his shoulder, and Marcos, without looking up, must have seen the action, for he took the opportunity of shaking his head. "You shake your head," said Sarrion, with a sort of effort to be gay and careless, "What do you want? She is the prettiest girl in Aragon." "It is not that," said Marcos, curtly, with a flush on his brown face. "Then what is it?" Marcos made no answer. The Count lighted another cigarette, to gain time, perhaps. "Listen to me," he said at length. "We have always understood each other, except about Juanita. We have nearly always been of the same mind--you and I." Marcos was leaning his arms on the table and looked across the room towards his father with a slow smile. "Let us try and understand each other about Juanita before we go any farther. You think that there may be thoughts in your mind which are beyond my comprehension. It may not be as bad as that. I allow you, that as the heart grows older it loses a certain sensitiveness and delicacy of feeling. Still the comprehension of such feelings in younger persons may survive. You think that Juanita should be allowed to make her own choice --is it not so--learnt in England, eh?" "Yes," was the answer. "And I reply to that; a convent education--the only education open to Spanish girls--does not fit her to make her own choice." "It is not a question of education.