'You will ride,' the innkeeper told him, 'from the Guadalquivir to
the Guadiana, and if there is rain you may be a month upon the
road.'

Conyngham set out in the early morning, and as he threw his leg
across the saddle the sun rose over the far misty hills of Ronda,
and Concepcion Vara awoke from his night's rest under the wall of an
olive terrace above the Bobadilla road, to begin another day of
patient waiting and watching to get speech with the maid or the
mistress; for he had already inaugurated what he lightly called 'an
affair' with Julia's flighty attendant. The sun rose also over the
plains of Xeres, and lighted up the picturesque form of Esteban
Larralde, in the saddle this hour and more, having learnt that
Colonel Monreal's death took place an hour before Conyngham's
arrival in the town of Xeres de la Frontera. The letter, therefore,
had not been delivered to Colonel Monreal, and was still in
Conyngham's possession.

Larralde bestrode a shocking steed, and had but an indifferent seat
in the saddle. Nevertheless, the dust rose beneath his horse's
feet, and his spurs flashed in the sunlight as this man of many
parts hurried on towards Utrera and Cordova.

In the old Moorish palace in Ronda, General Vincente, summoned to a
great council of war at Madrid, was making curt military
preparations for his journey and the conveyance of his household to
the capital. Senora Barenna was for the moment forgetful of her
nerves in the excitement of despatching servants in advance to
Toledo, where she owned a summer residence. Julia was nervously
anxious to be on the road again, and showed by every word and action