'When shall I start for Madrid?' he asked.

'Oh, to-morrow morning will be time enough,' was the reply, uttered
in an easy-going, indolent tone, 'if you are early astir. You see,
it is now nearly five o'clock, and you could scarcely be in saddle
before sunset.'

'No,' laughed Conyngham, 'scarcely, considering that I have not yet
bought the saddle or the horse.'

The General led the way into the house, and Conyngham thought of the
letter in his pocket. He had not yet read the address. Julia
relied upon him to deliver it, and her conduct towards the Alcalde
had the evident object of gaining time for him to do so. She had
unhesitatingly thrust herself into a position of danger to screen
him and further her own indomitable purpose. He thought of her--
still as from a distance at which Estella had placed him--and knew
that she not only had a disquieting beauty, but cleverness and
courage, which are qualities that outlast beauty and make a woman
powerful for ever.

When he and his companion emerged from the great doorway of the
house into the sunlight of the Calle Mayor, a man came forward from
the shade of a neighbouring porch. It was Concepcion Vara,
leisurely and dignified, twirling a cigarette between his brown
fingers. He saluted the General with one finger to the brim of his
shabby felt hat as one great man might salute another. He nodded to
Conyngham.