"I do not know, Senorita."

Miss Cheyne had risen, and was making ready to depart. Her gloves
and riding-whip lay on the table. The afternoon was far spent, and
already the shadows were lengthening on the mountain-side. She paid
the trifling account, Antonio taking the money with such a deep bow
that the smallness of the coin was quite atoned for. He brought her
horse from the stable.

"The horse and the Senorita are both tired," he said, with his
pleasant laugh. And, indeed, Miss Cheyne looked suddenly weary.
"It is not right that you should go by the mountain path," he added.
"It is so easy to lose the way. Besides, a lady alone--it is not
done in Spain."

"No; but in England women are learning to take care of themselves,"
laughed Miss Cheyne.

She placed her foot within his curved hands, and he lifted her to
the saddle. All her movements were easy and independent. It seemed
that she only stated a fact, and the man shook his head
forebodingly. He belonged to a country which in some ways is a
century behind England and America. She nodded a farewell, and
turned the horse's head towards the mountain path.

"I shall find my way," she said. "Never fear."

"Only by good fortune," he answered, with a shake of the head.