place for the wounded man in one of the huts amongst the fruit trees
at the back of the house. That hovel, an abundance of clear water
while the fever was on him, and some words of pity were all they could
give. I suppose he had a share of what food there was. And it would be
but little; a handful of roasted corn, perhaps a dish of beans, or a
piece of bread with a few figs. To such misery were those proud and
once wealthy people reduced."




VII

GENERAL SANTIERRA was right in his surmise. Such was the exact nature
of the assistance which Gaspar Ruiz, peasant son of peasants, received
from the Royalist family whose daughter had opened the door--of their
miserable refuge to his extreme distress. Her sombre resolution ruled
the madness of her father and the trembling bewilderment of her
mother.

She had asked the strange man on the door-step, "Who wounded you?"

"The soldiers, senora," Gaspar Ruiz had answered, in a faint voice.

"Patriots?"

"Si."

"What for?"