nd indigo, Venetian red and violet-grey, among
the peaks of the Sierra de Moncayo. When two young people are thus
simultaneously stricken with an admiration for scenery, their
conversation is seldom worth repeating. But the Senorita Concha is so
unusual a young lady that in this case an exception must be made.

Awhile she gazed pensively up at the highest summits of the mountain,
now crimson against a saffron sky, for at eventide Spain flaunts her
national colours in the very heavens. Then she heaved a deep sigh.

"You are doubtless a fine horseman?" she cried, clasping her hands--"oh,
I adore all horses! I love to see a man ride as a man should!"

The young man coloured. This was, in truth, the most open joint in his
armour. Above all things he prided himself upon his horsemanship. Concha
had judged as much from his care of his spurs. And then to be mistaken
for an infantry tramper!

"Ah," he said, "if the _Senorita_ could only see my mare La Perla! I got
her three months ago from the stable of a black-blooded National whose
house we burnt near Zaragoza. She has carried me ever since without a
day's lameness. There is not the like of her in the regiment. Our mounts
are for the most part mere _garrons_ of Cataluna or Aragonese ponies
with legs like the pillars of a cellar, surmounted by barrels as round
as the wine-tuns themselves."

At this Concha looked still more pensive. Presently she heaved another
sigh and tapped her slender shoe with a chance spray of heath.

"Oh, I wish----" she began, and then stopped hastily as if ashamed.

"If it be anything that I can do for you," cried the young man,
enthusiastically, "you shall not have to wish it long!"

As he spoke he forsook the stone on which he had been sitting for
another nearer to the pretty cross-tied shoes of Andalucian pattern that
showed beneath the skirts of Concha's _basquina_.

"Ah, how I love horses!" murmured Concha; "doubtless, too, yours is of
my country--of the beautiful sunny Andalucia which I may never see
again!"

"The mare is indeed believed by all who have knowledge to have
Andalucian blood in her veins," answered the Alavan.

Concha rose to her feet impulsively.

"Then," she said, "I must see her. Also I am devoured with eagerness to
see you ride."

She permitted her eyes to take in the trim figure of the Vitorian, who
had also risen to his feet.

"Do go and bring her," she murmured; "I will take care of your musket.
You need not b