f women and their love. It is madness.
Nevertheless it happened. But it must be said that in her case it was
the madness of hate--not of love."

After presenting this excuse in a spirit of chivalrous justice, the
General remained silent for a time. "I rode past the house every day
almost," he began again, "and this was what was going on within. But how
it was going on no mind of man can conceive. Her desperation must
have been extreme, and Gaspar Ruiz was a docile fellow. He had been an
obedient soldier. His strength was like an enormous stone lying on the
ground, ready to be hurled this way or that by the hand that picks it
up.

"It is clear that he would tell his story to the people who gave him
the shelter he needed. And he needed assistance badly. His wound was not
dangerous, but his life was forfeited. The old Royalist being wrapped up
in his laughing madness, the two women arranged a hiding-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 doorstep, "Who wounded you?"

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

"Patriots?"

"Si."

"What for?"

"Deserter," he gasped, leaning against the wall under the scrutiny of
her black eyes. "I was left for dead over there."

She led him through the house out to a small hut of clay and reeds, lost
in the long grass of the overgrown orchard. He sank on a heap of maize
straw in a corner, and sighed profoundly.

"No one will look for you here," she said, looking down at him. "Nobody
comes near us. We, too, have been left for dead--here."

He stirred uneasily on his heap of dirty straw, and the pain in his neck
made him groan deliriously.

"I shall show Estab