By daylight Marcos returned to the Palacio Sarrion
without having discovered the driver of the second
carriage or the whereabouts of Juanita in Saragossa.
But he had learnt that a carriage had been ordered
by telegraph from a station on the Pampeluna line to
be at Alagon at four o’clock in the morning.
He learnt also that telegraphic communication between
Pampeluna and Saragossa was interrupted.
The Carlists again.
At the inn of the two
trees At dawn the next morning, Marcos and Sarrion
rode out of the city towards Alagon by the great high
road many inches deep in dust which has always been
the main artery of the capital of Aragon.
The pace was leisurely; for the carriage they were
going to meet had been timed to leave Alagon fifteen
miles away at four o’clock. There was but
one road. They could scarcely miss it.
It was seven o’clock when they halted at a roadside
inn. Sarrion quitted the saddle and went indoors
to order coffee while Marcos sat on his tall black
horse scanning the road in front of him. The valley
of the Ebro is flat here, with bare, brown hills rising
on either side like a gigantic mud-fence. Strings
of carts were making their way towards Saragossa.
Far away, Marcos could perceive a recurrent break
in the dusty line. A cart or carriage traveling
at a greater than the ordinary market pace was making
its laborious way past the heavier traffic. It
came at length within clearer sight; a carriage all
white with dust and a pair of skinny, Aragonese horses
such as may be hired on the road.
The driver seemed to recognise Marcos, for he smiled
and raised his hand to his hat as he drew up at the
inn, a recognised halting-place before the last stage
of the journey.
Marcos caught sight of a white cap inside the carriage.
He leant down on his horse’s neck and perceived
Sor Teresa, who had not seen him looking out of the
carriage window towards the inn. He rode round
to the other door and dropped out of the saddle.
Then he turned the handle and opened the door.
But Sor Teresa had no intention of descending.
She leant forward to say as much and recognised her
nephew.
“You!” she exclaimed. And her pale
face flushed suddenly. She had been a nun for
many years and was no doubt a conscientious one, but
she had never yet learnt to remove all her love from
earth to fix it on heaven.
“Yes.”
“How did you know that I should be here?”
“I guessed it,” answered Marcos, who was
always practical. “You will like some coffee.
It is ordered. Come in and warm yourself while
the horses rest.”
He led the way towards the inn.
“What did you say?” he asked, turning
on the threshold; for he had heard her mutter something.
“I said, ’Thank God’!”
“What for?”
