“I also; but there are occasions.  As likely as not this soldier would have been in the firing party told off to shoot you to-morrow morning.  There would not have been much fair fight in that.  And had I not killed him, we should both have been tried by drum-head court-martial, and shot or strangled to-night.  This way.  Now, I defy them to catch us.”

As he spoke, Carmen plunged into a heap of ruins by the wayside, with the intricacies of which, despite the darkness, he appeared to be quite familiar.

“Nobody will disturb us here,” he said at length, pausing under the shadow of a broken wall.  “These are the ruins of the Church of Alta Gracia, which, in its fall during the great earthquake, killed several hundred worshippers.  People say they are haunted; after dark nobody will come near them.  But we must not stay many minutes.  Take off the zambo’s shirt and trousers, and put on your shoes and stockings—­there they are—­and I shall doff my cloak of religion.”

“What next?”

“We must make off with all speed and by devious ways—­though I think we have quite thrown our pursuers off the scent—­to a house in the outskirts belonging to a friend of the cause, where we shall find horses, and start for the llanos before the moon rises, and the hue and cry can be raised.”

“What is the journey?”

“That depends on circumstances.  Four or five days, perhaps. Vamanos! Time presses.”

We left the ruins at the side opposite to that at which we had entered them, and after traversing several by-streets and narrow lanes reached the open country, and walked on rapidly till we came to a lonesome house in a large garden.

Carmen went up to the door, whistled softly, and knocked thrice.

“Who is there?” asked a voice from within.

“Salvador.”

On this the gate of the patio, wide enough to admit a man on horseback, was thrown open, and the next moment I was in the arms of Senor Carera.

“Out of the lion’s mouth!” he exclaimed, as he kissed me on both cheeks.  “I was dying of anxiety.  But, thank Heaven and the Holy Virgin, you are safe.”

“I have also to thank you and Senor Carmen; and I do thank you with all my heart.”

“Say no more.  We could not have done less.  You were our guest.  You rendered us a great service.  Had we let you perish without an effort to save you, we should have been eternally disgraced.  But come in and refresh yourselves.  Your stay here must be brief, and we can talk while we eat.”

As we sat at table, Carmen told the story of my rescue.

“It was well done,” said our host, thoughtfully, “very well done.  Yet I regret you had to kill the sentry.  But for that you might have had a little sleep, and started after midnight.  As it is, you must set off forthwith and get well on the road before the news of the escape gets noised abroad.  And everything is ready.  All your things are here, Senor Fortescue.  You can select what you want for the journey and leave the rest in my charge.”