They began to climb the slope, and Zeneta took up his position on a rock jutting out of the hillside.  He stood on tiptoe and watched the bridge.  The last of the Carlists were on it now.  Juanita could see his eager face, with intrepid eyes alert, and lips apart, drawn back over his teeth.  She glanced at Sarrion, whose lips were the same.  His eyes glittered.  He was biting his lower lip.

As the last man ran across the bridge on the heels of his comrades, Zeneta looked across the valley towards the water mill.  He waved his handkerchief high above his head.  A little flag fluttered above the trees growing round the mill-wheel.

Cousin Peligros being only human now came to the terrace to see what was happening.  She had taken the precaution of putting on her mittens and opening her parasol.

“What is the meaning of this noise?” she asked; but neither Sarrion nor Juanita seemed to hear her.  They were watching the little flag, which seemed to be descending the hill.

So close beneath the house were Zeneta’s men now, that those on the terrace could hear his voice.

“The bridge,” said Sarrion, under his breath.  “Look at the bridge!”

It was half hidden in the smoke that still hovered in the air, but something was taking place there.  Men were running hither and thither.  The sunlight glittered on uniform and bayonet.

“Guns!” said Sarrion curtly, and as he spoke the whole valley shook beneath their feet.  A roar seemed to arise from the river and spread all up the hills, and simultaneously a cloak of white smoke was laid over the green slopes.

Juanita saw Zeneta stand for a moment, with sword upheld, while his men gathered round him.  Then with a wild shout of exultation he led them down the hill again.  Before he had run ten paces he fell—­his feet seemed to slip from under him, and he lay at full length for a moment—­then he was up again and at the head of his men.

A bullet came singing up over the low brushwood and a distant tinkle of falling glass told that it had found its billet in a window.  The bushes in the garden seemed suddenly alive with rustling life and Sarrion dragged Juanita back from the balustrade.

“No—­no!” she said angrily.

“Yes—­I promised Marcos,” answered Sarrion with his arm round her waist.

In a moment they were in the library where they found Cousin Peligros in an easy chair with folded hands and the face of a very early Christian martyr.

“I have never been treated like this before,” she said severely.

Sarrion stood at the window, keeping Juanita in.

“It will be all over in a few minutes,” he said.  “Holy Virgin!  What a lesson for them.”

The din was terrible.  The lady of delicate hearing placed her hands over her ears not forgetting to curl her little finger in the manner deemed irresistible by her generation.  Quite suddenly the firing ceased as if by the turning of a tap.