After the maid had retired, dinner was served as before, and Isabelle made a hearty meal—­feeling that she must keep up her strength, and also hopeful of hearing something in a few hours more from her faithful lover.  Her thoughts were all of him, and as she realized the dangers to which he would inevitably be exposed for her sake, her eyes filled with tears, and a sharp pang shot through her heart.  She was angry with herself for being the cause of so much trouble, and fain to curse her own beauty—­the unhappy occasion of it all.  She was absorbed in these sad thoughts when a little noise as if a hail-stone had struck against the window pane, suddenly aroused her.  She flew to the casement, and saw Chiquita, in the tree opposite, signing to her to open it, and swinging back and forth the long horse-hair cord, with the iron hook attached to it.  She hastened to comply with the wishes of her strange little ally, and, as she stepped back in obedience to another sign, the hook, thrown with unerring aim, caught securely in the iron railing of the little balcony.  Chiquita tied the other end of the cord to the branch to which she was clinging, and then began to cross over the intervening space as before; but ere she was half-way over, the knot gave way, and poor Isabelle for one moment of intense agony thought that the child was lost.  But, instead of falling into the moat beneath her, Chiquita, who did not appear to be in the least disconcerted by this accident, swung over against the wall below the balcony, and climbing up the cord hand over hand, leaped lightly into the room, before Isabelle had recovered her breath.  Finding her very pale, and tremulous, the child said smilingly, “You were frightened, eh? and thought Chiquita would fall down among the frogs in the moat.  When I tied my cord to the branch, I only made a slip-knot, so that I could bring it back with me.  I must have looked like a big spider climbing up its thread,” she added, with a laugh.

“My dear child,” said Isabelle, with much feeling, and kissing Chiquita’s forehead, “you are a very brave little girl.”

“I saw your friends.  They had been searching and searching for you; but without Chiquita they would never have found out where you were hidden.  The captain was rushing about like an angry lion—­his eyes flashed fire—­he was magnificent.  I came back with him.  He rode, and held me in front of him.  He is hidden in a little wood not far off, he and his comrades—­they must keep out of sight, you know.  This evening, as soon as it is dark, they will try to get in here to you—­by the tree, you know.  There’s sure to be a scrimmage—­pistol shots and swords clashing—­oh! it will be splendid; for there’s nothing so fine as a good fight; when the men are in earnest, and fierce and brave.  Now don’t you be frightened and scream, as silly women do; nothing upsets them like that.  You must just remain perfectly quiet, and keep out of their way.  If you like, I will come and stay by you, so that you will not be afraid.”