By this time the place was quiet.  Tio Pedro had gone off to a neighbouring wine-shop to exaggerate his recent prowess, and La Zandunga sat alone behind the counter.

“Where is Benito?  Has he gone?” asked Mariquita, nervously.

“Yes.  Did he frighten my sweet bird?” said her aunt, soothing her.  “He is an indecent, ill-mannered rogue, and we shall be well rid of him.”

“Well rid of him?  He really leaves us, then?  For the Crimea?”

“You have guessed it.  Yes.  He thinks there is a chance of finding fortune there.”

Was that his only reason?  Mariquita put her hand upon her heart, which had almost ceased beating.  She was sick with apprehension.  Did not Benito’s departure forebode evil for her lover?

Just then her eye fell upon a piece of crumpled paper lying on the floor—­part of a letter, it seemed.  Almost mechanically—­with no special intention at least—­she stooped to pick it up.

“What have you got there?” asked her aunt.

“A letter.”

“It must be Benito’s; he probably dropped it in the scuffle.  Do you know that he dared to raise his hand against my worthy husband?”

“If it is Benito’s I have no desire to touch it,” said Mariquita, disdainfully.

“Throw it into the yard, then,” said her aunt.

Mariquita accordingly went to the back door and out into the garden, round which she walked listlessly, once or twice, forgetting what she held in her hand.

Then she looked at it in an aimless, absent way, and began to read some of the words.

The letter was in Spanish, written in a female hand.  It said—­

“Wait till he goes back to the Crimea, then follow him instantly.  On arrival at Balaclava go at once to the Maltese baker whose shop is at the head of the bay near Kadikoi; he will give you employment.  This will explain and cover your presence in the camp.  You will visit all parts of it, selling bread.  You must hang about the English headquarters; he is most often there; and remember that he is the sole object of your errand.  You must know at all times where he is and what he is doing.

“Further instructions will reach you through the baker in the Crimea.  Obey them to the letter, and you will receive a double reward.  Money to any amount shall be yours, and you will have had your revenge upon the man who has robbed you of your love.”

After reading this carefully there was no doubt in Mariquita’s mind that Benito’s mission was directed against McKay.  Her first thought was the urgency of the danger that threatened her lover; the second, an eager desire to put him on his guard.  But how was she to do this?  By letter?  There was no time.  By a trusty messenger?  But whom could she send?  There was no one from whom she could seek advice or assistance save the old people; and in her heart, notwithstanding their present extreme civility, she mistrusted both.