“Oh, yes!” she replied; “that is why I am so interested—­so amused by all I see.”

Was this absolutely true?  She seemed, as she led the way across the casemate square and up Waterport Street, to know the road without guidance, and once or twice a passer-by paused to look at her.  Were they only paying tribute to her radiant beauty, or was her’s not altogether an unfamiliar face?

It was evident that there were those at Gibraltar who knew her, or mistook her for some one else.

As the party reached the Commercial Square, and the main guard, like that at Waterport, turned out to do honour to the general, a man pushed forward from a little group that stood respectfully behind the party, and whispered hoarsely in Mrs. Wilders’s ear—­

“Dios mio!  Cypriana!  Es usted?” (Gracious Heavens!  Cyprienne!  Is it you?)

Mrs. Wilders stopped and looked round.  At that moment, too, young Wilders turned angrily on the man—­a black-muzzled, Spanish-looking fellow, dressed in a suit of coarse brown cloth, short jacket, knee-breeches, and leather gaiters—­the dress, in fact, of a well-to-do Spanish peasant—­and said, sharply, “How dare you speak to this lady?  What did he say to you, Mrs. Wilders—­anything rude?”

Mrs. Wilders had recovered herself sufficiently to reply in an unconcerned tone—­

“I did not understand his jargon; but it does not matter in the least; don’t make any fuss, I beg.”

The incident had been unobserved by any but these two, and it must have been speedily forgotten by young Wilders, for he said nothing more.  But Mrs. Wilders, as they passed on, and for the rest of their walk to the Convent, as the Governor’s residence is still styled, looked anxiously behind to see if the man who had claimed acquaintance with her was still in sight.

Yes; he was following her.  What did he mean?

Half an hour later, when the Wilders had made their bow to the Governor, and it had been arranged that the general should attend an inspection of troops upon the North Front, Mrs. Wilders declined to accept the seat in the carriage offered her.  She preferred, she said, to explore the quaint old town.  Mr. Wilders and one of the Governor’s aides-de-camps eagerly volunteered to escort, but she declined.

“Many thanks, but I’d rather go alone.  I shall be more independent.”

“You’ll lose your way; or be arrested by the garrison police and taken before the town major as a suspicious character, loitering too near the fortifications,” said the Governor, who thought it a capital joke.

“No one will interfere with me, I think,” she replied, quietly.  “I am quite able to take care of myself.”

She looked it just then, with her firm-set lips and flashing eyes.

“Mrs. Wilders will have her own way,” said her husband.  “It’s best to give in to her.  That’s what I’ve found,” he added, with a laugh, in which all joined.