“What nonsense, Mariquita!  Be brave!  Remember you are to be a soldier’s wife.  Be brave, I say.”

“They will kill you!  Oh! if they only dared, I would be revenged!”

“Bravo, my pet! that is the proper spirit.  You would fight the Russians, wouldn’t you?”

“I would do anything, Stanislas, to help you, to shield you from harm.  Why can’t I go with you?  Who knows!  I might save you.  I, a weak, helpless girl, would be strong if you were in danger.  I am ready, Stanislas, to sacrifice my life for yours.”

Greatly touched by the deep devotion displayed by these sweet words, McKay bent his head and kissed her on the lips.

But at this moment the tender scene was abruptly ended by the shrill, strident tones of La Zandunga’s voice.

“So I have caught you, shameless girl, philandering again with this rascally red-coat.  May he die in a dog-kennel!  Here, in my very house!  But, I promise you, it is for the last time. Hola! Benito!  Pedro! help!” and, screaming wildly, the old crone tore Mariquita from McKay’s side and dragged her into the house.

The young sergeant, eager to protect his love from ill-usage, would have followed, but he was confronted by Benito, who now stood in the doorway, black and menacing, with a great two-edged Albacete knife in his hand.

“Stand back, miscreant, hated Englishman, or I will stab you to the heart.”

Nothing daunted by the threat, McKay advanced boldly on Benito; with one hand he caught his would-be assailant by the throat; with the other the wrist that was lifted to strike.  A few seconds more, and Benito had measured his length on the ground, while his murderous weapon had passed into the possession of McKay.

Having thus disposed of one opponent, McKay met a second, in the person of Tio Pedro, who, slower in his movements, had also come out in answer to his wife’s appeal.

“Who are you that dares to intrude here?” asked Pedro, roughly.  “I will complain to the town major, and have you punished for this.”

“Look to yourself, rather!” replied McKay, hotly.  “I stand too high to fear your threats.  But you, thief and smuggler, I will bring the police upon you and your accomplice, who has just tried to murder me with his knife.”

Tio Pedro turned ghastly pale at the sergeant-major’s words.  He had evidently no wish for a domiciliary visit, and would have been glad to be well rid of McKay.

“Let him be!  Let him be!” he said, attempting to pacify Benito, who, smarting from his recent overthrow, seemed ready to renew the struggle.  “Let him be!  It is all a mistake.  The gentleman has explained his business here, and nothing more need be said.”

“Nothing more!” hissed Benito, between his teeth.  “Not when he has insulted me—­struck me!  Nothing more!  We shall have to settle accounts together, he and I. Look to yourself Senor Englishman.  There is no bond that does not some day run out; no debt that is never paid.”