“I presume Alberto and the girls were relieved to get rid of me, for it meant more food for them.  Anyhow, between us we prevailed upon the messenger to take me along.  I was free to enlist, since I couldn’t reach Lopez, and I came to join our forces in the Orient.

“That is how you found me in this province.  Lopez’s man never delivered those despatches, for we were taken crossing the trocha--at least I was taken, for Pablo was killed.  They’d have made an end of me, too, I dare say, only I was so weak.  It seems a century since that night.  My memory doesn’t serve me very well from that point, for they jailed me, and I grew worse.  I was out of my head a good deal.  I seem to remember a stockade somewhere and other prisoners, some of whom nursed me.  You say you found me in a cell in San Antonio de los Banos.  Well, I don’t know how I got there, and I never heard of the place.”

“It will probably all come back to you in time,” said O’Reilly.

“No doubt.”

The two men fell silent for a while.  Esteban lay with closed eyes, exhausted.  O’Reilly gave himself up to frowning thought.  His thoughts were not pleasant; he could not, for the life of him, believe in Rosa’s safety so implicitly as he had led Esteban to suppose; his efforts to cheer the other had sapped his own supply of hope, leaving him a prey to black misgivings.  He was glad when Norine Evans’s return put an end to his speculations.

Esteban was right; the girl did have an unusual ability to banish shadows, a splendid power to rout devils both of the spirit and of the flesh; she was a sort of antibody, destroying every noxious or unhealthy thing mental or physical with which she came in contact.  This blessed capability was quite distinct from her skill with medicines—­it was a gift, and as much a part of her as the healing magic which dwells in the sunshine.

Certainly her knack of lending health and strength from her own abundant store had never been better shown than in Esteban’s case, for with almost no medical assistance she had brought him back from the very voids.  It was quite natural, therefore, that she should take a pride in her work and regard him with a certain jealous proprietary interest; it was equally natural that he should claim the greater share of her attention.

“Have you harrowed this poor man’s feelings sufficiently for once?” she inquired of O’Reilly.

“I have.  I’ll agree to talk about nothing unpleasant hereafter.”

Esteban turned to his nurse, inquiring, abruptly, “Do you think Rosa is alive?”

“Why, of course I do!  Aren’t you alive and—­almost well?”

Now, as an argument, there was no particular force in this suggestion; nevertheless, both men felt reassured.  Esteban heaved a grateful sigh.  After a moment he said,

“There is something I want to tell you both.”

“Wait until to-morrow,” Norine advised.