After he had finished luncheon he spoke of taking his leave, and asked if he might be allowed to congratulate Marcos on his escape.
"It should be a warning to him," he went on, "not to ride at night. To do so is to court mishap in these narrow mountain roads."
"Yes," said Sarrion, slowly.
"Will his nurse allow me to see him?" asked the visitor.
"His nurse is Juanita. I will go and ask her," replied Sarrion, looking round him quite openly to make sure that there were no letters lying about on the tables of the terrace that Mon might be tempted to read in his absence.
He hurried to Marcos' room. Marcos was out of bed. He was dressing, with the help of his servant and the visitor from the mountains. With a quick gesture, Marcos indicated the open window, through which the sound of any exclamation might easily reach the ear of Evasio Mon.
"Juanita has gone," he said, in French. "Read that note. It is his doing, of course."
"I know now," wrote Juanita, "why you were afraid of my growing up. But I am grown up--and I have found out why you married me."
"I knew it would come sooner or later," said Marcos, who winced as he drew his sleeve over his injured arm. He was very quiet and collected, as people usually are in face of a long anticipated danger which when it comes at last brings with it a dull sense of relief.
Sarrion made no reply. Perhaps he, too, had anticipated this moment. A girl is a closed book. Neither knew what might be written in the hidden pages of Juanita's heart.