Juanita was very early astir the next morning. The house was peculiarly quiet, but she knew that Marcos, if he had been abroad, had now returned; for Perro was lying on the terrace in the sunlight watching the library window.
Juanita went to that room and there found Marcos writing letters. A map of the Valley of the Wolf lay open on the table beside him.
"You are always writing letters," she said. "You began writing them on the splash-board of the carriage at the mouth of the valley and you have been doing it ever since."
"They are making use of my knowledge of the valley," he replied. He continued his task after a very quick glance up at her. Juanita had found out that he rarely looked at her.
"I am not at all tired after our adventure," she said. "I made up last night for the want of sleep. Do I look tired?"
"Not at all," answered Marcos, glancing no higher than her waist.
"But I had a dream," she said. "It was so vivid that I am not sure now that it was a dream. I am not sure that I did not in reality get out of bed quite early in the morning, before daylight, when the moon was just touching the mountains, and look out of my window. And the terrace, Marcos, was covered with soldiers; rows and rows of them, like shadows. And at the end, beneath my window, stood a group of men. Some were officers; one looked like General Pacheco, fat with a chuckling laugh; another seemed to be Captain Zeneta--the friend who stood by us in the chapel of Our Lady of the Shadows--who was saying his prayers, you remember. Most young men are too conceited to say their prayers nowadays. And there were two civilians, in riding-boots all dusty, who looked singularly like you and Uncle Ramon. It was an odd dream, Marcos--was it not?"
"Yes," answered he with a laugh. "Do not tell it to the wrong people as Joseph did."
"No, your reverence," she said. She stood looking at him with grave eyes.
"Is there going to be a battle?" she asked, curtly.