"By those two windmills," said she, "I know that we are not far from Salorino."
"A town, senora?"
"Yes; it lies at the base of yonder lofty mountain, on the left bank of the river Salor."
"Is it large?"
"A considerable place for manufactures. This purple and white striped woollen stuff is made there; but the town must be avoided, as it is occupied by a troop of Polish Lancers."
"Then did we ride the wrong way in the rain last night?"
"Yes; we are still fully thirty miles from Portalegre."
"Thirty miles yet, senora!"
"Yes, and Valencia de Alcantara, where the French Light Cavalry are, lies exactly midway, on the main road, between us and it."
Quentin's heart sunk at this information.