"He has gone," said Raquel, "and I am locked in the house alone. All the servants have gone to the fair."
"You can climb down," said Agueda. "It is not high."
"Where should I go then, Agueda?" asked Raquel. "No, he would only bring me back. Now I will write my note, and I will ask you to take it to Don Gil." As Raquel said this name her voice trembled. She coloured all over her face.
"You are lovely that way," said Agueda. "What does he do to you, Señorita?—the Señor Escobeda. Does he starve you? Does he ill treat—I could tell the Señor Don Beltran—"
"You do not blush when you speak of him," said Raquel, who had heard some rumours.
"I have no cause to blush," said Agueda, with dignity. "But come, Señorita, the note!"
Raquel withdrew into the room. She scribbled a few words on a piece of blue paper, folded it, and encased it in a long thin envelope. This she sealed with a little pink wafer, on which were two turtle doves with their bills quite close together. She leaned out and handed the missive down to Agueda.
"Thank you, dear," she said. "I should like to kiss you."
"I should like much to have you," said Agueda. "Perhaps I can stand up." Agueda spurred her horse closer under the window. She raised herself as high as she could. The chestnut started.