When, a minute later, they came face to face with General Vincente and his companion, a white-faced, fluttering man of sixty years, Julia Barenna received them with a smile. There are some men who, conscious of their own quickness of resource, are careless of danger, and run into it from mere heedlessness, trusting to good fortune to aid them should peril arise. Frederick Conyngham was one of these. He now suspected that this was no love letter which the man called Larralde had given him in Algeciras.
'Julia,' said the General, 'the Alcalde desires to speak with you.'
Julia bowed with that touch of hauteur which in Spain the nobles ever observe in their manner towards the municipal authorities.
'Mr. Conyngham,' continued the General, 'this is our brave Mayor, in whose hands rests the we
