Front matter (continued 6)

"How came you to let the young Pretender escape? I saw you carry him off, with rare cleverness; and when you drove away with him I believed the day was won for Spain."

"In the devil's name I don't know how it was done," he answered, with genuine feeling. "For my part, I am shamed. I know only that once, when the carriage stopped, I saw a horseman and a riderless horse closing in on us, and got down to learn the cause, fearing trouble. It must have been the devil himself, I think, in the flesh, and hell organised a miracle to save the Pretender. The horseman rode me down—me, Juan Cabrera—and stretched me senseless on the road before I had a thought of his intention, and when I came to, the thing had happened. How many men there were with him, I know not—Garcia, who came running up at the close, swears that there was never more than one—but it can't be true. If ever we meet—and I should know him again in twenty thousand men—and there is an ounce of strength left in my arm, I'll use it to plunge a knife into the heart of the man who dealt that blow at me and Spain."

"Good. You were ever a man prompt to action, Cabrera; and you must have been bewitched." This touched his superstition, however.

"The Holy Saints forefend," he said, hurriedly, crossing himself. "But I believe it truth that he was no man, but the devil in the shape of a man. And, mark you, senor," he cried, eagerly, "what else could it be but wizards' work? Didn't Correja's horse fall and stun him at the very moment of all others when this could have happened? Aye, and what but the devil could send Garcia's horse galloping off at the same moment? But I'll never cease to search for him, and if I don't find him on earth I'll wait till I get to purgatory, and bribe the devil with gift of my soul to point him out to me. The curse of all hell upon him!" And then, somewhat incongruously, he crossed himself again, as though to give additional power to his curse.

"Aye, the Fates have been against us," said I: and not caring to push the subject further, and feeling profoundly thankful that his power to recognise me had fallen so far short of his most vindictive desire, I urged my horse to a canter, and we rode on in silence. But his talk made me feel how peril was here always close at my very elbow.

Presently the moon rose, and the brilliant, streaming light flooded the whole landscape until it was as bright as day. The road was fast getting rougher and more hilly; the country wilder and more rugged; and the mountains lay to our left, the peaks towering up to great heights, majestic and grand in the bathing moonlight. The air was solemnly still; only the sounds of our horses' feet, the creaking of the saddle leather, and the musical jingle jangle of the bits breaking the silence.

"We have covered many more than old Tomaso's ten miles, and should be safe," I said once, as we were walking our horses up one of the steep, short hills which now checked our progress constantly; but the words were scarcely out of my lips when Cabrera laid his hand on my bridle arm and checked his horse.

"Halt, senor. I hear Garcia coming back;" and a moment later his figure and that of another horseman were silhouetted on the top of the hill, and they came down to us at a sharp trot.

"There is danger ahead, senor," cried Garcia, as he rode up. "Andreas has come back to meet and warn us. The soldiers are out in some force between here and Daroca. Young Juan has taken the senorita to a hiding-place until the road is clearer, and Andreas here will guide us by another way."

"Tell me all you know, Andreas," I said to the lad, a sharp, bright-looking fellow of about eighteen or twenty.

"All went well till we were some five miles from Daroca, senor. I was keeping to the main road, not expecting any interruption, when I heard from a friend, who had driven out from the town, that he had passed a number of mounted soldiers, on patrol work, and he believed that all the ways into the town were guarded."

"Did you yourself see any soldiers?"

"Not then, but soon afterwards, senor. I climbed a tree on one of the hillsides, and could make out several parties of them. Perhaps eight or ten soldiers, or a dozen may be, in each."

"Were any riding this way, or were they merely stationary?"

"Riding this way, senor, not fast, just patrol pace; and I saw them stop one or two peasant folk and question them."

"And then?"

"I saw I could not bring the senorita into the town, senor, and thought the best thing to do was to take her to a safe hiding-place and then ride back, as my grandfather told me."

The news set me thinking fast. It was ugly enough from the Carlist point of view, but it promised to prove a perfect Godsend to me. I should catch Sarita before she could get to Daroca and join the rest of her Carlist friends.

"Where is the hiding-place?" I asked next.

"It lies about a league from the main road, senor. The house of the farmer Calvarro; you will know him, senors," he said to my companions, who nodded.

"Very shrewdly chosen," declared Cabrera, readily.

"And very cleverly acted altogether, my lad," I added. "Can you bring us by a safe path to the house, and afterwards guide us into the town?"

"I can bring you to the house, senor; but I doubt getting into Daroca. That depends upon the soldiers' vigilance. I can try."

"Forward, then," I cried, eager to get to Sarita.

"It is a very difficult path—a mere mountain track in places—and we must go cautiously and slowly; but it is the only one," said the lad. He trotted back to the foot of the hill, where he put his horse at a low gate, and led us at a smart gallop—he could ride like a centaur, and his horse seemed as fearless as he was—across two or three fields, and away up the hill by the side of some vineyards; behind a wood, where the shadows were as dark as night, and the path absolutely indistinguishable.

"This is ominous news, Cabrera," I said, when the pace slackened.

"About the worst it could be," he answered, gloomily.

"I read it that Rubio has set the telegraph to work, having learnt, or guessed, that we were making for Daroca. And this is the reception prepared for us."

"True; but what are all these soldiers doing round Daroca? It means more than you fear, senor. They are going to strike, and strike hard at our very heart. If the headquarters in Daroca are seized, what hope is there for the cause?"

"We cannot tell yet. It may not be so bad as that. The cause is the cause of righteousness, and must succeed. We must wait."

"Wait, aye, it is always wait, till one's stomach sickens and pines on the diet," he cried, bitterly. "We must get into Daroca before the night's many hours older, let the soldiers swarm where they please."

"My intention is this—to go to this Calvarro's house, join the senorita, and either make a dash for the town with her, or send in on the chance of help getting out to us."

"One plan is as good as another, I fear. The Fates are fighting against us, senor; and when that's so, the best is no better than the worst, and the worst no worse than the best," he replied, growing more and more despondent as matters grew more threatening. That is ever the way with fatalists.

"These Fates have a human shape and a name well known in Spain, Cabrera—the name of Sebastian Quesada. It is his brain, and not fate, that is engineering the destruction of the cause."

"Then why wasn't he dealt with? Are there no arms strong to strike, no blades sharp to pierce, no wit cunning to find the means, no courage ready to give life for life? By the Holy Virgin, are we all cowards? Had I had my way, the young Pretender had never escaped! This comes of woman's work and silly fears and sickly sentiment. What is his life, or Quesada's, or of any one of them, more than that of the meanest of us? My arm, aye, and my life, too, could have been had for the asking. As if you could drive the wild beast of revolution with a silken thread; with your senorita here, and your senorita there! And now, the force we were afraid to use is to be turned to crush us."

"Will railing at what hasn't been done help us to think of what we have to do?" I asked, sternly. "What sort of courage or wit is that which finds its tongue when the hour to act has passed? If those are your thoughts about the senorita, who has risked her liberty and her life to rush now into the thickest of the danger when peril is at its height, go back and save your skin. There is still time to fly; but don't plague us and pollute the air with your doleful cries."

"Good," cried Garcia, who had listened to us in silence. "That crack on your head, Cabrera, has knocked the wit out of you. What is it but the act of a jackass to bray in the face of danger?"

"By the God that made me, I am a fool and have fallen low to be the butt of your clumsy wit, Garcia, and, the Holy Saints help me, to deserve your gibes and have no answer. Senor, I beg your forgiveness; and if I grumble again, put a bullet in my head and I'll say it serves me right. The senorita, the Virgin bless her lovely face, shan't lack help while I can give it. But I'm the better for my growl."

We rode forward again then, the ground offering a little better going; and when we had to walk the horses next, I called the lad Andreas to my side and questioned him more closely as to what he had seen and heard of the doings in Daroca, and about our chance of getting into the town from the farm where he had left Sarita.

"I forgot to tell you, senor, that I hinted to Juan that if the senorita would let him leave her, he should try and make his way into Daroca—no one would suspect him—and find out how things were going there and return to Calvarro's with his report."

"You are a clever, farseeing lad;" and I gave him a liberal reward for his wit. "Now think, is there no way by which we could possibly steal into the town? It is most urgent."

"There is but one possible way, senor, and it is right on the other side of Daroca from Calvarro's. We should have to make a wide circuit over the shoulder of the hills to the north through the thick olive woods there. I know the route, but even on horseback it would take some hours to cover it."

"Still, at the worst it could be done?"

"Yes, at the worst, senor."

"And how long, think you, could anyone lie concealed at Calvarro's?"

"I can scarcely say, senor. It must depend upon how wide the soldiers push out their search parties, and how well those who guide them know the country. But they would have difficulty in finding anyone in Daroca to act as guide; and without a guide the soldiers themselves might pass and repass the place without suspicion."

"Even in daylight?"

"Yes, even in daylight, senor."

"And you think we shall find no soldiers between here and there?"

"I believe there is no chance of it—but Senor Cabrera knows the place and can answer that as well as I."

"Good, push on then with all possible haste," I said, and dropping back to Cabrera I told him that I had made a change in my plan.

"Andreas tells me it is still possible to get into and out of Daroca without being seen, and what I think should be done is this: Send one of the lads by the quickest way into the town to warn our friends and to prepare a party to come to us; and you, or perhaps better, both you and Garcia, go with the other lad to meet them by the longer way, and bring them to us at Calvarro's. We can make the place our headquarters for the time."

"I think you're forgetting one thing, senor," he replied, with a grim smile. "If there's a means of getting into Daroca, the senorita won't stop at Calvarro's, but will insist on going herself. Indeed, I shall be more than a little surprised if we find she hasn't gone before we reach Calvarro's at all."

Knowing Sarita as I did, I felt the truth of this.

"We will see," I said; and as our young guide again hurried us forward then I said no more. The way was more open for a mile or two now, and we rattled forward at a sharp trot in single file. Then came another steep climb up the shoulder of the mountain and down on the other side, both so steep that we had to dismount and lead our horses, and at the bottom I was told we were within a mile of our destination.

Instinctively then we rode in dead silence, keeping to cover for every possible yard of the way, Andreas leading some little distance ahead.

Suddenly we saw him halt, turn in the saddle, hold up a hand to warn us, and then slip from his horse and lead him right under the shadow of some olive trees. We followed his example, and a minute later he came back on foot.

"Soldiers, on the road down there," he whispered, pointing ahead of us. "We have to cross the road and must wait. You may leave your horse, senor, he is trained like the rest, and will stand for hours if need be. We can creep forward and watch them."

He and I went forward then, and he led me to a point from which, ourselves unseen, we could see the road below.

"How came they here?" I whispered, "so close to Calvarro's?"

"I don't understand it; but they are not on the direct road there; merely patrolling, I think, on chance."

"I can see five," I whispered; "how many do you make out?"

"There are seven horses, senor."

"By heaven! you're right. Two must be scouting on foot. And there go two more."

The party had halted, and, as I spoke, two of the men left the rest, and, clambering over a gate on the other side of the road, were soon out of sight among the shadows of a grove of trees. The rest dismounted then, and, holding their horses, lighted cigarettes and stood chatting together.

"Can you hear what they're saying, Andreas?"

"No, senor; but we ought to know where they're going. I can get close down to them, if you wish, and may be able to hear their plans."

"Yes, go, but for God's sake be careful; our lives or theirs may turn on what you do."

Without a word he slipped away from my side, and with the silence and adroitness of a trained Indian scout he vanished, leaving me a prey to deep anxiety.

I watched the soldiers in the road below in a fever of suspense for any sign that they suspected his presence; but they gave none. The voices reached me in an indistinguishable murmur, broken by an occasional laugh and an oath in a louder tone. Now and then the horses moved and the accoutrements rattled and jingled; and once or twice a match was struck as some one or other of the men lighted a fresh cigarette.

This suspense continued for several minutes, and presently two of the soldiers who had been away returned, and were greeted with eager questions by their comrades.

Then a new fear alarmed me: that scouts would be sent up to where we lay concealed; and a confused medley of thoughts of how we should act in such a case and of the possible consequences rushed into my head, increasing my anxiety and alarm a thousandfold.

It was the fear of neither capture nor death that stirred my pulses so keenly. We were strong enough, having the advantage of surprise, to more than cope with so small a party. But if the tussle came and any of the men were killed, as they were sure to be, the consequences to Sarita and myself would be incalculably compromising. If I was to have help from the Palace, I must be able to ask for it with clean hands; and if I were known to have taken part in a fight with the soldiery in which lives were lost, my hope of help would be gone.

Moreover, my own feeling was one of unutterable aversion from shedding blood, or sanctioning it to be shed. Whatever excuse the Carlists might have in their own minds for violence, I had none. I was not one of them, except by the accident of this association for Sarita's sake; and for me to raise my hand to take a man's life in such a case would be murder and nothing short of it.

Many thoughts of this kind beat themselves into my brain in the terrible minutes that followed the return of the two scouts, until I was tempted to go back to my companions and at all hazards order a retreat and find some other plan of getting to Calvarro's farm and to Sarita. Had Andreas been by my side at the moment, I should have done it, but without him we were powerless; and to leave him behind would have been an act of treachery and cowardice as well as folly.

Those minutes of suspense were wellnigh equal in intensity to a death agony.

CHAPTER XXV

AT CALVARRO'S

The tension of suspense was broken at length. I caught sight of the figures of the second couple of scouts on their return as they crossed a patch of moonlight at a little distance, and almost at the same moment a hand was laid on my shoulder, and the lad Andreas stood at my side. He came as silently as a shadow out of the darkness.

"We must fly, senor, there is danger," he whispered. "They will send out other scouts in this direction as soon as the last return. But I can trick them."

We hurried back to our companions, and Andreas, holding his horse's bridle, led the way. I told the other two to follow, and myself brought up the rear, glancing back now and again in great anxiety lest the soldiers should catch sight of us. But the lad knew his business, and a sharp turn up the hillside to the right brought us under the cover of a wood, and gave us an effective hiding-place.

We followed him in silence, and even the horses seemed to share a sense of the danger, so warily did they move. They were indeed, as Andreas had said, perfectly trained animals; and to that training we owed our safety that night.

When we had walked on this way some few hundred yards up the hill, our guide found a track into the wood, and along this we went, the darkness deepening with every step, until it was impenetrable. We were some hundred yards from the entrance, when Andreas stopped so suddenly that we ran one against the other in a confused muddle of men and horses.

"There is a small clearing here on the right," he said in a whisper. "If you leave your horses free they will follow mine." And so it proved; the intelligent beasts knew his voice, and went after him with a sagacity that astonished and delighted me. "You will be safe here, I think, senor; and, with your permission, I will go back and find out the soldiers' movements. There is no risk for me. But please do not touch the horses; they will not be got to move without trouble until I return, and will stand like statues until I tell them; and, remember, voices travel far in such a still air—even whispers."

I told him to go, and then we three stood together and waited.

"What are we to do if they find us, senor?" asked Cabrera.

"Fight," I said, praying fervently there would be no need.

"Good. Knives, Garcia," he returned.

"And till then, silence," I ordered: and not another word was spoken.

The stillness was absolute, and, in the circumstances, awe-inspiring, and there was not a breath of air to stir even a leaf. It was some minutes before our eyes grew sufficiently accustomed to the darkness to discern the moonlight beyond the wood, which gleamed dimly, much like a phosphorescent light, through the thickly-planted trees. Suddenly the stillness was broken by a man's voice laughing and oathing, as he called to a comrade. We all three started and drew together at the sudden sound, so keen was the nerve tension.

"Had enough of this tomfoolery yet, Juan? Seen anything—where there's nothing to see?"

"By the corpse of St. Peter, this is a madman's freak, looking for nothing. I go no further, José," was the reply. "Have you been in the wood?"

"Yes; all the wood I'm going into. We're looking for houses, not men; and shan't find 'em there. Wait while I roll a cigarette, and, when I've smoked it, we'll go back and report," and we heard him strike a match and light it.

"Here, José, here's a path into the cursed darkness," called his comrade, and we heard the twigs snapping underneath his feet as he blundered about in the undergrowth.

"Let it stop," growled the other man. "It might be the pit of hell, without the fire to guide us."

"Holy Saints. I've got an idea. Suppose we set light to the cursed place, and then swear we saw someone in it, and fire our guns and bring up the others. It would be a mighty blaze, and we might get a step for our vigilance," and the scoundrel laughed and swore in unholy glee.

"Hold your tongue, idiot," said his companion, roughly. "If you want to see what's in the wood come with me along the path here;" and to our consternation we heard him coming towards us.

"Knives, Garcia," whispered Cabrera, and I felt them both loosen the knives they carried concealed in their girdles. The faint shadow of one of the men showed between us and the moon gleams, and the sound of crackling twigs came ominously nearer.

"The blight of hell on the place," cried the same voice suddenly, with a sound of heavy plunging among the shrubs, and the thud of a falling body. "What in the devil's name was that?"

His comrade laughed.

"Going to swim through, José? What are you doing on your belly like that?"

"I tripped over some infernal animal, or stump, or something, and struck my head against a tree, you fool."

"Serves you right for not looking where you are going. Put your eyes in your boots, you can't see else. Here, wait while I strike a light, blockhead;" and he lit a match and bent down over his fallen companion.

"Shall we rush on them now?" asked Garcia, trembling with excitement.

"No, no, wait," I said, laying a detaining hand on him.

"Why you're bleeding, José, man. Fine figure you'll cut on parade, with a black eye and a bloody nose. José Balso, promoted sergeant for gallantry in a wood; scouting for nothing and finding it; fought an old olive tree and fell covered with wounds. Here, come out of this, man; I'm going back. I've had enough of this foolery;" and without more ado he went, and we heard his footsteps die away in the distance. His comrade, growling and swearing and abusing him, stumbled to his feet and went after him, staggering about in the darkness as he tried to follow the sound of the other man's calls.

By the lucky chance of his fall we escaped, and I knew peace of mind once more. The men did not stay by the wood, and after a minute or so we heard no more of them; and Andreas came back to tell us they had rejoined the rest of the men, and all had mounted and ridden away on the road back to Daroca.

I told him of the narrow escape we had had from discovery and then he surprised us.

"I did it, senor. I was there when they entered the wood, and I got in his way in the dark and tripped him up when he was getting dangerously close."

"By heavens, but you are as brave as you are sharp, Andreas," I said, enthusiastically, giving him my hand. "And now for Calvarro's."

We continued our journey, riding with the greatest caution, and nothing occurred to interrupt us again. But the unexpected meeting with the soldiers had rendered me profoundly uneasy, and very doubtful of the safety of the place. This evidence that they were patrolling and scouting in the immediate vicinity of Calvarro's farm was very disquieting; and even the indifferent way in which the soldiers were doing the work did not reassure me.

I read in it more than mere chance work; for it looked much more likely that they were acting upon information that some good hiding-places for the Carlists were in the neighbourhood. The remark of one of the pair—"We're looking for houses, not men"—had ominous significance in this respect. They were not merely patrolling the roads in search of me and my two companions in response to messages sent by Rubio from Calatayud, for in that case they would merely have watched the roads and by-paths. They appeared to be one of a thoroughly organised system of search parties sent out to scour the whole country side, to find all the possible hiding-places and farms in the district where any Carlist refugees could possibly be hidden. And if this were so, it seemed to me so improbable as to be virtually impossible for Sarita's hiding-place to remain long undiscovered.

And this brought me once more face to face with a host of disturbing perplexities as to her and my future action. To remain at a place which the soldiers were likely to find was to plunge her into the almost certain danger of arrest; while to leave it in the attempt to steal into Daroca would, if the attempt were successful, bring me into still more imminent peril at the hands of the Carlists who would, unless a miracle chanced, discover my fraud. The dilemma baffled me.

I called Andreas to my side and explained to him fully my doubts in regard to the soldiers' movements, and I found then that to some extent he shared them, as did also Cabrera. But the latter had a plan of his own ready, founded on what I had said previously.

"If we are not to run like rabbits all over the country side and be caught or shot in couples, we must rally and make a stand somewhere, senor. Why not at Calvarro's? The house could be held for a long time, if we can only get a handful of men to it. I own I don't like these soldiers everywhere. It looks to me as if the blow had fallen at Daroca, and we were too late to do anything there. But we are men, I hope, and can fight and die, if need be, like men. For my part I'd rather find a lodging for a bullet in my body than have my whole body lodged in a gaol to rot there until the cursed Government chose to turn merciful and let me out. To hell with their mercy, say I. Give me the word and let me take my chance of getting into Daroca with a message from you to bring help to Calvarro's, and I'll do it and be back before the soldiers can find the place, or finding it, can smoke you out of it."

"Your life would——"

"I'll chance my life," he burst in, impatiently. "I beg your pardon, senor; but there are, or were, plenty in Daroca who are of my mind, and would a thousand times rather fight than go on manifestoeing and scheming and fooling the time and the opportunity away. For the Holy Virgin's sake let some of us do something like men. One good rally, and who knows but the fire will be kindled that will rage all over Spain? It will be the beacon which thousands of eyes are asking to see and thousands of hearts will welcome."

"I'm with Cabrera, senor," said Garcia. "Let us go to the town and bring out our friends. If we fail, well, we fail—but we shall at least have tried, while now——" and he shrugged his shoulders and ended with a sneer: "We might be children or Government men."

Had I been one of them in reality, the plan was just what I would have welcomed; but as it was, I could not counsel it and give my voice for fighting.

"No, not yet. We must wait and hear first, if we can, from Juan how things have gone in Daroca."

"Aye, aye, wait, wait, always wait, till the soldiers have time to get their firing platoons in position, and we can be shot like worn-out mules instead of fighting like men," growled Cabrera, gloomily; and he and Garcia turned to grumble in sympathy, while I rode on.

When we were quite close to Calvarro's—a place that lay indeed most marvellously concealed—and were approaching the farm by a path cunningly masked through a dense olive wood, a lad sprang out of the undergrowth and called to Andreas.

"Juan is here, senor," he said; and the boy, some two years younger than his brother and much resembling him, came to me. "Tell the senor the news in Daroca, Juan."

"It is of the worst, senor. Soon after midday the soldiers began to pour into the town from Saragossa, and special train after special train came loaded with them. They are everywhere; every house in the town has been searched; and they tell me hundreds of prisoners have been hurried away by train to Saragossa. Every road into the town is alive with soldiers, and search parties are spreading out everywhere in all directions. The house of every suspected person is in the hands of the soldiers or the police; and everywhere I heard stories of arms, papers, and property which have been seized."

"We are too late," exclaimed Cabrera. "The only chance will be to rally here, senor. It must be."

"Where is the senorita?" I asked the lad, unable to restrain my anxiety any longer; and I felt that the eagerness in my voice was very patent. When he told me, to my infinite relief, that she was in the house, a fervent "God be thanked for that!" burst from me, and turning I found Cabrera's eyes fixed upon me searchingly.

"So that's it," he growled, half under his breath, and he and Garcia whispered for a moment together. "Your pardon, senor," he said aloud to me, and waved the boys out of hearing. "Stand back a bit, lads. The senorita is much to us all, senor, but the cause is more than any one of us—more than even her safety. Our master first, ourselves after, is the rule; and in this crisis, the cause before all else. We must make the rally here, or all will be lost—so Garcia and I are agreed—and that cannot be."

"Do you think there's a chance of holding a place like this against half-a-dozen regiments? Are you mad? Why the place would be tumbling about our ears in half-an-hour, and every soul inside would be either captured or killed."

"And how could we die better? Your pardon if I speak bluntly and my words offend you, but anyone whose motive is what yours is may be forgiven if his judgment goes astray. A man with his heart in a woman's heart makes an ill counsellor. You are right in your way to think first of the safety of the woman you love; but this is no woman's matter. The thought of the senorita in peril of her life robs you of the power to think freely—we are all like that at such a time; but I for one can't let it influence me now. I'm going to the town, and Garcia with me; and, with the Virgin's help, we'll rally enough to make a stand here. And if you're afraid for her, get her away before we return."

I liked him for his blunt outspokenness, and felt like a traitor as I gripped his hand and wrung it.

"You have heard Juan's news, and you go on a hopeless quest, friend. I cannot leave the senorita."

"Get her away before we're back—if you can, that is; for, like you, I'd sooner she was out of such a scene as, please the Saints, shall make the name of Calvarro's farm ring through Spain; aye, and that before morning breaks, maybe."

"I fear the soldiers will be here before you can return," I said, eager to get them both gone, and yet loth to lose their help in case of need. In fact I was so distracted by my double set of anxieties I scarcely knew what to say or do.

"That must be your risk and hers, senor. Save her if you can; but if you can't, then God's will be done."

"I would rather you stayed in case of need," I said then, weakly.

"So that we three and the senorita be caught like rats in a trap;" and he smiled at my weakness. "No, no, if the soldiers get here before we are strong enough in numbers to hold the place, the fewer they find the better. Good-bye, senor, and the Saints protect you both. Here, Andreas," he called, and gave him his instructions, that one of the lads should lead him and Garcia the nearest and safest way to the town, and the other remain in readiness to give warning on his return if the soldiers came there; and having given me a final pressure of the hand he and Garcia rode off on their desperate business and were soon out of sight.

I gazed after them in a mood of almost desperate indecision; even then half-minded to call them back, risk everything, and bid them wait while I called out Sarita and joined them on the journey to the town. But the mood and the moment passed. I let them go. Their horses' footfalls died away in the distance; and swinging myself from the saddle, I followed Juan to the door of the house, on which he knocked, three times a soft double knock.

An old woman opened it, holding a candle over her head, and peering curiously and cautiously at me.

"Is all well, Juan?" she asked in a deep voice.

"All is well, Mother Calvarro," answered the boy.

"The senor is welcome," and she made way for me to enter.

"Shall I stop outside, senor?" asked the boy.

"And use your eyes like a lynx, my lad, and warn us instantly of anything you notice."

The old crone closed the door carefully after him, and then holding the candle near my face, she said:

"Counting all renegades, senor?"

"Lovers of Satan. By the Grace of God, Mother Calvarro," and I doffed my hat.

"By the Grace of God," she repeated, fervently. "And your name, senor?"

"Is my own, Mother. I would see the senorita at once," I said, putting a note of authority into my voice.

"She is broken by the ill-news that Juan brought. Truly a day of woe. The Holy Virgin save us and protect us all," and she raised her disengaged hand, sighed heavily, turned and shuffled slowly along the narrow bare-walled passage, pausing at a door. "Shall I tell her of your coming?"

"Better not," I replied, and as she opened the door, I entered, my heart beating quickly.

It was a low farmhouse room, very barely furnished; wooden chairs and a bare wooden table on which stood a candle that flickered feebly in the gust of air caused by the opening door.

Near the window and against the wall was a long wooden bench with arms, and on this, her head bowed on her hands which rested on one of the hard wooden arms, was Sarita, crouching in an attitude of deep despondency.

She did not lift her head at my entrance, thinking no doubt it was the woman of the house.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE PLEA OF LOVE

The sight of Sarita crushed down in this way by the load of her hopeless trouble was the most sorrowful my eyes had ever beheld. Knowing as I did her great strength, her buoyant confidence, her intense pride, her indomitable courage, I could gauge the force of the blow that had cast her down, and the depth of the bitterness of this hour of suffering.

For a while I gazed at her, almost ashamed that I had thus broken in upon her. Then a world of intense sympathy welled up from my heart, an infinite remorse even that in a measure I had helped to strike her down by my rescue of the young King, and an overpowering desire to take some of the burden upon myself; and my love for her came to my rescue and prompted me how to act.

I went forward swiftly and knelt down by the settle.

"Sarita, it is I. Let me help you, my dearest;" and I put my arm about her. "I have come to help you, Sarita, with my life if need be."

At the sound of my voice and the touch of my hand she started violently, lifted her face, dry-eyed but all worn and white with pain, gazed at me a second, and then jumped to her feet, and seemed as if about to repudiate my proffered sympathy.

"Ferdinand!" Eyes and voice and face were full of intense surprise; and as I rose quickly to my feet, she stepped back, and cried, "Why are you here?"

"I love you, my dearest; where else should I be but with you—now?" and I took her hands and held them firmly.

She tried to draw back, and would have struggled against her love, it seemed; but love and the woman in her would not be denied, and in this crisis of her sorrow she yielded to my will, and let me draw her to me.

Her head fell on my shoulder. For the moment at any rate the victory was mine, and I felt with a rare sense of delight that she was glad I had come to her, and that I was giving her strength in her weakness.

I did not attempt to speak. It was enough to have her once more in my arms, to feel that I was a comfort to her, that her love had triumphed overall else in that dread dreary time; and I waited while by slow degrees she battled with her emotion and fought her way back to self-strength.

Once in the long, sweet suspense of that battle she raised her head, looked at me and smiled—a sorrow-laden, anxious, wan smile—as if in deprecation of her own weakness and of her woman's need for aid and sympathy. Then her head sank again on my breast with a sigh of infinite content, such as might have slipped from the lips of a tired and overwrought child.

The sound was music in my ears, for it told me how for the moment at least my coming had eased her misery.

At length she began to stir again in my arms; not away from them, I thanked Heaven, but as though the sense of relieved happiness was passing, and the thoughts of trouble were gathering force again.

"I am shamed, Ferdinand," she murmured.

"I love you, sweetheart," was my whispered reply.

"How did you come here, and alone?" she asked next, after a pause, "You have caught me in my moment of weakness."

"I will tell you all presently," I said. "I have come to help you. Wait."

But her curiosity was rising as her composure returned.

"Tell me now."

"I knew you would be in trouble, dearest, and I followed you."

"But how did you find me?" and then a great and sudden change came over her. "What am I doing? I am mad," she cried in a quick tone of alarm; and drawing swiftly from my arms she stood, my hands still holding hers, and looked at me with fear in her face. "You must not stay here. You are in danger, Ferdinand. There are those coming here, will be here instantly may be, who will know you and—oh God, what shall we do? they will kill you."

The fear was for me, and had quickened her into active thought, as no fear for herself had done. I guessed her meaning instinctively, and allayed the fear.

"No, there is no danger. You mean the two men, Cabrera and Garcia. I came here with them, and Cabrera himself urged me, in his last words, to try and save you."

"But they—I can't understand. How could that be?" she cried, her face a mask of perplexity.

"Simply as I say. I recognised them, but they did not recognise me. I made myself known to them—as Ferdinand Carbonnell—in the train; we escaped from it together at Calatayud, and together we have ridden here. We were going to Daroca, when we heard that you were here, and that the roads were blocked with troops, and we came here."

"You were going to Daroca? Are you mad, too, Ferdinand?"

"Mad, if you will; or very sane, as I prefer. I was going to find you, Sarita. Do you think anything would have stopped me? I went where love called me."

"But nothing could have saved your being discovered—nothing—and your death would have been certain. This was rank madness."

"Had I not heard you were here, I should have been in Daroca at this minute, searching for you, Sarita."

Her hands tightened on mine, and her eyes were full of pain; but their light changed suddenly and grew radiant, and the soft colour streamed over her face.

"And you love me so well as that?" The question, the tone, the love in her eyes, the wondrous magic of her beauty, thrilled my every nerve and set my heart pulsing with passion; and for answer I drew her, now unresisting, to me, and pressed my lips to hers.

"You love me, dear one?" I whispered, passionately, like a child in my longing to hear an avowal from her lips. She seemed to read the thought, and, putting an arm on each shoulder, she looked up and smiled.

"Is this the garb of hate, Ferdinand?" she asked; then sighed and said gently, "If I do not love you, then am I really mad; and yet what is it but madness for us to talk of love? See! I kiss you of my own will—will, do I say?—of my own intense desire;" and reaching up she kissed me tenderly, half coyly; but growing suddenly bolder, closed her arms about my neck and pressed my face to hers, kissing me many times with feverish, passionate, intense fervour. "And if it be madness to love you, then, dearest, there was never so mad a heart and brain as mine. You make me burn out all else in the world when you kindle the flame of this love of mine." She drew back again and looked at me. "And I thought and meant never to see you again. What a creature of feebleness this love makes me!"

"We will never part again, Sarita," I said, fervently.

"Ah, that is different, that is all different;" and she unlocked her arms and fell away a pace, but I caught her hands again and held them.

"We will never part again," I repeated earnestly. "You will let me save you. I can do it. I have come to do it."

"How can you save me? Can you save me from myself? Would you tear me from my duty? Do you know what has happened? Ah, Ferdinand, when you make me think of aught else but our love, you force into my mind the barriers that stand between us."

"There shall be no barriers that can keep me from you? Yes, I know much of what has happened. I know that by Quesada's treachery this whole movement, on which you have built so much and laboured so hard, has collapsed like a house of cards. I know that through some treachery he had learned how matters stood in Daroca, and that his iron hand has closed on the place, and every hope you could have had there is crushed and ruined. And I know, too, that your only hope—as it is the only hope of any one of those whom he has duped—lies in flight. It is not too late for that, Sarita. But it is the only hope."

"It is the hope I can never grasp. Ask me anything but that—anything but the cowardice of flight. If the people who have trusted and followed me are in this plight, can I leave them? Would you wish your secret heart to be ever whispering to you, 'Sarita was true to her love, but false to her courage, a traitor to her honour, a deserter of her friends in trouble'? Is that your ideal of the woman who would be worthy of your love? Would you do it were my case yours, and you had led these people into the slough of ruin? Would your ears be deaf to their cries from behind the prison bars—wives calling for their husbands, husbands for their wives, children for their parents—aye, and widows mourning for their dead?"

"This is not your work, Sarita; it is Quesada's doing."

"And should they say—ah, dearest, how it pains me now to say it!—'Sarita ruined us, and then fled—for what?—to marry the man who ruined all by thwarting the one means that could alone have saved everything; by saving the usurper whose tyrant agents have wrought this havoc'? Can you save me from that!"

"It is not you, but Quesada," I cried again. "I tell you, as I have told you again and again, all this was planned and in readiness. Do you think that this raid on Daroca, with all the special knowledge shown in it of the Carlist plans there, with all the wide and detailed arrangements for police and military movements, with its swift and dramatic action, was the work of a moment? And not in Daroca only, but in every centre where you were strong. In Saragossa, Alicante, right up the seaboard even to Barcelona, and inland to every spot where you were in strength, Sarita, listen to reason. You were but as a child in his strong, ruthless hands. It was his scheme to use you Carlists to get the King removed from his path, and then crush the life out of your whole Carlist movement, even as he is doing at this hour, that there might be none to stand between him and the power at which his ambition aimed. The plans were laid weeks and probably months ahead. His spies and agents have been everywhere, even in your midst, working, prying, scheming, and so getting together the information that has made this day's work possible."

"Then, if I have been the dupe, I must suffer the dupe's fate. I cannot fly. No, no, Ferdinand," she cried with reviving energy. "Let us face the full truth. Our love must be strong enough to bear the strain of truth. Between us there stand two bars: my duty to my friends, and—I must say it, dearest—your act in rescuing the young King. Even if it be true that Quesada has aimed all through at our destruction, how can that make your act less a betrayal of us Carlists? He was in our power, you took him from us; what question of Quesada's treachery can alter that fact, or wipe it away? Nothing. Nothing can alter it. Nothing could make me leave my people to be happy with you, with that fact between us. In truth, I am almost distracted when I think of it."

"Will not your love lead you to pardon me and forget it?"

"The woman in me throbs with desire to do so, but—I am a Carlist, too, dearest; and the Carlist in me can neither pardon nor forget. You break my heart by this pleading. Will you believe I can never alter, and speak no more of it? I do love you; the Holy Virgin knows that in my woman's heart there is no room for thought of another man but you. Dearest, ever to be dearest to me, you believe this?" and she again put her arms about me, and lifted her face to mine.

"I know it, Sarita," I answered, infinitely moved.

"Then you will know something of what I suffer in parting from you. Life would be so welcome, such sunshine, such glorious happiness for me by your side, that the shadows of the thought that it can never be chill and gloom and almost frighten me with their desolateness. But our love can never be more than a memory, my dearest; to be cherished as the one lovely thing of my life, the one consolation in my pain; but no more. You must leave me, and at once. There must be danger for you here, whatever happens. Whether my friends or my enemies come, there must be danger for you. Let me be able to think that at least to you I have not brought ruin. Go back to Madrid; you will be safe there, for you are great enough now, as an English peer, to be free from danger; and even if they try to arrest you, you have the Court to help you; the young King and the Queen. My ambition, my care, my patriotism, have been so fatal to those who have trusted me; let not my love be equally fatal. Leave me that one solace. Go, Ferdinand; go and leave me. I beg of you, I implore you by the love you have for me."

"You must not ask that, Sarita."

"I do ask; nay, I will not have it otherwise. It must not be. You shall not stay here. The thought of what would happen if my friends came back and knew you were not of us, drives me mad. You must go. Ferdinand, dearest, you must."

"I do not fear your friends, Sarita; they will not harm me. I am Ferdinand Carbonnell, and known already to some of them as the Carlist leader; and the Carlist leader I will be to the end. You cannot come with me, you say; you cannot desert your friends. As you will. Then I stay with you, and become one of you. To me the world is nothing without you. You tell me I have lost you because of what I did against you in taking the young King away. So be it. I will win you back again by what I can do for your cause."

"No, no; it is impossible. It is madness. You are not of us, and must not do this."

"I will do no less, Sarita. Cabrera and Garcia have gone to the town in the desperate hope of getting together a sufficient number of comrades to return and make a last stand here for your cause. I urged them against the attempt; but I am glad of it now. It will give me the chance I need; and, my word on it, they shall not find me less staunch than the rest of you. God knows your cause never stood in direr need of recruits than now; and I'll be one."

"You are cruel. You will kill me," she cried; and urged me with entreating and fervent prayers to alter my decision, and make my escape; but I would not yield.

"If you will go with me, I will go; but if you stay, I stay," I said again and again. From that I would not be moved; and she was protesting, urging, and entreating, and I refusing, when someone knocked hurriedly at the door, and the lad Juan rushed in, followed closely by the old woman.

"A party of soldiers have found the house, senor. They are coming to surround it. There is yet a moment to fly, if you will come at once," he cried, excitedly.

"The senor will fly, Juan. You can get him away. You must go instantly," exclaimed Sarita.

"You will come with me. I will go then."

She looked at me earnestly and imploringly.

"For the Holy Mother's sake, save yourself," she cried, in a voice of pain.

"If you will come, yes. If you will not come, no. Where you are, I stay, Sarita."

The old woman and the lad stood staring at us in dismay.

"Come, senor, come," he said.

"We are not going, Juan," I answered, quietly; and Sarita put her hands to her face distractedly, and then she cried again impulsively—

"Oh, you must go. You must go."

"Come, then," and, grasping her hand, I led her toward the door.

"Quick, senor, quick," said the boy again.

"Quick, Sarita," I repeated. "Every moment lost may be fatal."

"I will go. Yes, I will go. Quick, Mother Calvarro, my things;" and, smiling to me with every sign of agitation, she took them from the old woman's hand. "It is for your sake," she whispered, as we hurried out into the passage.

But the chance was lost. We had delayed too long. Outside, the sound of horses' feet, the clang of arms, and the jingle of bits, told us the soldiers were there at the door already, and a strong voice uttered a word of command.

"This way, senor, by the back," cried Juan; and he darted down the passage, and opened the door. But as he did so we heard a man's gruff voice, followed by a heavy step, as a soldier entered. At the same moment a loud knock, as from the butt end of a musket, sounded on the front door, and a stern voice demanded admittance.

"It is too late, Sarita," I said, quietly. "We will wait for them in the room there;" and I led her back.

CHAPTER XXVII

SARITA HEARS THE TRUTH

Sarita went to her old place on the settle, where I had found her so disconsolate on my arrival, and I stood nearer the door, which purposely I left ajar that I might hear what passed. She was pale, but quite calm, and her only sign of agitation was when she whispered to me, with a gesture of regret—

"You should have gone, Ferdinand. I have brought this upon you."

"Nothing has happened yet. They may not know us," I said, in reply; and was in the act of whispering a further word of reassurance, when I stopped and started, held silent by surprise at recognising the voice of the questioning soldier.

"Is this Calvarro's farm?"

Sarita recognised it too, and with a quick catch of alarm she said—

"It is Colonel Livenza, Ferdinand. You are lost. Holy Mother have pity on us! how can he have come here?"

"More treachery probably, somewhere," I replied, with an inward curse at the mischance; but then a thought occurred to me. There was a cupboard close to the door, and whispering hurriedly to Sarita, "Not a word to him of me; I believe I can save us;" I went into it, and closed the door upon myself.

Meanwhile the colloquy at the front door was proceeding.

"Yes, senor, I am the Mother Calvarro. Does your Excellency want provisions for your men, or forage for the horses?"

"No. I want the Carlists you have hidden in the house here."

"Carlists? I don't understand your Excellency. We are no Carlists here, but simple farming folk, and for the King, God bless him," said the old crone.

"Aye, King. I know your jargon. Which King? You're near enough to the grave, I should have thought, to speak the truth," answered the bully, roughly.

"Your Excellency can speak freely. I am an old woman, and have none to protect me here," was the retort, quietly spoken.

"My men will search the house; and look you, it will pay you best to help, not hinder us."

"I am too old either to help or hinder. Do your will."

"Who is in your house? Answer plainly, and with no more sneering," he said, in a truculent voice.

"The house is small to search; and there is none to resist."

"Well, no matter; I'll soon know;" and, giving some order which I could not catch, he came along the passage, and, pushing the door wide open, entered. "Ah, it is true, and you are here, Sarita. I could scarcely believe it true. Who else is in the house?"

"For one there is a swaggering bully of old women, and his name is Colonel Juan Livenza," answered Sarita, scornfully. "Another is the good woman of the house whom you found it so easy and safe to insult."

"Thank you for that," he cried, stung to anger. "And I'll show my gratitude by taking good care of all we find here."

"Like the gallant gentleman and King's officer that you are."

"I won't let your gibes anger me," he said. "It is for you I came; and I must speak with you. I have come in friendship."

"I have no wish to speak with you. I am ready to go at once. I can be your prisoner, but not your friend; the saints forbid that!" she cried, with intense bitterness. And I saw the purpose in a flash. To get him and his men away with her so that I might escape. And I blessed her for the thought, even while I resolved to frustrate it. I had another plan, and all unwittingly Livenza helped me.

"I intend to speak to you and have an understanding, and we can have it here without fear of interruption," he said.

"You were ever a chivalrous gentleman," she retorted, trying hard to goad him to anger.

But he paid no heed to the sneer, and, going to the door, called up one of his men and ordered him to keep the house surrounded, but not to disturb him. Then he closed the door, locked it, and put the key in his pocket, and, feeling secure, said, "Now we can talk, Sarita, without any to overhear us."

"A very prudent precaution, Colonel Livenza, and one for which I am infinitely obliged to you," I said quietly, as I pushed open the door of the cupboard and stepped out, revolver in hand.

The look of exultant triumph changed to one of craven fear, as he gave a violent start and stared at me, his lips livid, and his face white with the whiteness of death. He tried to answer, but for the moment could force no words, and his lips moved in a soundless question inspired by his overpowering dismay at my appearance.

Sarita gave me a look of reproach.

"Why did you do this?"

"That we three may talk without interruption," I answered, not taking my eyes from Livenza's face. "Without interruption," I repeated, meaningly and sternly. "Colonel Livenza knows me, and he knows that as he has the key of the door in his pocket there must be delay, even were he to summon his men; and that the minute of that delay would be his last on earth."

"I shall not call anyone," he said, his voice no longer jaunty and truculent, but hoarse, broken, and abject, the voice of a coward in deadly fear.

"I am glad to hear it. You will therefore show your confidence in me further by laying your weapon on the table."

"There is no need for that. I don't wish——"

"On the table, there," I said sternly, pointing to it.

"I have no objection," he declared, with a start at my stern tone; and with trembling fingers he drew his sword and laid it down, and then put his revolver by the side of it, and sighed.

"Hand the key of the door to Senorita Castelar," I bade him next, and without a murmur he obeyed. "Now we can talk without restraint," I said, and put his sword and revolver on a chair behind him. "Be good enough to answer my questions fully. How comes it you have found your way here to this out-of-the-way place at this precise moment?"

"I heard that this was a house where Carlists were likely——"

"Wait," I broke in, angrily. "Tell the truth, the full truth; no half lies and generalities and equivocations; and don't forget that I also know much—more than enough to test every word you say. If you lie, the interview ends—and the end will not be well for you. Now, answer my question."

"Sebastian Quesada's spies in Daroca found out that Senorita Castelar was here, and I came in search of her."

"That's better. Now, what secret arrangement has there been between you and Quesada affecting your relations with the senorita? Remember, I know it, but wish her to hear it from you." The question set him trembling in dire agitation, and for some moments he stood hesitating and perplexed, trying vainly to speak.

"What do you mean?" he muttered.

"Answer," I said, sternly. "And mind, the truth."

Again he wrestled with his feelings, and then in a low voice: "He knew of my passion for her, and—and thought that if she was to be arrested, I had best do it."

"You are lying, Colonel Livenza," I said.

"I am unarmed," he muttered, shifting his eyes uneasily.

"I, too, was unarmed once before your weapon; and afterwards you swore to tell me the truth. You know why. But if you mean that I am insulting an unarmed man, here, take your revolver;" and I put it on the table and pushed it toward him. "You lied, Colonel Livenza," I repeated.

The sweat broke out on his forehead in the intensity of the strain. "I don't want it," he said, hoarsely and feebly, pushing it back to me. "I will say it. The senorita is to be my wife."

I put the pistol on the chair again; for the experiment had answered, as I knew it would.

"You mean that your marriage with Senorita Castelar was part of the price with which Quesada bought your help and silence?"

"If you put it so, yes," he murmured.

"This is infamous," cried Sarita.

"But it is not all. Wait, please," I said to her; then again to him—

"In regard to the Carlist plot for abducting the King, what part did he give you to play?"

"I was the intermediary between him and the Carlists. Sarita knows this," and he looked across to her.

"Be good enough to answer me, and not to speak to Senorita Castelar, nor use her name. He promised you that she should be your wife. How was that to be, and what was to happen if the abduction plot had not failed and the Carlist movement had been successful?"

"It was not meant to succeed. His object was to get the young King away, the Monarchy overthrown, and at the same time to crush the Carlist risings as they are now being crushed. He then intended to set up a provisional Government, as a Republic, with himself at the head of it, and his own friends filling all the offices; and then to proclaim war with America, in order to consolidate all classes in favour of the Government."

"And you were to be——? what besides the senorita's husband."

"I was to be Minister of War."

"Spain has lost a brilliant servant, then, and you a portfolio and a wife, by the failure of the plot against the King. Of course, you were not fool enough to go so deep in without something more substantial than Quesada's word. You knew him too well for this. What proofs of his sincerity did he give you?"

He hesitated again, and showed once more the signs of extreme agitation, and at length answered in a tentative, doubtful tone—

"I had only his word; nothing could be written."

"What proofs had you?" I cried again, sternly. "Do you think I don't know what I am saying?"

"We discussed it frequently. I was in his confidence. I had no need of——"

"What proofs had you? I shall not ask you again."

"He gave me the provisional promise in a letter." The words seemed to be wrung from him like drops of blood, and when he had spoken he sighed heavily, and threw up his hands in despair.

"Where is that letter? You have it with you, for you know it would be safe nowhere else. Give it to me," and I held out my hand. I could read him now easily enough, and saw my guess was right.

"It is with my bankers, in my safe, at Madrid," he protested; but I paid no heed, and insisted, disregarding alike his protests, declarations, oaths, and entreaties, and at length made him give it me. He was carrying it sewn up in his clothes, and when I made him part with it, he was so unstrung that he could no longer stand upright, but sank helpless into a chair.

A glance at it showed me the prize I had secured, and the weapon it would be against Quesada, if only I could get it safe to Madrid and lay it before the King's eyes.

"I have nearly done with you," I said then. "And you have my word that I will keep the document safely, so that when the Republic is proclaimed you may claim your seat in the Ministry. But first tell us what arrangements were made, and when, for the suppression of the Carlist risings?"

"All has been in readiness for weeks past. For months, Government agents of all nationalities and classes, men and women alike, have been at work in all directions, and by every possible means worming out secret information. Many of the men who to-day are among the trusted leaders and supporters of Don Carlos are Government agents in Government pay; every movement planned and made, every council and thought almost, every act and speech, have been carried to Quesada, and actor and speaker alike listed, watched, shadowed, tested in a hundred subtle ways, and marked as either suspect or actual revolutionary. Never in the world was such a net devised, and never spread with subtler cunning or more implacable purpose. What chance could you have against such a man?" he cried, turning to Sarita. "Surely never before was such an iron strength, invincible will, fathomless depth, and consummate judgment found in a Spaniard. His spies were everywhere, in your most secret councils; he had your strength to a man; your secrets were his daily knowledge; and you only remained free to plot and plan because he knew that at a signal he could crush your whole revolution as I would pinch a fly between my fingers. A week ago every man was in his place ready to pounce the instant the signal was given; nay, the very prisons and cells were marked out to which the Carlists were to be taken; and in every town where the slightest trouble was anticipated, soldiers outnumbering you five to one were ready at hand. What more proof do you want than what has happened? He built his plans on the success of the abduction plot, and yet when it fails he is found stronger than ever."

"This is mere statement," cried Sarita, stung into the protest by the lingering refusal to believe she had been so duped.

"Proofs? The proofs are written all over Spain at this moment. Am I not here? Is not that a proof? Why was I at Daroca before you thought of coming? Why, except that he allowed you all to fool yourselves with the belief that your stronghold here was not known to the Government, and that you yourself would be sure to fly here when the trouble fell upon your friends at Madrid? But if you want proofs, they exist not by the hundred only, but by the thousand, in the orders given to every regiment of soldiers and every body of police. There is no hope for you, Sarita, but surrender. You cannot fight a man like Sebastian Quesada."

Then I saw the reason of his earnestness, which for the moment had puzzled me. He was bent upon getting her to renounce Carlism and upon filling her with hate of Quesada, that she might the more easily be pardoned and given to him as his wife. He could not have rendered me more effective aid, indeed, had I prompted him in every word he said. And then I went on to play the last card I had in reserve.

"You were in Quesada's confidence, you tell us, and it is plain that you were to some extent, for he was going to help you in winning a wife. Did he ever tell you his own intentions in regard to marriage?"

Sarita started and looked at me hurriedly, but I would not see the glance.

"They were nothing to me."

"You have told us how these Carlists were outmanoeuvred and duped by him; do you think there were no dupes among those nearer to him?" And I spoke with an emphasis that impressed him.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you know that he himself also thought of marrying a Carlist, one high in their councils, and that he made the price of his collusion in this abduction plot a pledge from her to marry him?"

I had not miscalculated the effect of the stroke. Poltroon as the fellow was in the abject regard for his life, he was a true Spaniard in his love and his hate; and the jealousy in his nature was a devil that could be roused easily. It put new strength into him now, and he sprang to his feet again and glared across the table at me with eyes of fire.

"Do you mean I was his dupe in this? By the living Cross if I thought that——"

"Ask the Senorita Castelar the name. She can tell you."

"Is this true, Sarita? Can you tell me?"

There was a pause of tense silence, and then she answered with slow deliberation:

"After what you have told us of his falseness, there is no reason why I should not say. I was to be his wife."

He stood glaring, at her like a man stiffened suddenly in the rigidity of death, save that his eyes glowed like coals; and for a full minute he seemed scarcely to breathe, so unnatural was his stillness. Then with a deep-drawn sigh which shook the whole frame till he trembled, and I thought would fall, he regained self-mastery.

"On your honour, and by the Holy Virgin, you swear that is true?" he said, in a tone ringing with suppressed passion until it sounded utterly unlike his own.

"I do not lie, Colonel Livenza. On my honour and by the Holy Virgin, I swear that that is the truth," replied Sarita, slowly and solemnly.

There was another pause, this time much longer, and then he seemed to force his agitation under control. And in the pause a thought flashed upon me. Sarita's solemn oath had meant Quesada's death-warrant as surely as though the warrant were in fact in existence and bore the sign manual of the King. He was a completely changed man when he next spoke with an altogether unnatural calm.

"Can I go now, Senor Carbonnell? I have work to do."

"And your men?"

"I shall withdraw them; the way is free to you. I would warn you to escape if you wish to go, for the soldiers are everywhere; and above all things avoid every Carlist haunt, for each of them is known. Sarita, we shall not meet again. Will you bid me good-bye?" and he went toward her as if expecting her to give him her hand; but not feeling quite sure of him, I stepped forward. Sarita said, in a cold hard tone:

"No. You are less than nothing to me, Colonel Livenza. I can have no kindly thought of, or for, a traitor like you. I hope we never shall meet again."

Believing what I did of his intention, and that if I was right, he was surely going to his death, I regretted her sternness.

"As you will. Some day, perhaps, you will think less harshly;" and without a word or a glance to me, he picked up his arms, and, while I unlocked the door, he sheathed his sword and thrust the revolver into the case he wore about his waist, and went out.

We heard him call to his men, and give them a sharp short command; the jingle of accoutrements as they mounted was followed by the sound of the horses' hoofs as they wheeled round and trotted away.

"What had we best do now, Ferdinand?" asked Sarita, when the sound had quite died away.

"You are convinced at last?"

"Don't," she cried, wincing in anguish. "I am so humiliated. To be set up for barter by these villains, and cheated and fooled. For the Holy Mother's sake don't let me think of it. Give me something to do. Take me somewhere, anywhere that I may try to forget my shame."

"By God's help that shall be to England, Sarita; and we will know no pause or stop till we are safe. We'll blunt the edge of this business by the excitement of the journey," I cried, little perceiving what the excitement would prove to be; and calling for Juan, I told him we would start at once, and that he must find us a way through the web which the soldiers had spread all round.

One precaution I took, due more to the fortunate accident that we had to wait a few minutes for the horses, than to any foresight of mine. I took the letter which Livenza had given me, and sealing it in an envelope which I obtained from Mother Calvarro, I addressed it to Mayhew at the British Embassy, with instructions to keep it with the papers I had previously entrusted to him.

Before we mounted I drew Juan aside.

"See, my lad, if anything happens to me and I get caught by the soldiers, I shall pass this envelope to you. You must guard it jealously, for it may mean life and liberty for hundreds of us; and take it to Madrid and place it in the hands of him to whom it is addressed, Mr. Mayhew, at the British Embassy. Here is money; and if you have to deliver the letter and do it safely, I will pay you very liberally." He gave me a faithful promise, and then I mounted.

"What were you saying to Juan?" asked Sarita.

"I was giving him some instructions in regard to our safety," I answered; not caring to start the fears of capture which were already present to my mind in disquieting force. With that we started.

CHAPTER XXVIII

HOW LUCK CAN CHANGE

As we left Calvarro's I rode with the utmost caution, for I felt by no means certain that Livenza, even in his changed mood, might not attempt some treachery. But I wronged him in that thought. He had cleared right away and had taken his men with him; and so soon as I was convinced of this, I drew rein and questioned Juan as to the possible roads that were open for us to take.

The position of Daroca made our difficulties vastly greater. The mountains were on three sides of us, and Juan admitted that he knew the passes very indifferently, while it was certain that the chief of them would be blocked with the soldiery. The one bit of open country was that by which I had ridden from Calatayud, and as that was also the country which our young guide knew well, I determined to go there.

From Calatayud I resolved to use the railway, not to Saragossa or Madrid but to work our way north through Old Castile and the Basque Provinces, and across the frontier to Bayonne; and I directed Juan therefore to make for Calatayud by the road I had travelled earlier in the night.

"Do you think you can hold out for a twenty-mile ride, Sarita?" I asked her, as I explained generally my plans.

"I could ride for five hundred if I could only get away from my racking thoughts," was her instant and vehement response; and with that I directed Juan to travel as fast as the ground and the condition of the horses would allow. I knew that a good remedy for her mental distress would be found in physical fatigue, and we rattled along therefore at a strapping pace and for a long time most part in silence. One caution I gave her.

"If you have any papers or anything on you which might cause you to be identified, you had better destroy them in case we are interfered with and you are searched. Until we are out of Spain I shall say you are my sister, and that we are leaving the country because of the troubled state of things."

"I have nothing. I came in this disguise," she answered, referring to the peasant's dress she wore. "Scarcely a convincing dress for Lord Glisfoyle's sister. But it doesn't matter. Nothing matters now," she added, with a sigh.

The truth of this reference to her incongruous dress became more apparent when the dawn broke and lightened. I had not given it a thought while we were at Calvarro's, nor while the darkness made the matter of costume a thing of no importance; but in the daylight it was altogether different. Still, as riding habits didn't grow on Spanish hills, there was nothing to do but to make the best of it, and get a change of dress at the first available opportunity. After all, there was that well-known excuse to fall back upon—the eccentricity of the English traveller.

I left Sarita almost entirely to her own thoughts, and for some hours we scarcely spoke to each other, until, as I had dismounted and was leading my horse up a hill by her side, she looked down and said with a smile:

"You are very good to me, Ferdinand, and very thoughtful for me. I cannot bear to speak much yet."

"That's all right. We shall have many years of chatter to make up for a few hours' silence," I answered, cheeringly. "I can guess pretty well how it is with you. Don't worry. Let's get out of this mess and we'll have all the more to talk about. What a young brick that Juan is. I don't know what we should have done without him. He'll pull us through yet," and it really began to look as though he would, for we were within a mile or two of Calatayud.

"And do I owe nothing to you?"

"We won't shout till we are out of the wood. But here we are at the top of the hill, and forward's the word again;" and soon after that we came in sight of Calatayud nestling down in the valley a good way below us, the smoke from a few early fires curling up lazily in the breezeless air.

"Thank God, there's the railway," I said, pointing to where a sinuous line of white steam marked the course of a train just leaving the station on its way to Madrid. Then I called Juan back. "I am not going to your grandfather's if I can help it, Juan. I have reason to know it will be dangerous. Is there a Royalist house in the place?"

"Yes, senor, there is Angostino's. But if there are any soldiers in the town they are sure to be there."

"All the more reason for them not to think I should go there, too. Now remember, the senorita and I are English people, brother and sister. I am Lord Glisfoyle"—and I made him repeat the name several times, and warned him to tell anyone who might question him that that was my name, and that I was an eccentric English nobleman. "You won't ride with us up to Angostino's, but as soon as we are close enough to the house to find our way, you'll take the horses—they might be recognised—and we shall walk there. And now I'm going to trust you. Take this letter and keep it. If you hear that I have been arrested, go as quickly as you can to Madrid and give it yourself to Mr. Mayhew, and tell him that I am arrested. But if I am not, then I shall want you to be ready to go on a journey with me later in the day or in the evening; I'll find means to let you know the time." He promised me, and when we came near enough to our destination Sarita and I dismounted, and he rode away with the horses.

"Now, Mercy—that's your name now, remember—for a bold face on things and no language but English; no character but that of eccentric English folk; and a prayer from the bottom of our hearts that my friend Rubio is not within a dozen miles of Angostino's. In that case we'll soon be at breakfast, and you'll soon be in bed—and the best place for you."

Scarcely anyone was astir in the narrow street, or in the inn itself, and swaggering in with the assurance of an irresponsible tourist, I asked for breakfast and a couple of rooms for myself and sister. I took care to put a good broad English accent into my Spanish, showed my money with vulgar ostentation, and made the most of my title.

Everything went smoothly. A single gold piece converted a sleepy serving maid from a wondering and contemptuous critic of Sarita's dress into an obsequious servant, who led her away at once.

"Don't be long, Mercy, for I am as hungry as the deuce," I called after her, loudly.

"All right," she cried in reply, in a most winsome accent that no English girl could have copied to save her life.

Then the landlord, having heard that a rich Englishman had arrived, came hurrying out to me with a mouthful of breakfast, a rich smell of garlic, and a whole person eloquent of a desire to do my bidding and earn my money; and a few minutes saw me in the only private sitting-room in the place, a guest of less importance having been promptly dispossessed in my honour. There is nothing like a combination of impudence, money, and a character for English eccentricity if you want your own way on the Continent. And I never wanted mine more badly in my life nor got it more promptly.

"You are a magician, Ferdinand," said Sarita, as we sat at breakfast.

"But you are not Spanish," I whispered, warningly; "and an English brother and sister don't carry their eccentricity so far as to talk in any language but their own, Mercy."

"Then we can talk very little," she replied, in English.

"Which is precisely how English brothers and sisters do behave," said I, with a laugh.

"What about clothes?" she asked in some little dismay.

"I'll see to that. After breakfast you must go to bed. I don't want anyone to see you for one thing and I do want you to get some sleep; and while you sleep, I'll work the oracle."

"You will what?" she asked, wrinkling her brow at my slang.

"I'll get hold of some clothes somehow, if I steal them;" and as soon as breakfast was over, I went out to forage.

Juan was right in one respect. What soldiers were in Calatayud were at the inn, and sticking to my principle of the value of impudence, I went up to the two officers who were in command of the party, bade them good-day, and asked them if they spoke English. One of them replied that he did.

"Good," I said, heartily, and offered him my hand and asked him to give me a cigarette. "I can speak Spanish a bit, but our English tongues don't seem to fit the words somehow. Let me introduce myself, for I want a little advice. I am Lord Glisfoyle, an Englishman, travelling with my sister, and we have just heard of the death of a relative in London, and have to get there quickly. Which is the best way to go? I mean, considering the mess and excitement of all this Carlist business. I was at Daroca, and wanted to get up to Saragossa by rail; but yesterday you gentlemen had taken possession of the line, and I'll be hanged if I could get tickets. So we rode over here and left our baggage there. Here is my card;" and, as if searching for one, I pulled out a roll of English bank notes, which impressed them as much as I desired. "I haven't one, I see; I must have left my card case when I changed, I expect. Anyhow, it doesn't matter."

The officer was as obliging as courtesy demanded he should be to a rich English nobleman in a difficulty, and very soon we three were discussing my route over a bottle of the best wine which Angostino could find in his cellar.

The Madrid route was suggested; but I said I had thought of the other, and then my two companions worked out the train service in that direction. After that was settled we went out together and strolled about the streets chatting and smoking; and in the course of an hour I had acquired a good deal of useful information about the doings and plans of the military; while on my side I took them to the telegraph office and let them see the telegrams I sent off to London and to Mayhew at the British Embassy in the name of Lord Glisfoyle.

That business completed, they went off to their military duties, and I found shops where I could get some clean linen for myself and a costume of a kind for Sarita, to whom, trading on Spanish ignorance of such things, I ordered them to be sent in the name of Lady Mercy Glisfoyle. Then I sauntered in the direction of old Tomaso's house, and finding Juan on the lookout for me, I told him to be at the station that afternoon at four o'clock, to watch me but not to speak to me; and to take a ticket for the station where we had to change into the train for the north.

Having done this good morning's work, I went back to the inn to have a couple of hours' sleep before leaving. I paid liberally and tipped royally, so that everyone about the place was sorry for my going. The two officers insisted upon accompanying us to the station to see me off; an attention which would have been very pleasant, had I not feared that he who spoke English might detect Sarita's accent; but I put a bold face on matters, and explained that my sister, Lady Mercy Glisfoyle, was very much fatigued, and had so bad an attack of neuralgia that she had to bandage her face and could not speak. And such was the confidence in me that even that simple ruse was not detected, and no suspicion was roused.

At the station the officer was good enough to take our tickets for us, and he thus saved me all troublesome questions. In fact every difficulty seemed to vanish as we faced it; and Sarita was actually in the train, and I was standing chatting with my two new friends, when the luck veered, and the crash came all suddenly. Nor was it any the sweeter to me because I had brought it on myself by a single piece of over-acting.

The telegram to Mayhew at the Embassy proved my undoing. It was tampered with or censored or something at Madrid. At any rate it came under the attention of the police there; and the name having been bracketed with that of Carbonnell, when the attempt had been made to arrest me at the Hotel de l'Opera, somebody's suspicions were roused, and instructions were sent to stop me. I was laughing with the officers and just going to bid them good-bye, when someone approached me.

"Lord Glisfoyle, I think."

"Yes, what do you want with me?"

"I am sorry, but there may be a mistake of some kind. I have instructions to ask you not to leave Calatayud for the present."

"From whom are your instructions?" I asked quickly, in very fluent Spanish, forgetting all about my English accent in my chagrin and surprise.

"They come from Madrid; and they speak of a certain Ferdinand Carbonnell in connection with you."

"I am an English nobleman, and at a loss to understand you. Do you mean you intend to stop my going away. You'll do so at your own risk; and unless you use force I shall certainly go."

"I trust you will not compel us to use force. I have no alternative but to obey my instructions."

At that moment I noticed the expression of the two officers and realised my blunder in showing my knowledge of Spanish. I was to pay a heavy price for it, too.

"I repeat I am an English nobleman travelling with my sister, and the English Government will not put up quietly with any interference of this kind. I am called by urgent business of a private character to London, and any delay will be serious. These gentlemen know that I have telegraphed to London announcing my immediate return."

"Your Spanish is far purer than I understood, senor," replied the English-speaking officer, drily. "I think you can explain matters sufficiently to dispense with any reference to me."

"As you please," I answered, loftily; and turning to the official, I said curtly, "I will do as you wish, and will just explain matters to my sister." I could think of no better excuse to get a word with Sarita. Speak to her I must—to urge her to continue the journey, and to give her money as I feared she had none. I turned to the carriage door and said coolly, in English: "I'm stopped, but you can go on; and must take this money. Wire to Mrs. Curwen when you reach Bayonne, and remain there. Please," I urged, backing the appeal with a glance. To my delighted surprise she consented, and with a light nod, I added: "I shall be on by the next train," and turned to the official, "I am at your disposal, senor."

But in the meantime the two officers had communicated their suspicions to the man, and he now said:

"I must ask the senorita, your sister, to alight and remain also. She shall be treated with every consideration."

"This is monstrous," I exclaimed indignantly; but my protests were unavailing, and we had to suffer the infinite chagrin and disappointment of seeing the train steam away without us. I masked my feelings under an assumption of indignation, however, and asked where we were to go.

"You can return to Angostino's, senor," said the official, very politely, "but you must permit that I remain in your company until I have further instructions."

"All places are alike to me after this scandalous outrage," I answered. Then, looking about me, I saw Juan watching us at a safe distance, and as we passed I gave him a meaning glance, and said aloud to Sarita, "We are arrested, you see," and he answered with a look to show that he understood and would do my bidding.

"I wish to telegraph to the British Embassy," I then said to the official.

"I regret, senor, but I can allow nothing to be done until I have further instructions," and there was nothing for me but to comply.

We went back to the inn to wait; but the delay was not long, for in reply to the telegram announcing the arrest there came a message for us both to be taken to Madrid.

"You will give me your word to make no attempt to resist us, senor?"

"Certainly I will not. I won't recognise your action in any way, and you can take the consequences of everything you do," was my hot reply. But it served no other purpose than to cause the man to have two subordinates with him in the carriage, thus preventing all attempt at conversation between Sarita and myself, other than a few words of English.

Sarita played her part well enough, showing a stolid, stoical indifference to everything, and maintaining the pretence of indisposition. But it was all of no avail. I had one consolation. Juan was in the train, and I knew that very soon Mayhew would be acting to effect my release; and I occupied the time and tedium of the journey by thinking out the far more serious problem of Sarita's arrest.

At Madrid the truth came out, of course, as I knew it would. Rubio was on the platform waiting for us when the train drew up. Recognising us both immediately, he rubbed his hands with pleasure over the importance of the arrest. He disregarded my angry protests, and in a few words sent my spirits down to zero.

"You are Ferdinand Carbonnell; I know that, and that would be enough, but there is more. This is Senorita Castelar, a most prominent Carlist, and you were stopped in the act of helping her to escape from the country under the pretence that she was your sister. For that even Lord Glisfoyle would have to answer. You are not in England, senor."

"No; but you'll find the English Government will have a word to say."

"That is for his Excellency the Minister to settle, and for the present you are both prisoners;" and without more ado he put Sarita into one carriage and me into another, with a sufficient guard to ensure our safety. Thus, instead of being well on the road to Bayonne as I had hoped, I found myself locked up in a filthy prison cell in Madrid, with a bitter load of misgivings and fears, and a host of useless lamentations and revilings for the shortsightedness and blunders which I had committed at the moment when Sarita's freedom lay in the hollow of my hand. I could have dashed my head against the wall in the bitterness of my self-reproach and futile regrets.