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diff --git a/10342-h/10342-h.htm b/10342-h/10342-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..76be8ac --- /dev/null +++ b/10342-h/10342-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8276 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= +"text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of 'The Velvet Glove', by +Henry Seton Merriman</title> +<style type="text/css"> + <!-- + * { font-family: Times, serif;} + P { text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: .75em; + margin-left: 4%; + margin-right: 4%; + font-size: 14pt; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1 { margin-top 3.5em; + text-align: center; + font-size: 150% } + H2 { margin-top 1.5em; + margin-left: 4%; + margin-right: 4%; + text-align: center; + font-size: 125% } + H3 { margin-top 2em; + margin-left: 4%; + margin-right: 4%; + font-size: 100% } + H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; } + A:link {color: black; text-decoration:none} + A:visited {color: blue; text-decoration:none} + A:hover {color: red; text-decoration:none} + A:active {color: black; text-decoration: none} + HR { width: 33%; } + PRE { font-size: 90%; + margin_left: 4%; + margin-top: 1em; + line-height: 1.2; + font-family: courier} + // --> + </style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Velvet Glove, by Henry Seton Merriman + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Velvet Glove + +Author: Henry Seton Merriman + +Release Date: November 30, 2003 [EBook #10342] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VELVET GLOVE *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Robert Prince, and +the Online Distributed Proofresding Team + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1><br> +<br> +<br> +The VELVET GLOVE</h1> +<h2 style="margin-top 20em"><br> +<br> +<br> +By</h2> +<h2>Henry Seton Merriman</h2> +<h2><i style="font-size 50%"><br> +<br> +<br> +(HUGH STOWELL SCOTT)</i></h2> +<h2><br> +<br> +<br> +Contents</h2> +<h3>Chapter</h3> +<h3><a href="#chap1">I. IN THE CITY OF THE WINDS</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap2">II. EVASIO MON</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap3">III. WITHIN THE HIGH WALLS</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap4">IV. THE JADE--CHANCE</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap5">V. A PILGRIMAGE</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap6">VI. PILGRIMS</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap7">VII. THE ALTERNATIVE</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap8">VIII. THE TRAIL</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap9">IX. THE QUARRY</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap10">X. THISBE</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap11">XI. THE ROYAL ADVENTURE</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap12">XII. IN A STRONG CITY</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap13">XIII. THE GRIP OF THE VELVET GLOVE</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap14">XIV. IN THE CLOISTER</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap15">XV. OUR LADY OF THE SHADOWS</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap16">XVI. THE MATTRESS BEATER</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap17">XVII. AT THE INN OF THE TWO TREES</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap18">XVIII. THE MAKERS OF HISTORY</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap19">XIX. COUSIN PELIGROS</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap20">XX. AT TORRE GARDA</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap21">XXI. JUANITA GROWS UP</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap22">XXII. AN ACCIDENT</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap23">XXIII. KIND INQUIRIES</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap24">XXIV. THE STORMY PETREL</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap25">XXV. WAR'S ALARM</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap26">XXVI. AT THE FORD</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap27">XXVII. IN THE CLOUDS</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap28">XXVIII. LE GANT DE VELOURS</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap29">XXIX. LA MAIN DE FER</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#chap30">XXX. THE CASTING VOTE</a></h3> +<h2><br> +<br> +<br> +List of Illustrations</h2> +<h3>"'ARE YOU SURE YOU HAVE NOT HEARD FROM PAPA?'"</h3> +<h3>"A MOMENT LATER THE TRAVELER WAS LYING THERE ALONE."</h3> +<h3>"ALL TURNED AND LOOKED AT HIM IN WONDER."</h3> +<h3>"'DO YOU INTEND TO PUNISH YOUR FATHER'S ASSASSINS?'"</h3> +<h3>"MARCOS WAS ESSENTIALLY A MAN OF HIS WORD."</h3> +<h3>"THE DOOR WAS OPENED BY A STOUT MONK."</h3> +<h3>"'HE IS NOT KILLED,' SAID MARCOS, BREATHLESSLY."</h3> +<h3>"HE LEFT JUANITA ALONE WITH MARCOS."</h3> +<h1><a name="chap1"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER I</a></h1> +<h2><br> +IN THE CITY OF THE WINDS</h2> +<p>The Ebro, as all the world knows--or will pretend to know, +being an ignorant and vain world--runs through the city of +Saragossa. It is a river, moreover, which should be accorded the +sympathy of this generation, for it is at once rapid and +shallow.</p> +<p>On one side it is bordered by the wall of the city. The left +bank is low and sandy, liable to flood; a haunt of lizards in the +summer, of frogs in winter-time. The lower bank is bordered by +poplar trees, and here and there plots of land have been +recovered from the riverbed for tillage and the growth of that +harsh red wine which seems to harden and thicken the men of +Aragon.</p> +<p>One night, when a half moon hung over the domes of the +Cathedral of the Pillar, a man made his way through the +undergrowth by the riverside and stumbled across the shingle +towards the open shed which marks the landing-place of the only +ferry across the Ebro that Saragossa possesses. The ferry-boat +was moored to the landing-stage. It is a high-prowed, +high-sterned vessel, built on Viking lines, from a picture the +observant must conclude, by a landsman carpenter. It swings +across the river on a wire rope, with a running tackle, by the +force of the stream and the aid of a large rudder.</p> +<p>The man looked cautiously into the vine-clad shed. It was +empty. He crept towards the boat and found no one there. Then he +examined the chain that moored it. There was no padlock. In Spain +to this day they bar the window heavily and leave the door open. +To the cunning mind is given in this custom the whole history of +a great nation.</p> +<p>He stood upright and looked across the river. He was a tall +man with a clean cut face and a hard mouth. He gave a sharp sigh +as he looked at Saragossa outlined against the sky. His attitude +and his sigh seemed to denote along journey accomplished at last, +an object attained perhaps or within reach, which is almost the +same thing, but not quite. For most men are happier in striving +than in possession. And no one has yet decided whether it is +better to be among the lean or the fat.</p> +<p>Don Francisco de Mogente sat down on the bench provided for +those that await the ferry, and, tilting back his hat, looked up +at the sky. The northwest wind was blowing--the Solano--as it +only blows in Aragon. The bridge below the ferry has, by the way, +a high wall on the upper side of it to break this wind, without +which no cart could cross the river at certain times of the year. +It came roaring down the Ebro, bending the tall poplars on the +lower bank, driving before it a cloud of dust on the Saragossa +side. It lashed the waters of the river to a gleaming white +beneath the moon. And all the while the clouds stood hard and +sharp of outline in the sky. They hardly seemed to move towards +the moon. They scarcely changed their shape from hour to hour. +This was not a wind of heaven, but a current rushing down from +the Pyrenees to replace the hot air rising from the plains of +Aragon.</p> +<p>Nevertheless, the clouds were moving towards the moon, and +must soon hide it. Don Francisco de Mogente observed this, and +sat patiently beneath the trailing vines, noting their slow +approach. He was a white-haired man, and his face was burnt a +deep brown. It was an odd face, and the expression of the eyes +was not the usual expression of an old man's eyes. They had the +agricultural calm, which is rarely seen in drawing-rooms. For +those who deal with nature rarely feel calm in a drawing-room. +They want to get out of it, and their eyes assume a hunted look. +This seemed to be a man who had known both drawing-room and +nature; who must have turned quietly and deliberately to nature +as the better part. The wrinkles on his face were not those of +the social smile, which so disfigure the faces of women when the +smile is no longer wanted. They were the wrinkles of +sunshine.</p> +<p>"I will wait," he said placidly to himself in English, with, +however, a strong American accent. "I have waited fifteen +years--and she doesn't know I am coming."</p> +<p>He sat looking across the river with quiet eyes. The city lay +before him, with the spire of its unmatched cathedral, the domes +of its second cathedral, and its many towers outlined against the +sky just as he had seen them fifteen years before--just as others +had seen them a hundred years earlier.</p> +<p>The great rounded cloud was nearer to the moon now. Now it +touched it. And quite suddenly the domes disappeared. Don +Francisco de Mogente rose and went towards the boat. He did not +trouble to walk gently or to loosen the chains noiselessly. The +wind was roaring so loudly that a listener twenty yards away +could have heard nothing. He cast off and then hastened to the +stern of the boat. The way in which he handled the helm showed +that he knew the tricks of the old ferryman by wind and calm, by +high and low river. He had probably learnt them with the +photographic accuracy only to be attained when the mind is +young.</p> +<p>The boat swung out into the river with an odd jerking +movement, which the steersman soon corrected. And a man who had +been watching on the bridge half a mile farther down the river +hurried into the town. A second watcher at an open window in the +tall house next to the Posada de los Reyes on the Paseo del Ebro +closed his field-glasses with a thoughtful smile.</p> +<p>It seemed that Don Francisco de Mogente had purposely avoided +crossing the bridge, where to this day the night watchman, with +lantern and spear, peeps cautiously to and fro--a startlingly +mediaeval figure. It seemed also that the traveler was expected, +though he had performed the last stage of his journey on foot +after nightfall.</p> +<p>It is characteristic of this country that Saragossa should be +guarded during the day by the toll-takers at every gate, by +sentries, and by the new police, while at night the streets are +given over to the care of a handful of night watchmen, who call +monotonously to each other all through the hours, and may be +avoided by the simplest-minded of malefactors.</p> +<p>Don Francisco de Mogente brought the ferry-boat gently +alongside the landing-stage beneath the high wall of the Quay, +and made his way through the underground passage and up the dirty +steps that lead into one of the narrow streets of the old +town.</p> +<p>The moon had broken through the clouds again and shone down +upon the barred windows. The traveler stood still and looked +about him. Nothing had changed since he had last stood there. +Nothing had changed just here for five hundred years or so; for +he could not see the domes of the Cathedral of the Pillar, +comparatively modern, only a century old.</p> +<p>Don Francisco de Mogente had come from the West; had known the +newness of the new generation. And he stood for a moment as if in +a dream, breathing in the tainted air of narrow, undrained +streets; listening to the cry of the watchman slowly dying as the +man walked away from him on sandaled, noiseless feet; gazing up +at the barred windows, heavily shadowed. There was an old world +stillness in the air, and suddenly the bells of fifty churches +tolled the hour. It was one o'clock in the morning. The traveler +had traveled backwards, it would seem, into the middle ages. As +he heard the church bells he gave an angry upward jerk of the +head, as if the sound confirmed a thought that was already in his +mind. The bells seemed to be all around him; the towers of the +churches seemed to dominate the sleeping city on every side. +There was a distinct smell of incense in the air of these narrow +streets, where the winds of the outer world rarely found +access.</p> +<p>The traveler knew his way, and hurried down a narrow turning +to the left, with the Cathedral of the Pillar between him and the +river. He had made a dé tour in order to avoid the bridge +and the Paseo del Ebro, a broad road on the river bank. In these +narrow streets he met no one. On the Paseo there are several old +inns, notably the Posada de los Reyes, used by muleteers and +other gentlemen of the road, who arise and start at any hour of +the twenty-four and in summer travel as much by night as by day. +At the corner, where the bridge abuts on the Paseo, there is +always a watchman at night, while by day there is a guard. It is +the busiest and dustiest corner in the city.</p> +<p>Francisco de Mogente crossed a wide street, and again sought a +dark alley. He passed by the corner of the Cathedral of the +Pillar, and went towards the other and infinitely grander +Cathedral of the Seo. Beyond this, by the riverside, is the +palace of the archbishop. Farther on is another palace, standing +likewise on the Paseo del Ebro, backing likewise on to a +labyrinth of narrow streets. It is called the Palacio Sarrion, +and belongs to the father and son of that name.</p> +<p>It seemed that Francisco de Mogente was going to the Palacio +Sarrion; for he passed the great door of the archbishop's +dwelling, and was already looking towards the house of the +Sarrions, when a slight sound made him turn on his heels with the +rapidity of one whose life had been passed amid dangers--and more +especially those that come from behind.</p> +<p>There were three men coming from behind now, running after him +on sandaled feet, and before he could do so much as raise his arm +the moon broke out from behind a cloud and showed a gleam of +steel. Don Francisco de Mogente was down on the ground in an +instant, and the three men fell upon him like dogs on a rat. One +knife went right through him, and grated with a harsh squeak on +the cobble-stones beneath.</p> +<h4><img alt="Illus0301 (253K)" src="Illus0301.JPG" height="782" +width="530"></h4> +<p>A moment later the traveler was lying there alone, half in the +shadow, his dusty feet showing whitely in the moonlight. The +three shadows had vanished as softly as they came.</p> +<p>Almost instantly from, strangely enough, the direction in +which they had gone the burly form of a preaching friar came out +into the light. He was walking hurriedly, and would seem to be +returning from some mission of mercy, or some pious bedside to +one of the many houses of religion located within a stone's throw +of the Cathedral of the Seo in one of the narrow streets of this +quarter of the city. The holy man almost fell over the prostrate +form of Don Francisco de Mogente.</p> +<p>"Ah! ah!" he exclaimed in an even and quiet voice. "A +calamity."</p> +<p>"No," answered the wounded man with a cynicism which even the +near sight of death seemed powerless to effect. "A crime."</p> +<p>"You are badly hurt, my son."</p> +<p>"Yes; you had better not try to lift me, though you are a +strong man."</p> +<p>"I will go for help," said the monk.</p> +<p>"Lay help," suggested the wounded man curtly. But the friar +was already out of earshot.</p> +<p>In an astonishingly short space of time the friar returned, +accompanied by two men, who had the air of indoor servants and +the quiet movements of street-bred, roof-ridden humanity.</p> +<p>Mindful of his cloth, the friar stood aside, unostentatiously +and firmly refusing to take the lead even in a mission of mercy. +He stood with humbly-folded hands and a meek face while the two +men lifted Don Francisco de Mogente on to a long narrow blanket, +the cloak of Navarre and Aragon, which one of them had brought +with him.</p> +<p>They bore him slowly away, and the friar lingered behind. The +moon shone down brightly into the narrow street and showed a +great patch of blood amid the cobblestones. In Saragossa, as in +many Spanish cities, certain old men are employed by the +municipal authorities to sweep the dust of the streets into +little heaps. These heaps remain at the side of the streets until +the dogs and the children and the four winds disperse the dust +again. It is a survival of the middle ages, interesting enough in +its bearing upon the evolution of the modern municipal authority +and the transmission of intellectual gifts.</p> +<p>The friar looked round him, and had not far to look. There was +a dust heap close by. He plunged his large brown hands into it, +and with a few quick movements covered all traces of the calamity +of which he had so nearly been a witness.</p> +<p>Then, with a quick, meek look either way, he followed the two +men, who had just disappeared round a corner. The street, which, +by the way, is called the Calle San Gregorio, was, of course, +deserted; the tall houses on either side were closely shuttered. +Many of the balconies bore a branch of palm across the iron +railings, the outward sign of priesthood. For the cathedral +clergy live here. And, doubtless, the holy men within had been +asleep many hours.</p> +<p>Across the end of the Calle San Gregorio, and commanding that +narrow street, stood the Palacio Sarrion--an empty house the +greater part of the year--a vast building, of which the windows +increased in size as they mounted skywards. There were +wrought-iron balconies, of which the window embrasures were so +deep that the shutters folded sideways into the wall instead of +swinging back as in houses of which the walls were of normal +thickness.</p> +<p>The friar was probably accustomed to seeing the Palacio +Sarrion rigidly shut up. He never, in his quick, humble scrutiny +of his surroundings glanced up at it. And, therefore, he never +saw a man sitting quietly behind the curiously wrought railings, +smoking a cigarette--a man who had witnessed the whole incident +from beginning to end. Who had, indeed, seen more than the friar +or the two quiet men-servants. For he had seen a stick--probably +a sword-stick, such as nearly every Spanish gentleman carries in +his own country--fly from the hand of Don Francisco de Mogente at +the moment when he was attacked, and fall into the gutter on the +darker side of the street, where it lay unheeded. Where, indeed, +it still remained when the friar with his swinging gait had +turned the corner of the Calle San Gregorio.</p> +<h1><a name="chap2"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER II</a></h1> +<h2><br> +EVASIO MON</h2> +<p>There are some people whose presence in a room seems to +establish a mental centre of gravity round which other minds +hover uneasily, conscious of the dead weight of that +attraction.</p> +<p>"I have known Evasio all my life," the Count de Sarrion once +said to his son. "I have stood at the edge of that pit and looked +in. I do not know to this day whether there is gold at the bottom +or mud. I have never quarreled with him, and, therefore, we have +never made it up."</p> +<p>Which, perhaps, was as good a description of Evasio Mon as any +man had given. He had never quarreled with any one. He was, in +consequence, a lonely man. For the majority of human beings are +gregarious. They meet together in order to quarrel. The majority +of women prefer to sit and squabble round one table to seeking +another room. They call it the domestic circle, and spend their +time in straining at the family tie in order to prove its +strength.</p> +<p>It was Evasio Mon who, standing at the open window of his +apartment in the tall house next door to the Posada de los Reyes +on the Paseo del Ebro, had observed with the help of a +field-glass, that a traveler was crossing the river by the +ferry-boat after midnight. He noted the unusual proceeding with a +tolerant shrug. It will be remembered that he closed his glasses +with a smile--not a smile of amusement or of contempt--not even a +deep smile such as people wear in books. It was merely a smile, +and could not be construed into anything else by any +physiognomist. The wrinkles that made it were deeply marked, +which suggested that Evasio Mon had learnt to smile when he was +quite young. He had, perhaps, been taught.</p> +<p>And, after all, a man may as well show a smile to the world as +a worried look, or a mean look, or one of the countless casts of +countenance that are moulded by conceit and vanity. A smile is +frequently misconstrued by the simple-hearted into the outward +sign of inward kindness. Many think that it conciliates children +and little dogs. But that which the many think is usually +wrong.</p> +<p>If Evasio Mon's face said anything at all, it warned the world +that it had to deal with a man of perfect self-control. And the +man who controls himself is usually able to control just so much +of his surrounding world as may suit his purpose.</p> +<p>There was something in the set of this man's eyes which +suggested no easy victory over self. For his eyes were close +together. His hair was almost red. His face was rather narrow and +long. It was not the face of an easy-going man as God had made +it. But years had made it the face of a man that nothing could +rouse. He was of medium height, with rather narrow shoulders, but +upright and lithe. He was clean shaven and of a pleasant +ruddiness. His eyes were a bluish gray, and looked out upon the +world with a reflective attention through gold-rimmed +eye-glasses, with which he had a habit of amusing himself while +talking, examining their mechanism and the knot of the fine black +cord with a bat-like air of blindness.</p> +<p>In body and mind he seemed to be almost a young man. But Ramon +de Sarrion said that he had known him all his life. And the Count +de Sarrion had spoken with Christina when that woman was Queen of +Spain.</p> +<p>Mon was still astir, although the bells of the Cathedral of +the Virgin of the Pillar, immediately behind his house, had +struck the half hour. It was more than thirty minutes since the +ferry-boat had sidled across the river, and Mon glanced at the +clock on his mantelpiece. He expected, it would seem, a sequel to +the arrival which had been so carefully noted.</p> +<p>And at last the sequel came. A soft knock, as of fat fingers, +made Mon glance towards the door, and bid the knocker enter. The +door opened, and in its darkened entry stood the large form of +the friar who had rendered such useful aid to a stricken +traveler. The light of Mon's lamp showed this holy man to be +large and heavy of face, with the narrow forehead of the fanatic. +With such a face and head, this could not be a clever man. But he +is a wise worker who has tools of different temper in his bag. +Too fine a steel may snap. Too delicately fashioned an instrument +may turn in the hand when suddenly pressed against the grain.</p> +<p>Mon held out his hand, knowing that there would be no verbal +message. From the mysterious folds of the friar's sleeves a +letter instantly emerged.</p> +<p>"They have blundered. The man is still living. You had better +come," it said; and that was all.</p> +<p>"And what do <i>you</i> know of this affair, my brother?" +asked Mon, holding the letter to the candle, and, when it was +ignited, throwing it on to the cold ashes in the open fireplace, +where it burnt.</p> +<p>"Little enough, Excellency. One of the Fathers, praying at his +window, heard the sound of a struggle in the street, and I was +sent out to see what it signified. I found a man lying on the +ground, and, according to instructions, did not touch him, but +went back for help."</p> +<p>Mon nodded his compact head thoughtfully.</p> +<p>"And the man said nothing?"</p> +<p>"Nothing, Excellency."</p> +<p>"You are a wise man, my brother. Go, and I will follow +you."</p> +<p>The friar's meek face was oily with that smile of complete +self-satisfaction which is only found when foolishness and +fervour meet in one brain.</p> +<p>Mon rose slowly from his chair and stretched himself. It was +evident that had he followed his own inclination he would have +gone to bed. He perhaps had a sense of duty. He had not far to +go, and knew the shortest ways through the narrow streets. He +could hear a muleteer shouting at his beasts on the bridge as he +crossed the Calle Don Jaime I. The streets were quiet enough +otherwise, and the watchman of this quarter could be heard far +away at the corner of the Plaza de la Constitucion calling to the +gods that the weather was serene.</p> +<p>Evasio Mon, cloaked to the eyes against the autumn night, +hurried down the Calle San Gregorio and turned into an open +doorway that led into the patio of a great four-sided house. He +climbed the stone stair and knocked at a door, which was +instantly opened.</p> +<p>"Come!" said the man who opened it--a white-haired priest of +benevolent face. "He is conscious. He asks for a notary. He is +dying! I thought you--"</p> +<p>"No," replied Mon quickly. "He would recognise me, though he +has not seen me for twenty years. You must do it. Change your +clothes."</p> +<p>He spoke as with authority, and the priest fingered the silken +cord around his waist.</p> +<p>"I know nothing of the law," he said hesitatingly.</p> +<p>"That I have thought of. Here are two forms of will. They are +written so small as to be almost illegible. This one we must get +signed if we can; but, failing that, the other will do. You see +the difference. In this one the pin is from left to right; in +that, from right to left. I will wait here while you change your +clothes. As emergencies arise we will meet them."</p> +<p>He spoke the last sentence coldly, and followed with his +narrow gaze the movements of the old priest, who was laying aside +his cassock.</p> +<p>"Let us have no panics," Evasio Mon's manner seemed to say. +And his air was that of a quiet pilot knowing his way through the +narrow waters that lay ahead.</p> +<p>In a small room near at hand, Francisco de Mogente was facing +death. He lay half dressed upon a narrow bed. On a table near at +hand stood a basin, a bottle, and a few evidences of surgical +aid. But the doctor had gone. Two friars were in the room. One +was praying; the other was the big, strong man who had first +succoured the wounded traveler.</p> +<p>"I asked for a notary," said Mogente curtly. Death had not +softened him. He was staring straight in front of him with glassy +eyes, thinking deeply and quickly. At times his expression was +one of wonder, as if a conviction forced itself upon his mind +from time to time against his will and despite the growing +knowledge that he had no time to waste in wondering.</p> +<p>"The notary has been sent for. He cannot delay in coming," +replied the friar. "Rather give your thoughts to Heaven, my son, +than to notaries."</p> +<p>"Mind your own business," replied Mogente quietly. As he spoke +the door opened and an old man came in. He had papers and a quill +pen in his hand.</p> +<p>"You sent for me--a notary," he said. Evasio Mon stood in the +doorway a yard behind the dying man's head. The notary moved the +table so that in looking at his client he could, with the corner +of his eye, see also the face of Evasio Mon.</p> +<p>"You wish to make a statement or a last testament?" said the +notary.</p> +<p>"A statement--no. It is useless since they have killed me. I +will make a statement ... Elsewhere."</p> +<p>And his laugh was not pleasant to the ear.</p> +<p>"A will--yes," he continued--and hearing the notary dip his +pen--</p> +<p>"My name," he said, "is Francisco de Mogente."</p> +<p>"Of?" inquired the notary, writing.</p> +<p>"Of this city. You cannot be a notary of Saragossa or you +would know that."</p> +<p>"I am not a notary of Saragossa--go on."</p> +<p>"Of Saragossa and Santiago de Cuba. And I have a great fortune +to leave."</p> +<p>One of the praying friars made a little involuntary movement. +The love of money perhaps hid itself beneath the brown hood of +the mendicant. The man who spoke was dying; already his breath +came short.</p> +<p>"Give me," he said, "some cordial, or I shall not last."</p> +<p>After a pause he went on.</p> +<p>"There is a will in existence which I now cancel. I made it +when I was a younger man. I left my fortune to my son Leon de +Mogente. To my daughter Juanita de Mogente I left a sufficiency. +I wish now to make a will in favour of my son Leon"--he paused +while the notary's quill pen ran over the paper--"on one +condition."</p> +<p>"On one condition"--wrote the notary, who had leant forward, +but sat upright rather suddenly in obedience to a signal from +Evasio Mon in the doorway. He had forgotten his tonsure.</p> +<p>"That he does not go into religion--that he devotes no part of +it to the benefit or advantage of the church."</p> +<p>The notary sat very straight while he wrote this down.</p> +<p>"My son is in Saragossa," said Mogente suddenly, with a change +of manner. "I will see him. Send for him."</p> +<p>The notary glanced up at Evasio Mon, who shook his head.</p> +<p>"I cannot send for him at two in the morning."</p> +<p>"Then I will sign no will."</p> +<p>"Sign the will now," suggested the lawyer, with a look of +doubt towards the dark doorway behind the sick man's head. "Sign +now, and see your son to-morrow."</p> +<p>"There is no to-morrow, my friend. Send for my son at +once."</p> +<p>Mon grudgingly nodded his head.</p> +<p>"It is well, I will do as you wish," said the notary, only too +glad, it would seem, to rise and go into the next room to receive +further minute instructions from his chief.</p> +<p>The dying man laid with closed eyes, and did not move until +his son spoke to him. Leon de Mogente was a sparely-built man, +with a white and oddly-rounded forehead. His eyes were dark, and +he betrayed scarcely any emotion at the sight of his father in +this lamentable plight.</p> +<p>"Ah!" said the elder man. "It is you. You look like a monk. +Are you one?"</p> +<p>"Not yet," answered the pale youth in a low voice with a sort +of suppressed exultation. Evasio Mon, watching him from the +doorway, smiled faintly. He seemed to have no misgivings as to +what Leon might say.</p> +<p>"But you wish to become one?"</p> +<p>"It is my dearest desire."</p> +<p>The dying man laughed. "You are like your mother," he said. +"She was a fool. You may go back to bed, my friend."</p> +<p>"But I would rather stay here and pray by your bedside," +pleaded the son. He was a feeble man--the only weak man, it would +appear, in the room.</p> +<p>"Then stay and pray if you want to," answered Mogente, without +even troubling himself to show contempt.</p> +<p>The notary was at his table again, and seemed to seek his cue +by an upward glance.</p> +<p>"You will, perhaps, leave your fortune," he suggested at +length, "to--to some good work."</p> +<p>But Evasio Mon was shaking his head.</p> +<p>"To--to--?" began the notary once more, and then lapsed into a +puzzled silence. He was at fault again. Mogente seemed to be +failing. He lay quite still, looking straight in front of +him.</p> +<p>"The Count Ramon de Sarrion," he asked suddenly, "is he in +Saragossa?"</p> +<p>"No," answered the notary, after a glance into the darkened +door. "No--but your will--your will. Try and remember what you +are doing. You wish to leave your money to your son?"</p> +<p>"No, no."</p> +<p>"Then to--your daughter?"</p> +<p>And the question seemed to be directed, not towards the bed, +but behind it.</p> +<p>"To your daughter?" he repeated more confidently. "That is +right, is it not? To your daughter?"</p> +<p>Mogente nodded his head.</p> +<p>"Write it out shortly," he said in a low and distinct voice. +"For I will sign nothing that I have not read, word for word, and +I have but little time."</p> +<p>The notary took a new sheet of paper and wrote out in bold +and, it is to be presumed, unlegal terms that Francisco de +Mogente left his earthly possessions to Juanita de Mogente, his +only daughter. Being no notary, this elderly priest wrote out a +plain-spoken document, about which there could be no doubt +whatever in any court of law in the world, which is probably more +than a lawyer could have done.</p> +<p>Francisco de Mogente read the paper, and then, propped in the +arms of the big friar, he signed his name to it. After this he +lay quite still, so still that at last the notary, who stood +watching him, slowly knelt down and fell to praying for the soul +that was gone.</p> +<h1><a name="chap3"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER III</a></h1> +<h2><br> +WITHIN THE HIGH WALLS</h2> +<p>In these degenerate days Saragossa has taken to itself a +suburb--the first and deadliest sign of a city's progress. Thirty +years ago, however, Torrero did not exist, and those terrible +erections of white stone and plaster which now disfigure the high +land to the south of the city had not yet burst upon the calm of +ancient architectural Spain. Here, on Monte Torrero, stood an old +convent, now turned into a barrack. Here also, amid the trees of +the ancient gardens, rises the rounded dome of the church of San +Fernando.</p> +<p>Close by, and at a slightly higher level, curves the Canal +Imperial, 400 years old, and not yet finished; assuredly +conceived by a Moorish love of clear water in high places, but +left to Spanish enterprise and in completeness when the Moors had +departed.</p> +<p>Beyond the convent walls, the canal winds round the slope of +the brown hill, marking a distinctive line between the outer +desert and the green oasis of Saragossa. Just within the border +line of the oasis, just below the canal, on the sunny slope, lies +the long low house of the Convent School of the Sisters of the +True Faith. Here, amid the quiet of orchards--white in spring +with blossom, the haunt of countless nightingales, heavy with +fruit in autumn, at all times the home of a luxuriant vegetation +--history has surged to and fro, like the tides drawn hither and +thither, rising and falling according to the dictates of a +far-off planet. And the moon of this tide is Rome.</p> +<p>For the Sisters of the True Faith are a Jesuit corporation, +and their Convent School is, now a convent, now a school, as the +tide may rise or fall. The ebb first came in 1555, when Spain +threw out the Jesuits. The flow was at its height so late as +1814, when Ferdinand VII --a Bourbon, of course--restored +Jesuitism and the Inquisition at one stroke. And before and +after, and through all these times, the tide of prosperity has +risen and fallen, has sapped and sagged and undermined with a +noiseless energy which the outer world only half suspects.</p> +<p>In 1835 this same long, low, quiet house amid the fruit-trees +was sacked by the furious populace, and more than one Sister of +the True Faith, it is whispered, was beaten to the ground as she +fled shrieking down the hill. In 1836 all monastic orders were +rigidly suppressed by Mendizabal, minister to Queen Christina. In +1851 they were all allowed to live again by the same Queen's +daughter, Isabel II. So wags this world into which there came +nineteen hundred years ago not peace, but a sword; a world all +stirred about by a reformed rake of Spain who, in his own words, +came "to send fire throughout the earth;" whose motto was, +"<i>Ignem veni metteri in terram, et quid volo nisi ut +accendatur</i>."</p> +<p>The road that runs by the bank of the canal was deserted when +the Count de Sarrion turned his horse's head that way from the +dusty high road leading southwards out of Saragossa. Sarrion had +only been in Saragossa twenty-four hours. His great house on the +Paseo del Ebro had not been thrown open for this brief visit, and +he had been content to inhabit two rooms at the back of the +house. From the balcony of one he had seen the incident related +in the last chapter; and as he rode towards the convent school he +carried in his hand--not a whip--but the delicately-wrought +sword-stick which had fallen from the hand of Francisco de +Mogente into the gutter the night before.</p> +<p>In the grassy sedge that bordered the canal the frogs were +calling to each other with that conversational note of +interrogation in their throats which makes their music one of +Nature's most sociable and companionable sounds. In the +fruit-trees on the lower land the nightingales were singing as +they only sing in Spain. It was nearly dark, a warm evening of +late spring, and there was no wind. Amid the thousand scents of +blossom, of opening buds, and a hundred flowering shrubs there +arose the subtle, soft odour of sluggish water, stirred by frogs, +telling of cool places beneath the trees where the weary and the +dusty might lie in oblivion till the morning.</p> +<p>The Count of Sarrion rode with a long stirrup, his spare form, +six feet in height, a straight line from heel to shoulder. His +seat in the saddle and something in his manner, at once gentle +and cold, something mystic that attracted and yet held inexorably +at arm's length, lent at once a deeper meaning to his name, which +assuredly had a Moorish ring in it. The little town of Sarrion +lies far to the south, on the borders of Valencia, in the heart +of the Moorish country. And to look at the face of Ramon de +Sarrion and of his son, the still, brown-faced Marcos de Sarrion, +was to conjure up some old romance of that sun-scorched height of +the Javalambre, where history dates back to centuries before +Christ--where assuredly some Moslem maiden in the later time must +have forsaken all for love of a wild yet courteous Spanish knight +of Sarrion, bequeathing to her sons through all the ages the +deep, reflective eyes, the impenetrable dignity, of her race.</p> +<p>Sarrion's hair was gray. He wore a moustache and imperial in +the French fashion, and looked at the world with the fierce eyes +and somewhat of the air of an eagle, which resemblance was +further accentuated by a finely-cut nose. As an old man he was +picturesque. He must have been very handsome in his youth.</p> +<p>It seemed that he was bound for the School of the Sisters of +the True Faith, for as he approached its gate, built solidly +within the thickness of the high wall, without so much as a crack +or crevice through which the curious might peep, he drew rein, +and sat motionless on his well-trained horse, listening. The +clock at San Fernando immediately vouchsafed the information that +it was nine o'clock. There was no one astir, no one on the road +before or behind him. Across the narrow canal was a bare field. +The convent wall bounded the view on the left hand.</p> +<p>Sarrion rode up to the gate and rang a bell, which clanged +with a sort of surreptitiousness just within. He only rang once, +and then waited, posting himself immediately opposite a little +grating let into the solid wood of the door. The window behind +the grating seemed to open and shut without sound, for he heard +nothing until a woman's voice asked who was there.</p> +<p>"It is the Count Ramon de Sarrion who must without fail speak +to the Sister Superior to-night," he answered, and composed +himself again in the saddle with a southern patience. He waited a +long time before the heavy doors were at length opened. The horse +passed timorously within, with jerking ears and a distended +nostril, looking from side to side. He glanced curiously at the +shadowy forms of two women who held the door, and leant their +whole weight against it to close it again as soon as +possible.</p> +<p>Sarrion dismounted, and drew the bridle through a ring and +hook attached to the wall just inside the gates. No one spoke. +The two nuns noiselessly replaced the heavy bolts. There was a +muffled clank of large keys, and they led the way towards the +house.</p> +<p>Just over the threshold was the small room where visitors were +asked to wait--a square, bare apartment with one window set high +in the wall, with one lamp burning dimly on the table now. There +were three or four chairs, and that was all. The bare walls were +whitewashed. The Convent School of the Sisters of the True Faith +did not err, at all events, in the heathen indiscretion of a too +free hospitality. The visitors to this room were barely beneath +the roof. The door had in one of its panels the usual grating and +shutter.</p> +<p>Sarrion sat down without looking round him, in the manner of a +man who knew his surroundings, and took no interest in them.</p> +<p>In a few minutes the door opened noiselessly--there was a too +obtrusive noiselessness within these walls--and a nun came in. +She was tall, and within the shadow of her cap her eyes loomed +darkly. She closed the door, and, throwing back her veil, came +forward. She leant towards Sarrion, and kissed him, and her face, +coming within the radius of the lamp, was the face of a +Sarrion.</p> +<p>There was in her action, in the movement of her high-held +head, a sudden and startling self-abandonment of affection. For +Spanish women understand above all others the calling of love and +motherhood. And it seemed that Sor Teresa--known in the world as +Dolores Sarrion--had, like many women, bestowed a thwarted +love--<i>faute de mieux</i>--upon her brother.</p> +<p>"You are well?" asked Sarrion, looking at her closely. Her +face, framed by a spotless cap, was gray and drawn, but not +unhappy.</p> +<p>She nodded her head with a smile, while her eyes flitted over +his face and person with that quick interrogation which serves +better than words. A woman never asks minutely after the health +of one in whom she is really interested. She knows without +asking. She stood before him with her hands crossed within the +folds of her ample sleeves. Her face was lost again in the +encircling shadow of her cap and veil. She was erect and +motionless in her stiff and heavy clothing. The momentary +betrayal of womanhood and affection was passed, and this was the +dreaded Sister Superior of the Convent School again.</p> +<p>"I suppose," she said, "you are alone as usual. Is it safe, +after nightfall--you, who have so many enemies?"</p> +<p>"Marcos is at Torre Garda, where I left him three days ago. +The snows are melting and the fishing is good. It is unusual to +come at this hour, I know, but I came for a special purpose."</p> +<p>He glanced towards the door. The quiet of this house seemed to +arouse a sense of suspicion and antagonism in his mind.</p> +<p>"I wished, of course, to see you also, though I am aware that +the affections are out of place in this--holy atmosphere."</p> +<p>She winced almost imperceptibly and said nothing.</p> +<p>"I want to see Juanita de Mogente," said the Count. "It is +unusual, I know, but in this place you are all-powerful. It is +important, or I should not ask it."</p> +<p>"She is in bed. They go to bed at eight o'clock."</p> +<p>"I know. Is not that all the better? She has a room to +herself, I recollect. You can arouse her and bring her to me and +no one need know that she has had a visitor--except, I suppose, +the peeping eyes that haunt a nunnery corridor."</p> +<p>He gave a shrug of the shoulder.</p> +<p>"Mother of God!" he exclaimed. "The air of secrecy infects +one. I am not a secretive man. All the world knows my opinions. +And here am I plotting like a friar. Can I see Juanita?"</p> +<p>And he laughed quietly as he looked at his sister.</p> +<p>"Yes, I suppose so."</p> +<p>He nodded his thanks.</p> +<p>"And, Dolores, listen!" he said. "Let me see her alone. It may +save complications in the future. You understand?"</p> +<p>Sor Teresa turned in the doorway and looked at him.</p> +<p>He could not see the expression of her eyes, which were in +deep shadow, and she left him wondering whether she had +understood or not.</p> +<p>It would seem that Sor Teresa, despite her slow dignity of +manner, was a quick person. For in a few moments the door of the +waiting-room was again opened and a young girl hastened +breathlessly in. She was not more than sixteen or seventeen, and +as she came in she threw back her dark hair with one hand.</p> +<p>"I was asleep, Uncle Ramon," she exclaimed with a light laugh, +"and the good Sister had to drag me out of bed before I would +wake up. And then, of course, I thought it was a fire. We have +always hoped for a fire, you know."</p> +<p>She was continuing to attend to her hasty dress as she spoke, +tying the ribbon at the throat of her gay dressing-gown with +careless fingers.</p> +<p>"I had not even time to pull up my stockings," she concluded, +making good the omission with a friendly nonchalance. Then she +turned to look at Sor Teresa, but her eyes found instead the +closed door.</p> +<p>"Oh!" she cried, "the good Sister has forgotten to come back +with me. And it is against the rules. What a joke! We are not +allowed to see visitors alone--except father or mother, you know. +I don't care. It was not my fault."</p> +<p>And she looked doubtfully from the door to Sarrion and back +again to the door. She was very young and gay and careless. Her +cheeks still flushed by the deep sleep of childhood were of the +colour of a peach that has ripened quickly in the glow of a +southern sun. Her eyes were dark and very bright; the bird-like +shallow vivacity of childhood still sparkled in them. It seemed +that they were made for laughing, not for tears or thought. She +was the incarnation of youth and springtime. To find such +ignorance of the world, such innocence of heart, one must go to a +nunnery or to Nature.</p> +<p>"I came to see you to-night," said Sarrion, "as I may be +leaving Saragossa again to-morrow morning."</p> +<p>"And the good Sister allowed me to see you. I wonder why! She +has been cross with me lately. I am always breaking things, you +know."</p> +<p>She spread out her hands with a gesture of despair.</p> +<p>"Yesterday it was an altar-vase. I tripped over the foot of +that stupid St. Andrew. Have you heard from papa?"</p> +<p>Sarrion hesitated for a moment at the sudden question.</p> +<p>"No," he answered at length.</p> +<p>"Oh! I wish he would come home from Cuba," said the girl, with +a passing gravity. "I wonder what he will be like. Will his hair +be gray? Not that I dislike gray hair you know," she added +hurriedly. "I hope he will be nice. One of the girls told me the +other day that she disliked her father, which seems odd, doesn't +it? Milagros de Villanueva--do you know her? She was my friend +once. We told each other everything. She has red hair. I thought +it was golden when she was my friend. But one can see with half +an eye that it is red."</p> +<p>Sarrion laughed rather shortly.</p> +<p>"Have you heard from your father?" he asked.</p> +<p>"I had a letter on Saint Mark's Day," she answered. "I have +not heard from him since. He said he hoped to give me a surprise, +he trusted a pleasant one, during the summer. What did he mean? +Do you know?"</p> +<p>"No," answered Sarrion, thoughtfully. "I know nothing."</p> +<p>"And Marcos is not with you?" the girl went on gaily. "He +would not dare to come within the walls. He is afraid of all +nuns. I know he is, though he denies it. Some day, in the +holidays, I shall dress as a nun, and you will see. It will +frighten him out of his wits."</p> +<p>"Yes," said Sarrion looking at her, "I expect it would. Tell +me," he went on after a pause, "Do you know this stick?"</p> +<p>And he held out, under the rays of the lamp, the sword-stick +he had picked up in the Calle San Gregorio.</p> +<p>She looked at it and then at him with startled eyes.</p> +<p>"Of course," she said. "It is the sword-stick I sent papa for +the New Year. You ordered it yourself from Toledo. See, here is +the crest. Where did you get it? Do not mystify me. Tell me +quickly--is he here? Has he come home?"</p> +<p>In her eagerness she laid her hands on his dusty riding coat +and looked up into his face.</p> +<p>"No, my child, no," answered Sarrion, stroking her hair, with +a tenderness unusual enough to be remembered afterwards. "I think +not. The stick must have been stolen from him and found its way +back to Saragossa in the hand of the thief. I picked it up in the +street yesterday. It is a coincidence, that is all. I will write +to your father and tell him of it."</p> +<p>Sarrion turned away, so that the shade of the lamp threw his +face into darkness. He was afraid of those quick, bright +eyes--almost afraid that she should divine that he had already +telegraphed to Cuba.</p> +<p>"I only came to ask you whether you had heard from your father +and to hear that you were well. And now I must go."</p> +<p>She stood looking at him, thoughtfully pulling at the delicate +embroidery of her sleeves, for all that she wore was of the best +that Saragossa could provide, and she wore it carelessly, as if +she had never known other, and paid little heed to wealth---as +those do who have always had it.</p> +<p>"I think there is something you are not telling me," she said, +with the ever-ready laugh twinkling beneath her dusky lashes. +"Some mystery."</p> +<p>"No, no. Good-night, my child. Go back to your bed."</p> +<p>She paused with her hand on the door, looking back, her face +all shaded by her tumbled hair hanging to her waist.</p> +<h4><img alt="Illus0300 (340K)" src="Illus0300.JPG" height="780" +width="517"></h4> +<p>"Are you sure you have not heard from papa?"</p> +<p>"Quite sure--! I wish I had," he added when the door was +closed behind her.</p> +<h1><a name="chap4"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER IV</a></h1> +<h2><br> +THE JADE--CHANCE</h2> +<p>The same evening, by the light of his solitary lamp, in the +small room--which had been a lady's boudoir in olden days--the +Count de Sarrion sat down to write a letter to his son. He +despatched it at once by a rider to Torre Garda, far beyond +Pampeluna, on the southern slope of the Pyrenees.</p> +<p>"I am growing too old for this work," he said to himself as he +sealed the letter. "It wants a younger man. Marcos will do it, +though he hates the pavement. There is something of the chase in +it, and Marcos is a hunter."</p> +<p>At his call a man came into the room, all dusty and sunburnt, +a typical man of Aragon, dry and wrinkled, burnt like a son of +Sahara. His clothing, like his face, was dust-coloured. He wore +knee-breeches of homespun, brown stockings, a handkerchief that +had once been coloured bound round his head, with the knot over +his left ear. He was startlingly rough and wild in appearance, +but his features, on examination, were refined, and his eyes +intelligent.</p> +<p>"I want you to go straight to Torre Garda with this letter, +and give it into the hand of my son with your own hand. It is +important. You may be watched and followed; you understand?"</p> +<p>The man nodded. They are a taciturn people in +Aragon and Navarre--so taciturn that in politely greeting the +passer on the road they cut down the curt good-day. "Buenas," +they say, and that is all.</p> +<p>"Go with God," said the Count, and the messenger left the room +noiselessly, for they wear no shoe-leather in this dry land.</p> +<p>There was a train in those days to Pampeluna and a daily post, +but then, as now, a letter of any importance is better sent by +hand, while the railway is still looked upon with suspicion by +the authorities as a means of circulating malcontents and +spreading crime. Every train is still inspected at each stopping +place by two of the civil guards.</p> +<p>The Count was early astir the next morning. He knew that a man +such as Marcos, possessing the instinct of the chase and that +deep insight into the thoughts and actions of others, even into +the thoughts and actions of animals, which makes a great hunter +or a great captain, would never have let slip the feeble clue +that he had of the incident in the Calle San Gregorio. The Count +had been a politician in his youth, and his position entailed a +passive continuance of the policy he had actively advocated in +earlier days. But as an old sailor, weary with the battle of many +storms, learns at last to treat the thunder and the tempest with +a certain tolerant contempt, so he, having passed through evil +monarchies and corrupt regencies, through the storm of anarchy +and the humiliation of a brief and ridiculous republic, now stood +aside and watched the waves go past him with a semi-contemptuous +indifference.</p> +<p>He was too well known in the streets of Saragossa to wander +hither and thither in them, making inquiry as to whether any had +seen his lifelong friend Francisco de Mogente back in the city of +his birth from which he had been exiled in the uncertain days of +Isabella. Francisco de Mogente had been placed in one of those +vague positions of Spanish political life where exile had never +been commuted, though friend and enemy would alike have welcomed +the return of a scapegoat on their own terms. But Mogente had +never been the man to make terms--any more than this grim Spanish +nobleman who now sat wondering what his next move must be.</p> +<p>After his early coffee Sarrion went out into the Calle San +Gregorio. The sound of deep voices chanting the matins came to +him through the open doors of the Cathedral of the Seo. A priest +hurried past, late, and yet in time to save his record of +services attended. The beggars were leisurely making their way to +the cathedral doors, too lazy to make an earlier start, +philosophically reflecting that the charitable are as likely to +give after matins as before.</p> +<p>The Count went over the ground of the scene that he had +witnessed in the fitful moonlight. Here the man who might have +been Francisco de Mogente had turned on his heel. Here, at the +never opened door of a deserted palace, he had stood for a moment +fighting with his back to the wall. Here he had fallen. From that +corner had come aid in the person--Sarrion was sure--of a friar. +It was an odd coincidence, for the Church had never been the +friend of the exiled man, and it was in the days of a +priest-ridden Queen that his foes had triumphed.</p> +<p>They had carried the stricken man back to the corner of the +Calle San Gregorio and the Plazuela San Bruno, and from the +movements of the bearers Sarrion had received the conviction that +they had entered the house immediately beyond the angle of the +high building opposite to the Episcopal Palace.</p> +<p>Sarrion followed his memory step by step. He determined to go +into the house--a huge building--divided into many small +apartments. The door had never particularly attracted his +attention. Like many of the doorways of these great houses, it +was wide and high, giving access to a dark stairway of stone. The +doors stood open night and day. For this stairway was a common +one, as its dirtiness would testify.</p> +<p>There was some one coming down the stairs now. Sarrion, +remembering that his face was well known, and that he had no +particular business in any of the apartments into which the house +was divided, paused for a moment, and waited on the threshold. He +looked up the dark stairs, and slowly distinguished the form and +face of the newcomer. It was his old friend Evasio Mon--smart, +well-brushed, smiling a good-morning to all the world this sunny +day.</p> +<p>They had not met for many years. Their friendship had been one +of those begun by parents, and carried on in after years by the +children more from habit than from any particular tie of +sympathy. For we all find at length that the nursery carpet is +not the world. Their ways had parted soon after the nursery, and, +though they had met frequently, they had never trodden the same +path again. For Evasio Mon had been educated as a priest.</p> +<p>"I have often wondered why I have never clashed--with Evasio +Mon," Sarrion once said to his son in the reflective quiet of +their life at Torre Garda.</p> +<p>"It takes two to clash," replied Marcos at length in his +contemplative way, having given the matter his consideration. And +perhaps that was the only explanation of it.</p> +<p>Sarrion looked up now and met the smile with a grave bow. They +took off their hats to each other with rather more ceremony than +when they had last met. A long, slow friendship is the best; a +long, slow enmity the deadliest.</p> +<p>"One does not expect to see you in Saragossa," said Mon +gently. A man bears his school mark all through life. This layman +had learnt something in the seminary which he had never +forgotten.</p> +<p>"No," replied the other. "What is this house? I was just going +into it."</p> +<p>Mon turned and looked up at the building with a little wave of +the hand, indicating lightly the stones and mortar.</p> +<p>"It is just a house, my friend, as you see--a house, like +another."</p> +<p>"And who lives in it?"</p> +<p>"Poor people, and foolish people. As in any other. People one +must pity and cannot help despising."</p> +<p>He laughed, and as he spoke he led the way, as it were, +unconsciously away from this house which was like another.</p> +<p>"Because they are poor?" inquired Sarrion, who did not move a +step in response to Evasio Mon's lead.</p> +<p>"Partly," admitted Mon, holding up one finger. "Because, my +friend, none but the foolish are poor in this world."</p> +<p>"Then why has the good God sent so many fools into the +world?"</p> +<p>"Because He wants a few saints, I suppose."</p> +<p>Mon was still trying to lead him away from that threshold and +Sarrion still stood his ground. Their half-bantering talk +suddenly collapsed, and they stood looking at each other in +silence for a moment. Both were what may be called "ready" men, +quick to catch a thought and answer.</p> +<p>"I will tell you," said Sarrion quietly, "why I am going into +this house. I have long ceased to take an interest in the +politics of this poor country, as you know."</p> +<p>Mon's gesture seemed to indicate that Sarrion had only done +what was wise and sensible in a matter of which it was no longer +any use to talk.</p> +<p>"But to my friends I still give a thought," went on the Count. +"Two nights ago a man was attacked in this street--by the usual +street cutthroats, it is to be supposed. I saw it all from my +balcony there. See, from this corner you can perceive the +balcony."</p> +<p>He drew Mon to the corner of the street, and pointed out the +Sarrion Palace, gloomy and deserted at the further end of the +street.</p> +<p>"But it was dark, and I could not see much," he added, seeming +unconsciously to answer a question passing in his companion's +mind; for Mon's pleasant eyes were measuring the distance.</p> +<p>"I thought they brought him in here; for before I could +descend help came, and the cutthroats ran away."</p> +<p>"It is like your good, kind heart, my friend, to interest +yourself in the fate of some rake, who was probably tipsy, or +else he would not have been abroad at that hour."</p> +<p>"I had not mentioned the hour."</p> +<p>"One presumes," said Mon, with a short laugh, "that such +incidents do not happen in the early evening. However, let us by +all means make inquiries after your dissipated protege."</p> +<p>He moved with alacrity to the house, leading the way now.</p> +<p>"By an odd chance," said Sarrion, following him more slowly, +"I have conceived the idea that this man is an old friend of +mine."</p> +<p>"Then, my good Ramon, he must be an old friend of mine, +too."</p> +<p>"Francisco de Mogente."</p> +<p>Mon stopped with a movement of genuine surprise, followed +instantly by a quick sidelong glance beneath his lashes.</p> +<p>"Our poor, wrong-headed Francisco," he said, "what made you +think of him after all these years? Have you heard from him?"</p> +<p>He turned on the stairs as he asked this question in an +indifferent voice and waited for the answer; but Sarrion was +looking at the steps with a deep attention.</p> +<p>"See," he said, "there are drops of blood on the stairs. There +was blood in the street, but it had been covered with dust. This +also has been covered with dust--but the dust may be swept +aside--see!"</p> +<p>And with the gloves which a Spanish gentleman still carries in +his hand whenever he is out of doors, he brushed the dust +aside.</p> +<p>"Yes," said Mon, examining the steps, "yes; you may be right. +Come, let us make inquiries. I know most of the people in this +house. They are poor people. In my small way I help some of them, +when an evil time comes in the winter."</p> +<p>He was all eagerness now, and full of desire to help. It was +he who told the Count's story, and told it a little wrong as a +story is usually related by one who repeats it, while Sarrion +stood at the door and looked around him. It was Mon who persisted +that every stone should be turned, and every denizen of the great +house interrogated. But nothing resulted from these +inquiries.</p> +<p>"I did not, of course, mention Francisco's name," he said, +confidentially, as they emerged into the street again. "Nothing +was to be gained by that. And I confess I think you are the +victim of your own imagination in this. Francisco is in Santiago +de Cuba, and will probably never return. If he were here in +Saragossa surely his own son would know it. I saw Leon de Mogente +the day before yesterday, by the way, and he said nothing of his +father. And it is not long since I spoke with Juanita. We could +make inquiry of Leon--but not to-day, by the way. It is a great +Retreat, organised by some pilgrims to the Shrine of our Lady of +the Pillar, and Leon is sure to be of it. The man is half a monk, +you know."</p> +<p>They were walking down the Calle San Gregorio, and, as if in +illustration of the fact that chance will betray those who wait +most assiduously upon her, the curtain of the great door of the +cathedral was drawn aside, and Leon de Mogente came out blinking +into the sunlight. The meeting was inevitable.</p> +<p>"There is Leon--by a lucky chance," said Mon almost +immediately.</p> +<p>Leon de Mogente had seen them and was hurrying to meet them. +Seen thus in the street, under the sun, he was a pale and +bloodless man--food for the cloister. He bowed with an odd +humility to Mon, but spoke directly to the Count de Sarrion. He +knew, and showed that he knew, that Mon was not glad to see +him.</p> +<p>"I did not know that you were in Saragossa," he said. "A +terrible thing has happened. My father is dead. He died without +the benefits of the Church. He returned secretly to Saragossa two +days ago and was attacked and robbed in the streets."</p> +<p>"And died in that house," added Sarrion, indicating with his +stick the building they had just quitted.</p> +<p>"Ye--es," answered Leon hesitatingly, with a quick and +frightened glance at Mon. "It may have been. I do not know. He +died without the consolation of the Church. It is that that I +think of."</p> +<p>"Yes," said Sarrion rather coldly, "you naturally would."</p> +<h1><a name="chap5"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER V</a></h1> +<h2><br> +A PILGRIMAGE</h2> +<p>Evasio Mon was a great traveler. In Eastern countries a man +who makes the pilgrimage to Mecca adds thereafter to his name a +title which carries with it not only the distinction conferred +upon the dullest by the sight of other men and countries, but the +bearer stands high among the elect.</p> +<p>If many pilgrimages could confer a title, this gentle-mannered +Spaniard would assuredly have been thus decorated. He had made +almost every pilgrimage that the Church may dictate--that wise +old Church, which fills so well its vocation in the minds of the +restless and the unsatisfied. He had been many times to Rome. He +could tell you the specific properties of every shrine in the +Roman Catholic world. He made a sort of speciality in latter-day +miracles.</p> +<p>Did this woman want a son to put a graceful finish to her +family of daughters, he could tell her of some little-known +pilgrimage in the mountains which rarely failed.</p> +<p>"Go," he would say. "Go there, and say your prayer. It is the +right thing to do. The air of the mountains is delightful. The +journey diverts the mind."</p> +<p>In all of which he was quite right. And it was not for him, +any more than it is for the profane reader, to inquire why +latter-day miracles are nearly always performed at or near +popular health resorts.</p> +<p>Was another in grief, Evasio Mon would send him on a long +journey to a gay city, where the devout are not without worldly +diversion in the evenings.</p> +<p>Neither was it upon hearsay only that he prescribed. He had +been to all these places, and tested them perhaps, which would +account for his serene demeanour and that even health which he +seemed to enjoy. He had traveled without perturbment, it would +seem, for his journeys had left no wrinkles on his bland +forehead, neither was the light of restlessness in his quiet +eyes.</p> +<p>He must have seen many cities, but cities are nearly all +alike, and they grow more alike every day. Many men also must he +have met, but they seemed to have rubbed against him and left him +unmarked--as sandstone may rub against a diamond. It is upon the +sandstone that the scratch remains. He was not part of all that +he had seen, which may have meant that he looked not at men or +cities, but right through them, to something beyond, upon which +his gaze was always fixed.</p> +<p>Living as he did, in a city possessing so great a shrine as +that of the "Virgen del Pilar," the scene of a vision accorded to +St. James when traveling through Spain, Mon naturally interested +himself in the pilgrims, who came from all parts of the world to +worship in the cathedral, who may be seen at any hour kneeling in +the dim light of flickering candles before the altar rails.</p> +<p>Mon's apartment, indeed, in the tall house next door to the +Posada de los Reyes on the Paseo del Ebro was a known resort of +the more cultured of the pilgrims, of these who came from afar; +from Rome and from the farthest limits of the Roman Church--from +Warsaw to Minnesota.</p> +<p>Evasio Mon had friends also among the humble and such as +sheltered in the Posada de los Reyes, which itself was a typical +Spanish hostelry, and one of those houses of the road in which +the traveler is lucky if he finds the bedrooms all occupied; for +then he may, without giving offense, sleep more comfortably in +the hayloft. Here, night and day, the clink of bells and the +gruff admonition of refractory mules told of travel, and the +constant come and go of strange, wild-looking men from the +remoter corners of Aragon, far up by the foothills of the +Pyrenees. The huge two-wheeled carts drawn by six, eight or ten +mules, came lumbering through the dust at all hours of the +twenty-four, bringing the produce of the greener lands to this +oasis of the Aragonese desert. Some came from other oases in the +salt and stony plains where once an inland sea covered all, while +the others hailed from the north where the Sierras de Guara rise +merging into the giant Pyrenees.</p> +<p>Many of these drivers made their way up the stairs of the +house where Evasio Mon lived his quiet life, and gave a letter or +merely a verbal message, remembered faithfully through the long +and dusty journey, to the man who, though no priest himself, +seemed known to every priest in Spain. These letters and messages +were nearly always from the curate of some distant village, and +told as often as not of a cheerful hopefulness in the work.</p> +<p>Sometimes the good men themselves would come, sitting humbly +beneath the hood of the great cart, or riding a mule, far enough +in front to avoid the dust, and yet near enough for company. This +was more especially in the month of February, at the anniversary +of the miraculous appearance, at which time the graven image set +up in the cathedral is understood to be more amenable to +supplication than at any other. And, having accomplished their +pilgrimage, the simple churchmen turned quite naturally to the +house that stood adjoining the cathedral. There, they were always +sure of a welcome and of an invitation to lunch or dinner, when +they were treated to the very best the city could afford, and, +while keeping strictly within the letter of the canonical law, +could feast their hearty country appetites even in Lent.</p> +<p>Mon so arranged his journeys that he should be away from +Saragossa in the great heats of the summer and autumn, which wise +precaution was rendered the easier by the dates of the other +great festivals which he usually attended. For it will be found +that the miracles and other events attractive to the devout +nearly always happen at that season of the year which is most +suitable to the environments. Thus the traditions of the Middle +Ages fixed the month of February for Saragossa when it is +pleasant to be in a city, and September for Montserrat--to quote +only one instance--at which time the cool air of the mountains is +most to be appreciated.</p> +<p>Evasio Mon, however, was among those who deemed it wise to +avoid the great festival at Montserrat by making his pilgrimage +earlier in the summer, when the number of the devout was more +restricted and their quality more select. Scores of thousands of +the very poorest in the land flock to the monastery in September, +turning the mountain into a picnic ground and the festival into a +fair.</p> +<p>Mon never knew when the spirit would move him to make this +pleasant journey, but his preparations for it must have been made +in advance, and his departure by an early train the day after +meeting his old friend the Count de Sarrion was probably sudden +to every one except himself.</p> +<p>He left the train at Lerida, going on foot from the station to +the town, but he did not seek an hotel. He had a friend, it +appeared, whose house was open to him, in the Spanish way, who +lived near the church in the long, narrow street which forms +nearly the whole town of Lerida. In Navarre and Aragon the train +service is not quite up to modern requirements. There is usually +one passenger train in either direction during the day, though +between the larger cities this service has of late years been +doubled. It was afternoon, and the hour of the siesta, when +Evasio Mon walked through the narrow streets of this ancient +city.</p> +<p>Although the sun was hot, and all nature lay gasping beneath +it, the streets were unusually busy, and in the shades of the +arcades at the corner of the market-place, at the corner of the +bridge, and by the bank of the river, where the low wall is +rubbed smooth by the trousers of the indolent, men stood in +groups and talked in a low voice. It is not too much to state +that the only serene face in the streets was that of Evasio Mon, +who went on his way with the absorbed smile which is usually +taken in England to indicate the Christian virtues, and is +associated as often as not with Dissent.</p> +<p>The men of Lérida--a simpler, more agricultural race +than the Navarrese--were disturbed; and, indeed, these were +stirring times in Spain. These men knew what might come at any +moment, for they had been born in stirring times and their +fathers before them. Stirring times had reigned in this country +for a hundred years. Ferdinand VII--the beloved, the dupe of +Napoleon the Great, the god of all Spain from Irun to San Roque, +and one of the thorough-paced scoundrels whom God has permitted +to sit on a throne--had bequeathed to his country a legacy of +strife, which was now bearing fruit.</p> +<p>For not only Aragon, but all Spain was at this time in the +most unfortunate position in which a nation or a man--and, above +all, a woman--can find herself--she did not know what she +wanted.</p> +<p>On one side was Catalonia, republican, fiery, democratic, and +independent; on the other, Navarre, more priest-ridden than Rome +herself, with every man a Carlist and every woman that which her +confessor told her to be. In the south, Andalusia only asked to +be left alone to go her own sunny, indifferent way to the limbo +of the great nations. Which way should Aragon turn? In truth, the +men of Aragon knew not themselves.</p> +<p>Stirring times indeed; for the news had just penetrated to far +remote Lérida that the two greatest nations of Europe were +at each other's throats. It was a long cry from Ems to +Lérida, and the talkers on the shady side of the +market-place knew little of what was passing on the banks of the +Rhine.</p> +<p>Stirring times, too, were nearer at hand across the +Mediterranean. For things were approaching a deadlock on the +Tiber, and that river, too, must, it seemed, flow with blood +before the year ran out. For the greatest catastrophe that the +Church has had to face was preparing in the new and temporary +capital of Italy; and all men knew that the word must soon go +forth from Florence telling the monarch of the Vatican that he +must relinquish Rome or fight for it.</p> +<p>Spain, in her awkward search for a king hither and thither +over Europe, had thrown France and Germany into war. And Evasio +Mon probably knew of the historic scene at Ems as soon as any man +in the Peninsula; for history will undoubtedly show, when a +generation or so has passed away, that the latter stages of +Napoleon's declaration of war were hurried on by priestly +intrigue. It will be remembered that Bismarck was the deadliest +and cleverest foe that Jesuitism has had.</p> +<p>Mon knew what the talkers in the market-place were saying to +each other. He probably knew what they were afraid to say to each +other. For Spain was still seeking a king--might yet set other +nations by the ears. The Republic had been tried and had +miserably failed. There was yet a Don Carlos, a direct descendant +of the brother whom Ferdinand the beloved cheated out of his +throne. There was a Don Carlos. Why not Don Carlos, since we seek +a king? the men in the Phrygian caps were saying to each other. +And that was what Mon wanted them to say.</p> +<p>After dark he came out into the streets again, cloaked to the +lips against the evening air. He went to the large cafe by the +river, and there seemed to meet many acquaintances.</p> +<p>The next morning he continued his journey, by road now, and on +horseback. He sat a horse well, but not with that comfort which +is begotten of a love of the animal. For him the horse was +essentially a means of transport, and all other animals were +looked at in a like utilitarian spirit.</p> +<p>In every village he found a friend. As often as not he was the +first to bring the news of war to a people who have scarcely +known peace these hundred years. The teller of news cannot help +telling with his tidings his own view of them; and Evasio Mon +made it known that in his opinion all who had a grievance could +want no better opportunity of airing it.</p> +<p>Thus he traveled slowly through the country towards +Montserrat; and wherever his slight, black-clad form and serene +face had passed, the spirit of unrest was left behind. In remote +Aragonese villages, as in busy Catalan towns where the artisan +(that disturber of ancient peace) was already beginning to add +his voice to things of Spain, Evasio Mon always found a +hearing.</p> +<p>Needless to say he found in every village Venta, in every +Posada of the towns, that which is easy to find in this babbling +world--a talker.</p> +<p>And Evasio Mon was a notable listener.</p> +<h1><a name="chap6"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER VI</a></h1> +<h2><br> +PILGRIMS</h2> +<p>It is not often that nature takes the trouble to stir the +heart of man into any emotion stronger than a quiet admiration or +a peaceful wonder. Here and there on the face of the earth, +however, the astonishing work of God gives pause to the most +casual observer, the most thoughtless traveler.</p> +<p>"Why did He do this?" one wonders. And no geologist--not even +a French geologist with his quick imagination and lively sense of +the picturesque--can answer the question.</p> +<p>On first perceiving the sudden, uncouth height of Montserrat +the traveler must assuredly ask in his own mind, "Why?"</p> +<p>The mountain is of granite, where no other granite is. It +belongs to no neighbouring formation. It stands alone, throwing +up its rugged peaks into a cloudless sky. It is a piece from +nothing near it---from nothing nearer, one must conclude, than +the moon. No wonder it stirred the imagination of mediæval +men dimly groping for their God.</p> +<p>Ignatius de Loyola solved the question with that unbounded +assurance which almost always accompanies the greatest of human +blunders. It is the self-confident man who compasses the finest +wreck, Loyola, wounded in the defense of that strongest little +city in Europe, Pampeluna--wounded, alas! and not killed--jumped +to the conclusion that God had reared up Montserrat as a sign. +For it was here that the Spanish soldier, who was to mould the +history of half the world, dedicated himself to Heaven.</p> +<p>Within sight of the Mediterranean and of the Pyrenees, +towering above the brown plains of Catalonia, this shrine is the +greatest in Christendom that bases its greatness on nothing but +tradition. Thousands of pilgrims flock here every year. Should +they ask for history, they are given a legend. Do they demand a +fact, they are told a miracle. On payment of a sufficient fee +they are shown a small, ill-carved figure in wood. The monastery +is not without its story; for the French occupied it and burnt it +to the ground. For the rest, its story is that of Spain, torn +hither and thither in the hopeless struggle of a Church no longer +able to meet the demands of an enlightened religious +comprehension, and endeavouring to hold back the inevitable +advance of the human understanding.</p> +<p>To-day a few monks are permitted to live in the great houses +teaching music and providing for the wants of the devout +pilgrims. Without the monastery gate, there is a good and +exceedingly prosperous restaurant where the traveler may feed. In +the vast houses, is accommodation for rich and poor; a cell and +clean linen, a bed and a monastic basin. The monks keep a small +store, where candles may be bought and matches, and even soap, +which is in small demand.</p> +<p>Evasio Mon arrived at Montserrat in the evening, having driven +in open carriage from the small town of Monistrol in the valley +below. It was the hour of the table d'hôte, and the still +evening air was ambient with culinary odours. Mon went at once to +the office of the monastery, and there received his sheets and +pillow-case, his towel, his candle, and the key of his cell in +the long corridor of the house of Santa Maria de Jesu. He knew +his way about these holy houses, and exchanged a nod of +recognition with the lay brother on duty in the office.</p> +<p>Then this traveler hurried across the courtyard and out of the +great gate to join the pilgrims of the richer sort at table in +the dining-room of the restaurant. There were four who looked up +from their plates and bowed in the grave Spanish way when he +entered the room. Then all fell to their fish again in silence; +for Spain is a silent country, and only babbles in that home of +fervid eloquence and fatal verbosity, the Cortes. It is always +dangerous to enter into conversation with a stranger in Spain, +for there is practically no subject upon which the various +nationalities are unable to quarrel. A Frenchman is a Frenchman +all the world over, and politics may be avoided by a graceful +reference to the <i>Patrie</i>, for which Republican and +Legitimist are alike prepared to die. But the Spaniard may be an +Aragonese or a Valencian, an Andalusian or a Guipuzcoan, and +patriotism is a flower of purely local growth and colour.</p> +<p>Thus men, meeting in public places have learnt to do so in +silence; and a table d'hôte is a wordless function unless +the inevitable Andalusian--he who takes the place of the Gascon +in France--is present with his babble and his laugh, his fine +opinion of himself, and his faculty for making a sacrifice of his +own dignity at that over-rated altar--the shrine of +sociability.</p> +<p>There was no Andalusian at this small table to serve at once +as a link of sympathy between the quiet men, who would fain +silence him, and a means of making unsociable persons acquainted +with each other. The five men were thus permitted to dine in a +silence befitting their surroundings and their station in life. +For they were obviously gentlemen, and obviously of a thoughtful +and perhaps devout habit of mind. A keen observer who has had the +cosmopolitan education, say, of an attaché, is usually +able to assign a nationality to each member of a mixed assembly; +but there was a subtle resemblance to each other in these diners, +which would have made the task a hard one. These were citizens of +the world, and their likeness lay deeper than a mere accident of +dress. In fact, the most remarkable thing about them was that +they were all alike studiously unremarkable.</p> +<p>After the formal bow, Evasio Mon gave his attention to the +fare set before him. Once he raised his narrow gaze, and, with a +smile of recognition, acknowledged the grave and very curt nod of +a man seated opposite. A second time he met the glance of another +diner, a stout, puffy man, who breathed heavily while he ate. +Both men alike averted their eyes at once, and both looked +towards a little wizened man, doubled up in his chair, who ate +sparingly, and bore on his wrinkled face and bent form, the +evidence of such a weight of care as few but kings and ministers +ever know.</p> +<p>So absorbed was he that after one glance at Evasio Mon he +lapsed again into his own thoughts. The very manner in which he +crumbled his bread and handled his knife and fork showed that his +mind was as busy as a mill. He was oblivious to his surroundings; +had forgotten his companions. His mind had more to occupy it than +one brief lifetime could hope to compass. Yet he was so clearly a +man in authority that a casual observer could scarcely have +failed to perceive that these devout pilgrims, from Italy, from +France, from far-off Poland, and Saragossa close at hand in +Catalonia, had come to meet him and were subordinate to him.</p> +<p>It was probably no small task to command such men as Evasio +Mon--and the other four seemed no less pliable behind their +gentle smile.</p> +<p>When the dessert had been placed on the table and one or two +had reflectively eaten a baked almond, more from habit than +desire, the little wizened man looked round the table with the +manner of a rather absent-minded host.</p> +<p>"It is eight o'clock," he said in French. "The monastery gate +closes at half-past. We have no time to discuss our business at +this table. Shall we go within the monastery gates? There is a +seat by the wall, near the fountain, in the courtyard--"</p> +<p>He rose as he spoke, and it became at once apparent that this +was a great man. For all stood aside as he passed out, and one +opened the door as to a prince; of which amenities he took no +heed.</p> +<p>The monastery is built against the sheer side of the mountain, +perched on a cornice, like a huge eagle's nest. The buildings +have no pretense to architectural beauty, and consist of +barrack-like houses built around a quadrangle. The chapel is at +the farther end, and is, of course, the centre of interest. Here +is kept the sacred image, which has survived so many chances and +changes; which, hidden for a hundred and fifty years in a cavern +on the mountainside, made itself known at last by a miraculous +illumination at night, and for the further guidance of the +faithful gave forth a sweet scent. It, moreover, selected this +spot for its shrine by jibbing under the immediate eye of a +bishop, and refusing to be carried further up the mountain.</p> +<p>The house of Santa Maria de Jesu has the advantage of being at +the outer end of the quadrangle, and thus having no house +opposite to it, faces a sheer fall of three thousand feet. A +fountain splashes in the courtyard below, and a low wall forms a +long seat where the devout pass the evening hours in that curt +and epigrammatic conversation, which is more peaceful than the +quick talk of Frenchmen, and deeper than the babble of Italy.</p> +<p>It was to this wall that the little wizened man led the way, +and here seated himself with a gesture, inviting his companions +to do the same. Had any idle observer been interested in their +movements he would have concluded that these were four travelers, +probably pilgrims of the better class, who had made acquaintance +at the table d'hôte.</p> +<p>"I have come a long way," said the little man at once, +speaking in the rather rounded French of the Italian born, "and +have left Rome at a time when the Church requires the help of +even the humblest of her servants--I hope our good Mon has +something important and really effective this time to +communicate."</p> +<p>Mon smiled at the implied reproach.</p> +<p>"And I, too, have come from far--from Warsaw," said the stout +man, breathing hard, as if to illustrate the length of his +journey. "Let us hope that there is something tangible this +time."</p> +<p>He spoke with the gaiety and lightness of a Frenchman; for +this was that Frenchman of the North, a Pole.</p> +<p>Mon lighted a cigarette, with a gay jerk of the match towards +the last speaker, indicative of his recognition of a jest.</p> +<p>"Something," continued the Pole, "more than great +promises--something more stable than a castle--in Spain. Ha, ha! +You have not taken Pampeluna yet, my friend. One does not hear +that Bilboa has fallen into the hands of the Carlists. Every time +we meet you ask for money. You must arrange to give us +something--for our money, my friend."</p> +<p>"I will arrange," answered Mon in his quiet, neat enunciation, +"to give you a kingdom."</p> +<p>And he inclined his head forward to look at the Pole through +the upper half of his gold-rimmed glasses.</p> +<p>"And not a vague republic in the region of the North Pole," +said the stout man with a laugh. "Well, who lives shall see."</p> +<p>"You want more money--is that it?" inquired the little wizened +man, who seemed to be the leader though he spoke the least--a not +unusual characteristic.</p> +<p>"Yes," replied the Spaniard.</p> +<p>"Your country has cost us much this year," said the little +man, blinking his colourless eyes and staring at the ground as if +making a mental calculation. "You have forced Germany and France +into war. You have made France withdraw her troops from Rome, and +you gave Victor Emmanuel the chance he awaited. You have given +all Europe--the nerves."</p> +<p>"And now is the moment to play on those nerves," said Mon.</p> +<p>"With your clumsy Don Carlos?"</p> +<p>"It is not the man--it is the Cause. Remember that we are an +ignorant nation. It is the ignorant and the half educated who +sacrifice all for a cause."</p> +<p>"It is a pity you cannot buy a new Don Carlos with our money," +put in the Pole.</p> +<p>"This one will serve," was the reply. "One must look to the +future. Many have been ruined by success, because it took them by +surprise. In case we succeed, this one will serve. The Church +does not want its kings to be capable--remember that."</p> +<p>"But what does Spain want?" inquired the leader.</p> +<p>"Spain doesn't know."</p> +<p>"And this Prince of ours, whom you have asked to be your king. +Is not that a spoke in your wheel?" asked the man of few +words.</p> +<p>"A loose spoke which will drop out. No one--not even +Prim--thinks that he will last ten years. He may not last ten +months."</p> +<p>"But you have to reckon with the man. This son of Victor +Emmanuel is clever and capable. One can never tell what may arise +in a brain that works beneath a crown."</p> +<p>"We have reckoned with him. He is honest. That tells his tale. +No honest king can hope to reign over this country in their new +Constitution. It needs a Bourbon or a woman."</p> +<p>The quick, colourless eyes rested on Mon's face for a moment, +and--who knows?--perhaps they picked up Mon's secret in +passing.</p> +<p>"Something dishonest, in a word," put in the Pole.</p> +<p>But nobody heeded him; for the word was with the leader.</p> +<p>"When last we met," he said at length, "and you received a +large sum of money, you made a distinct promise; unless my memory +deceives me."</p> +<p>He paused, and no one suggested that his memory had ever made +slip or lapse in all his long career.</p> +<p>"You said you would not ask for money again unless you could +show something tangible--a fortress taken and held, a great +General bought, a Province won. Is that so?"</p> +<p>"Yes," answered Mon.</p> +<p>"Or else," continued the speaker, "in order to meet the very +just complaint from other countries, such as Poland for instance, +that Spain has had more than her share of the common funds--you +would lay before us some proposal of self-help, some proof that +Spain in asking for help is prepared to help herself by a +sacrifice of some sort."</p> +<p>"I said that I would not ask for any sum that I could not +double," said Mon.</p> +<p>The little man sat blinking for some minutes silent in that +absolute stillness which is peculiar to great heights--and is so +marked at Montserrat that many cannot sleep there.</p> +<p>"I will give you any sum that you can double," he said, at +length.</p> +<p>"Then I will ask you for three million pesetas."</p> +<h4><img alt="Illus0302 (299K)" src="Illus0302.JPG" height="780" +width="530"></h4> +<p>All turned and looked at him in wonder. The fat man gave a +gasp. With three million pesetas he could have made a Polish +republic. Mon only smiled.</p> +<p>"For every million pesetas that you show me," said the little +man, "I will hand you another million--cash for cash. When shall +we begin?"</p> +<p>"You must give me time," answered Mon, reflectively. "Say six +months hence."</p> +<p>The little man rose in response to the chapel bell, which was +slowly tolling for the last service of the day.</p> +<p>"Come," he said, "let us say a prayer before we go to +bed."</p> +<h1><a name="chap7"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER VII</a></h1> +<h2><br> +THE ALTERNATIVE</h2> +<p>The letter written by the Count de Sarrion to his son was +delivered to Marcos, literally from hand to hand, by the +messenger to whose care it was entrusted.</p> +<p>So fully did the mountaineer carry out his instructions, that +after standing on the river bank for some minutes, he +deliberately walked knee-deep into the water and touched Marcos +on the elbow. For the river is a loud one, and Marcos, intent on +his sport, never turned his head to look about him.</p> +<p>This, the last of the Sarrions, was a patient looking man, +with the quiet eyes of one who deals with Nature, and the slow +movements of the far-sighted. For Nature is always consistent, +and never hurries those who watch her closely to obey the laws +she writes so large in the instincts of man and beast.</p> +<p>The messenger gave his master the letter and then stood with +the water rustling past his woollen stockings. There was an odd +suggestion of brotherhood between these men of very different +birth. For as men are equal in the sight of God, so are those +dimly like each other who live in the open air and cast their +lives upon the broad bosom of Nature.</p> +<p>Marcos handed his rod to the messenger, whose face, wrinkled +like a walnut by the sun of Aragon, lighted up suddenly with +pleasure.</p> +<p>"There," he said, pointing to a swirling pool beneath some +alders. "There is a big one there, I have risen him once."</p> +<p>He waded slowly back to the bank where a second crop of hay +was already showing its new green, and sat down.</p> +<p>It seemed that Marcos de Sarrion was behind the times--these +new and wordy times into which Spain has floundered so +disastrously since Charles III was king--for he gave a deeper +attention to the matter in hand than most have time for. He +turned from the hard task of catching a trout in clear water +beneath a sunny sky, and gave his attention to his father's +letter.</p> +<p>"After all," it read, "I want you, and await you in +Saragossa."</p> +<p>And that was all. "Marcos will come," the Count had reflected, +"without persuasion. And explanations are dangerous."</p> +<p>In which he was right. For this river, known as the Wolf, in +which Marcos was peacefully fishing, was one of those Northern +tributaries of the Ebro which have run with blood any time this +hundred years. The country, moreover, that it drained was marked +in the Government maps as a blank country, or one that paid no +taxes, and knew not the uniform of the Government troops.</p> +<p>Torre Garda, the long two-storied house crowning a hill-top +farther up the valley of the Wolf, was one of the few country +houses that have not stood empty since the forties. And all the +valley of the Wolf, from the grim Pyrenees standing sentinel at +its head to the sunny plain almost in sight of Pampeluna, where +the Wolf merges into other streams, was held quiescent in the +grip of the Sarrions.</p> +<p>"We will fight," said the men of this valley, "for the king, +when we have a king worth fighting for. And we will always fight +for ourselves."</p> +<p>And it was said that they only repeated what the Sarrions had +told them. At all events, no Carlists came that way.</p> +<p>"Torre Garda is not worth holding," they said.</p> +<p>"And you cannot hold Pampeluna unless you take Torre Garda +first," thought those who knew the art of guerilla warfare.</p> +<p>So the valley of the Wolf awaited a king worth fighting for, +and in the meantime they paid no taxes, enjoyed no postal +service, and were perhaps none the worse without it.</p> +<p>There were Carlists over the mountains on either side of the +valley. Eternal snow closed the northern end of it and fed the +Wolf in the summer heats. Down at the mouth of the valley where +the road was wide enough for two carts to pass each other, and a +carriage could be driven at the trot, there often passed a patrol +from the Royalist stronghold of Pampeluna. But the Government +troops never ventured up the valley which was like a mouse-hole +with a Carlist cat waiting round the corner to cut them off. +Neither did the Carlists hazard themselves through the narrow +defile where the Wolf rushed down its straightened gate; for +there were forty thousand men in Pampeluna, only ten miles +away.</p> +<p>Which reasons were sound enough to dictate caution in any +written word that might pass from the Count in Saragossa to his +son at Torre Garda.</p> +<p>A white dog with one yellow and black ear--a dog that might +have been a nightmare, a bad, distorted dream of a pointer--stood +in front of Marcos de Sarrion as he read the letter and seemed to +await the hearing of its contents.</p> +<p>There are many persons of doubtful social standing, who seek +to make up--to bridge that narrow and unfathomable gulf--by +affability. This dog it seemed, knowing that he was not quite a +pointer, sought to conciliate humanity by an eagerness, by a +pathetic and blundering haste to try and understand what was +expected of him and to perform the same without delay, which was +quite foreign to the nature of the real breed.</p> +<p>In Spain one addresses a man by the plain term: Man. And after +all, it is something--<i>deja quelque chose</i>--to be worthy of +that name. This dog was called Perro, which being translated is +Dog. He had been a waif in his early days, some stray from the +mountains near the frontier, where dogs are trained to smuggle. +Full of zeal, he had probably smuggled too eagerly. Marcos had +found him, half starved, far up the valley of the Wolf. He had +not been deemed worthy of a baptismal name and had been called +the Dog--and admitted as such to the outbuildings of Torre Garda. +From thence he had worked his humble way upwards. By patience and +comfort his mind slowly expanded until men almost forgot that +this was a disgraceful mongrel.</p> +<p>Perro had risen from a slumberous contemplation of the +tumbling water and now stood awaiting orders, his near hind leg +shaking with eagerness to please, by running anywhere at any +pace.</p> +<p>Marcos never spoke to his dog. He had seen Spain humbled to +the dust by babble, and the sight had, perhaps, dried up the +spring of his speech. For he rarely spoke idly. If he had +anything to say, he said it. But if he had nothing, he was +silent. Which is, of course, fatal to social advancement, and set +him at one stroke outside the pale of political life. Spain at +this time, and, indeed, during the last thirty years, had been +the happy hunting ground of the <i>beau sabreur</i>, of those (of +all men, most miserable) who owe their success in life to a +woman's favour.</p> +<p>This silent Spaniard might, perhaps, have made for himself a +name in the world's arena in other days; for he had a spark of +that genius which creates a leader. But fate had ruled that he +should have no wider sphere than an obscure Pyrenean gorge, no +greater a following than the men of the Valley of the Wolf. These +he held in an iron grip. Within his deep and narrow head lay the +secret which neither Madrid nor Bayonne could ever understand; +why the Valley of the Wolf was neither Royalist nor Carlist. The +quiet, slow eyes had alone seen into the hearts of the wild +Navarrese mountaineers and knew the way to rule them.</p> +<p>It may be thought that their small number made the task an +easy one. But it must also be remembered that these mountain +slopes have given to the world the finest guerilla soldiers that +history has known, and are peopled by one of the untamed races of +mankind.</p> +<p>Moreover, Marcos de Sarrion was a restful man. And those few +who see below the surface, know that the restful man is he whose +life's task is well within the compass of his ability.</p> +<p>Perro, it seemed, with an intelligence developed at the best +and hardest of all schools, where hunger is the usher, awaited, +not word, but action from his master; and had not long to +wait.</p> +<p>For Marcos rose and slowly climbed the hill towards Torre +Garda, half hidden amid the pine trees on the mountain crest +above him. There was a midnight train, he knew, from Pampeluna to +Saragossa. The railway station was only twenty miles away, which +is to this day considered quite a convenient distance in Navarre. +There would be a moon soon after nightfall. There was plenty of +time. That far-off ancestress of the middle-ages had, it would +appear, handed down to her sons forever, with the clear cut +profile, the philosophy which allows itself time to get through +life unruffled.</p> +<p>The Count de Sarrion was taking his early coffee the next +morning at the open window in Saragossa when Marcos, with the +dust of travel across the Alkali desert still upon him, came into +the room.</p> +<p>"I expected you," said the father. "You will like a bath. All +is ready in your room. I have seen to it myself. When you are +ready come back here and take your coffee."</p> +<p>His attitude was almost that of a host. For Marcos rarely came +to Saragossa. Although there was a striking resemblance of +feature between the Sarrions, the father was taller, slighter and +quicker in his glance, while Marcos' face seemed to bespeak a +greater strength. In any common purpose it would assuredly fall +to Marcos' lot to execute that which his father had conceived. +The older man's presence suggested the Court, while Marcos was +clearly intended for the Camp.</p> +<p>The Count de Sarrion had passed through both and had emerged +half cynical, half indifferent from the slough of an evil woman's +downfall.</p> +<p>"You would have made a good soldier," he said to Marcos, when +his son at last came home to Torre Garda with an education +completed in England and France. "But there is no opening for an +honest man in the Spanish Army. Honesty is in the gutter in Spain +to-day."</p> +<p>And Marcos always followed his father's advice. Later he found +that Spain indeed offered no career to honest men at this time. +Gradually he supplanted his father in an unrecognised, +indefinable monarchy in the Valley of the Wolf; and there, in the +valley, they waited; as good Spaniards have waited these hundred +years until such time as God's wrath shall be overpast.</p> +<p>"I have a long story to tell you," said the Count, when his +son returned and sat down at once with a keen appetite to his +first breakfast of coffee and bread. "And I will tell it without +comment, without prejudice, if I can."</p> +<p>Marcos nodded. The Count had lighted a cigarette and now leant +against the window which opened on to the heavily barred balcony +overlooking the Calle San Gregorio.</p> +<p>"Four nights ago," he said, "at about midnight, Francisco de +Mogente returned secretly to Saragossa. I think he was coming to +this house; but we shall never know that. No one knew he was +coming--not even Juanita."</p> +<p>The Count glanced at his son only long enough to note the +passage of a sort of shadow across his dark eyes at the mention +of the schoolgirl's name.</p> +<p>"Francisco was attacked in the street down there, at the +corner of the Calle San Gregorio, and was killed," he +concluded.</p> +<p>Marcos rose and crossed the room towards the window. He was, +it appeared, an eminently practical man, and desired to see the +exact spot where Mogente had fallen before the story went any +farther. Perro went so far as to push his plebeian head through +the bars and look down into the street. It was his misfortune to +fall into the fault of excess as it is the misfortune of most +parvenus.</p> +<p>"Does Juanita know?" asked Marcos.</p> +<p>"Yes. My sister Dolores has told her. Poor child! It is more +in the nature of a disappointment than a sorrow. Her heart is +young; and disappointment is the sorrow of the young."</p> +<p>Marcos sat down again in silence.</p> +<p>"We must remember," said the Count, "that she never knew him. +It will pass. I saw the incident from this window. There is no +door at this side of the house. I should, as you know, have had +to go round by the Paseo del Ebro. To render help was out of the +question. I went down afterwards, however, when help had come and +the dying man had been carried away--by a friar, Marcos! I had +seen something fall from the hand of the murdered man. I went +down into the street and picked it up. It was the sword-stick +which Juanita sent to her father for the New Year."</p> +<p>"Why did he not let us know that he was coming to Europe?" +asked Marcos.</p> +<p>"Ah! That he will tell us hereafter. The mere fact of his +being attacked in the streets of Saragossa and killed for the +money that was in his pockets is, of course, quite simple, and +common enough. But why should he be cared for by a friar, and +taken to one of those numerous religious houses which have sprung +into unseen existence all over Spain since the Jesuits were +expelled?"</p> +<p>"Has he left a will?" asked Marcos.</p> +<p>Sarrion turned and looked at him with a short laugh. He threw +his cigarette away, and coming into the room, sat down in front +of the small table where Marcos was still satisfying his honest +and simple appetite.</p> +<p>"I have told my story badly," he said, with a curt laugh, "and +spoilt it. You have soon seen through it. Mogente made a will on +his death-bed--which was, by the way, witnessed by Leon de +Mogente as a supernumerary, not a legal witness--just to show +that all was square and above board."</p> +<p>"Then he left his money--?"</p> +<p>"To Juanita. One can only conclude that he was wandering in +mind when he did it. For he was fond of her, I think. He had no +reason to wish her harm. I have picked up what unconsidered +trifles of information I can, but they do not amount to much. I +cabled to Cuba for news as to Mogente's fortune; for we know that +he has made one. There is the reply." He handed Marcos a telegram +which bore the words:</p> +<p>"Three million pesetas in the English Funds."</p> +<p>"That is the millstone that he has tied round Juanita's neck," +said Sarrion, folding the paper and returning it to his +pocket.</p> +<p>"To saddle with three million pesetas a girl who is at a +convent school, in the hands of the Sisters of the True Faith, +when the Carlist cause is dying for want of funds, and the +Jesuits know that it is Don Carlos or a Republic, and all the +world knows that all republics have been fatal to the +Society--bah!" the Count threw out his hands in a gesture of +despair. "It is to throw her into a convent, bound hand and foot. +We cannot leave that poor girl without help, Marcos."</p> +<p>"No," said Marcos, gently.</p> +<p>"There is only one way--I have thought of it night and day. +There is only one way, my friend."</p> +<p>Marcos looked at his father thoughtfully, and waited to hear +what that way might be.</p> +<p>"You must marry her," said the Count.</p> +<h1><a name="chap8"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER VIII</a></h1> +<h2>THE TRAIL</h2> +<p>The Count rose again and went to the window without looking at +Marcos. They had lived together like brothers, and like brothers, +they had fallen into the habit of closing the door of silence +upon certain subjects.</p> +<p>Juanita, it would appear, was one of these. For neither was at +ease while speaking of her. Spaniards and Germans and Englishmen +are not notable for a pretty and fanciful treatment of the +subject of love. But they approach it with a certain shy delicacy +of which the lighter Latin heart has no conception.</p> +<p>The Count glanced over his shoulder, and Marcos, without +looking up, must have seen the action, for he took the +opportunity of shaking his head.</p> +<p>"You shake your head," said Sarrion, with a sort of effort to +be gay and careless, "What do you want? She is the prettiest girl +in Aragon."</p> +<p>"It is not that," said Marcos, curtly, with a flush on his +brown face.</p> +<p>"Then what is it?"</p> +<p>Marcos made no answer. The Count lighted another cigarette, to +gain time, perhaps.</p> +<p>"Listen to me," he said at length. "We have always understood +each other, except about Juanita. We have nearly always been of +the same mind--you and I."</p> +<p>Marcos was leaning his arms on the table and looked across the +room towards his father with a slow smile.</p> +<p>"Let us try and understand each other about Juanita before we +go any farther. You think that there may be thoughts in your mind +which are beyond my comprehension. It may not be as bad as that. +I allow you, that as the heart grows older it loses a certain +sensitiveness and delicacy of feeling. Still the comprehension of +such feelings in younger persons may survive. You think that +Juanita should be allowed to make her own choice --is it not +so--learnt in England, eh?"</p> +<p>"Yes," was the answer.</p> +<p>"And I reply to that; a convent education--the only education +open to Spanish girls--does not fit her to make her own +choice."</p> +<p>"It is not a question of education.</p> +<p>"No, it is a question of opportunity," said Sarrion sharply. +"And a convent schoolgirl has no opportunity. My friend, a father +or a mother, if they are wise, will choose better than a girl +thrown suddenly into the world from the convent gates. But that +is not the question. Juanita will never get outside the convent +gates unless we drag her from them--half against her own +will."</p> +<p>"We can give her the choice. We have certain rights."</p> +<p>"No rights," replied Sarrion, "that the Church will recognise, +and the Church holds her now within its grip."</p> +<p>"She is only a child. She does not know what life means."</p> +<p>"Exactly so," Sarrion exclaimed, "and that makes their plan +all the easier of execution. They can bring pressure to bear upon +her assiduously and quite kindly so that she will be brought to +see that her only chance of happiness is the veil. Few men, and +no women at all, can be happy in a life of their own choosing if +they are assured by persons in daily intercourse with +them--persons whom they respect and love--that in living that +life they will assuredly be laying up for themselves an eternity +of damnation. We must try and look at it from Juanita's point of +view."</p> +<p>Marcos turned and glanced at his father with a smile.</p> +<p>"That is not so easy," he said. "That is what I have been +trying to do."</p> +<p>"But you must not overdo it," replied Sarrion, significantly. +"Remember that her point of view may be an ignorant one and must +be biassed by the strongest and most dangerous influence. Look at +the question also from the point of view of a man of the +world--and tell me... tell me after thinking it over +carefully--whether you think that you would feel happy in the +future, knowing that you had allowed Juanita to choose a convent +life with her eyes blinded."</p> +<p>"I was not thinking of my happiness," said Marcos, quite +simply and curtly.</p> +<p>"Of Juanita's happiness?" ... suggested the Count.</p> +<p>"Yes."</p> +<p>"Then think again and tell me whether you, as a man of the +world, can for a moment imagine that Juanita's chance of +happiness would be greater in the convent--whether the Church +could make her happier than you could if you give her the +opportunity of leading the life that God created her for."</p> +<p>Marcos made no answer. And oddly enough Sarrion seemed to +expect none.</p> +<p>"That is ...," he explained in the same careless voice, "if we +may go on the presumption that you are content to place Juanita's +happiness before your own."</p> +<p>"I am content to do that."</p> +<p>"Always?" asked Sarrion, gravely.</p> +<p>"Always."</p> +<p>There was a short silence. Then the Count came into the room, +and as he passed Marcos he laid his hand for a moment on his +son's broad back.</p> +<p>"Then, my friend," he said, crossing the room and taking up +his gloves, "let us get to action. That will please you better +than words, I know. Let us go and see Leon--the weakest link in +their fine chain. Juanita has no one in the world but us--but I +think we shall be enough."</p> +<p>Leon de Mogente lived in an apartment in the Plaza del Pilar. +His father, for whom he had but little affection, had made him a +liberal allowance which had been spent, so to speak, on his Soul. +It elevated the Spirit of this excellent young man to decorate +his rooms in imitation of a sanctuary.</p> +<p>He lived in an atmosphere of aesthetic emotion which he quite +mistook for holiness. He was a dandy in the care of his Soul, and +tricked himself out to catch the eye of High Heaven.</p> +<p>The Marquis de Mogente was out. He had crossed the Plaza, the +servant thought to say a prayer in the Cathedral. On the +suggestion of the servant, the Sarrions decided to wait until +Leon's return. The man, who had the air of a murderer (or a +Spanish Cathedral chorister), volunteered to go and seek his +master.</p> +<p>"I can say a prayer myself," he said humbly.</p> +<p>"And here is something to put in the poor-box," answered +Sarrion with his twisted smile.</p> +<p>"By my soul," he exclaimed, when they were left alone, "this +place reeks of hypocrisy."</p> +<p>He looked round the walls with a raised eyebrow.</p> +<p>"I have been trying to discover," he went on, "what was in the +mind of Francisco as he lay dying in that house in the Calle San +Gregorio--what he was trying to carry out--why he made that will. +He sent for Leon, you see, and must have seen at a glance that he +had for a son--a mule, of the worst sort. He probably saw that to +leave money to Leon was to give it to the Church, which meant +that it would be spent for the further undoing of Spain and the +propagation of ignorance and superstition."</p> +<p>For Ramon de Sarrion was one of those good Spaniards and good +Catholics who lay the entire blame for the downfall of their +country from its great estate to a Church, which can only hope to +live in its present form as long as superstition and crass +ignorance prevail.</p> +<p>"I cannot help thinking," he went on, "that Francisco dimly +perceived that he was the victim of a careful plot--one sees +something like that in all these ramifications. Three million +pesetas are worth scheming for. They would make a difference in +any cause. They might make all the difference at this moment in +Spain. Kingdoms have been won and lost for less than three +million pesetas. I believe he was watched in Cuba, and his return +was known. Or perhaps he was brought back by some clever forgery. +Who knows? At all events, it was known that he had left his money +nearly all to Leon."</p> +<p>"We will ask Leon," suggested Marcos, "what reason his father +gave for making a new will."</p> +<p>"And he will lie to you," said Sarrion.</p> +<p>"But he will lie badly," murmured Marcos, with his leisurely +reflective smile.</p> +<p>"I think," said Sarrion, after a pause, "nay, I feel sure that +Francisco left his fortune to Juanita at the last moment, as a +forlorn hope--leaving it to you and me to get her out of the +hobble in which he placed her. You know it was always his hope +that you and Juanita should marry."</p> +<p>But Marcos' face hardened, and he had nothing to say to this +reiteration of the dead man's hope. The silence was not again +broken before Leon de Mogente came in.</p> +<p>He looked from one to the other with an apprehensive glance. +His pale eyes had that dulness which betokens, if not an +absorption in the things to come, that which often passes for the +same, an incompetence to face the present moment.</p> +<p>"I was about to write to you," he said, addressing himself to +Sarrion. "I am having a mass celebrated tomorrow in the +Cathedral. My father, I know... "</p> +<p>"I shall be there," said Sarrion, rather shortly.</p> +<p>"And Marcos?"</p> +<p>"I, also," replied Marcos.</p> +<p>"One must do what one can," said Leon, with a resigned +sigh.</p> +<p>Marcos, the man of action and not of words, looked at him and +said nothing. He was perhaps noticing that the dishonest boy had +grown into a dishonest man. Monastic religion is like a varnish, +it only serves to bring out the true colour, and is powerless to +alter it by more than a shade. Those who have lived in religious +communities know that human nature is the same there as in the +world--that a man who is not straightforward may grow in monastic +zeal day by day, but he will never grow straightforward. On the +other hand, if a man be a good man, religion will make him +better, but it must not be a religion that runs to words.</p> +<p>Leon sat with folded hands and lowered eyes. He was a sort of +amateur monk, and, like all amateurs, he was apt to exaggerate +outward signs. It was Marcos who spoke at length.</p> +<h4><img alt="Illus0303 (59K)" src="Illus0303.JPG" height="787" +width="525"></h4> +<p>"Do you intend," he asked in his matter-of-fact way, "to make +any effort to discover and punish your father's assassins?"</p> +<p>"I have been advised not to."</p> +<p>"By whom?"</p> +<p>Leon looked distressed. He was pained, it would seem, that the +friend of his childhood should step so bluntly on to delicate +ground.</p> +<p>"It is a secret of the confession."</p> +<p>Marcos exchanged a grave glance with his father, who sat back +in his chair as one may see a leader sit back while his junior +counsel conducts an able cross-examination.</p> +<p>"Have you advised Juanita of the terms of her father's +will?"</p> +<p>"I understand," answered Leon, "that it will make but little +difference to Juanita. She has her allowance as I have mine. My +father, I understand, had but little to bequeath to her."</p> +<p>Marcos glanced at his father again, and then at the clock. He +had, it appeared, finished his cross-examination, and was now +characteristically anxious to get to action.</p> +<p>Sarrion now took the lead in conversation, and proffered the +usual condolences and desire to help, in the formal Spanish way. +He could hardly conceal his contempt for Leon, who, for his part, +was not free from embarrassment. They had nothing in common but +the subject which had brought the Sarrions hither, and upon this +point they could not progress satisfactorily, seeing that Sarrion +himself had evidently sustained a greater loss than the dead +man's own son.</p> +<p>They rose and took leave, promising to attend the mass next +day. Leon became interested again at once in this side of the +question, which was not without a thrill of novelty for him. He +had organised and taken part in many interesting and gorgeous +ceremonies. But a requiem mass for one's own father must +necessarily be unique in the most varied career of religious +emotion. He was a little flurried, as a girl is flurried at her +first ball, and felt that the eye of the black-letter saints was +upon him.</p> +<p>He shook hands absent-mindedly with his friends, and was +already making mental note of their addition to the number +secured for to-morrow's ceremony. He was very earnest about it, +and Marcos left him with a sudden softening of the heart towards +him, such as the strong must always feel for the weak.</p> +<p>"You see," said Sarrion, when they were in the street, "what +Evasio Mon has made him. I do not know whether you are disposed +to hand over Juanita and her three million pesetas to Evasio Mon +as well."</p> +<p>Marcos made no reply, but walked on, wrapt in thought.</p> +<p>"I must see Juanita," he said, at length, after a long +silence, and Sarrion's wise eyes were softened by a smile which +flitted across them like a flash of sunlight across a darkened +field.</p> +<p>"Remember," he said, "that Juanita is a child. She cannot be +expected to know her own mind for at least three years."</p> +<p>Marcos nodded his head, as if he knew what was coming.</p> +<p>"And remember that the danger is imminent--that Evasio Mon is +not the man to let the grass grow beneath his feet--that we +cannot let Juanita wait... three weeks."</p> +<p>"I know," answered Marcos.</p> +<h1><a name="chap9"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER IX</a></h1> +<h2><br> +THE QUARRY</h2> +<p>Sarrion called at the convent school of the Sisters of the +True Faith the next morning, and was informed through the grating +that the school was in Retreat.</p> +<p>"Even I, whose duty it is to speak to you, shall have to +perform penance for doing so," said the doorkeeper, in her soft +voice through the bars.</p> +<p>"Then do an extra penance, my sister," returned Sarrion, "and +answer another question. Tell me if the Sor Teresa is +within?"</p> +<p>"The Sor Teresa is at Pampeluna, and the Mother Superior is +here in the school herself. The Sor Teresa is only Sister +Superior, you must know, and is therefore subordinate to the +Mother Superior."</p> +<p>Sarrion was a pleasant-spoken man, and a man of the world. He +knew that if a woman has something to tell of another she is not +to be frightened into silence by the whole Court of Cardinals and +eke, the Pope of Rome himself. So he drew his horse nearer to the +forbidding wooden gate, and did not ride away from it until he +had gained some scraps of information and saddled the lay sister +with a burden of penances to last all through the Retreat.</p> +<p>He learnt that his sister had been sent to Pampeluna, where +the Sisters of the True Faith conducted another school, much +patronised by the poor nobility of that priest-ridden city. He +was made to understand, moreover, that Juanita de Mogente had +been given special opportunities for prayer and meditation owing +to an unchristian spirit of resentment and revenge, which she had +displayed on learning the Will of Heaven in regard to her +abandoned, and it was to be feared, heretic father.</p> +<p>"Which means, my sister?"</p> +<p>"That neither you nor any other in the world may see or speak +to her--but I must close the grille."</p> +<p>And the little shutter was sharply shut in Sarrion's face.</p> +<p>This was the beginning of a quest which, for a fortnight, +continued entirely fruitless. Evasio Mon it appeared was on a +pilgrimage. Sor Teresa had gone to Pampeluna. The inexorable gate +of the convent school remained shut to all comers.</p> +<p>Sarrion went to Pampeluna to see his sister, but came back +without having attained his object. Marcos took up the trail with +a patient thoroughness learnt at the best school--the school of +Nature. He was without haste, and expressed neither hope nor +discouragement. But he realised more and more clearly that +Juanita was in genuine danger. By one or two moves in this subtle +warfare, Sarrion had forced his adversary to unmask his defenses. +Some of the obstructions behind which Juanita was now concealed +could scarcely have originated in chance.</p> +<p>Marcos had, in the course of his long antagonism against wolf +or bear or boar in the Central Pyrenees, more than once +experienced that sharp shock of astonishment and fear to which +the big-game hunter can scarcely remain indifferent when he finds +himself opposed by an unmistakable sign of an intelligence equal +to his own or an instinct superior to it, subtly meeting his +subtle attack. This he experienced now, and knew that he himself +was being watched and his every action forestalled. The effect +was to make him the more dogged, the more cunning in his quest. +Because he knew that Juanita's cause was in competent hands, or +for some other reason, Sarrion withdrew from taking such an +active part as heretofore.</p> +<p>His keen and careful eyes noted a change in Marcos. Juanita's +helplessness seemed to have aroused a steady determination to +help her at any cost. Weakness is an appeal that strength rarely +resists.</p> +<p>It was Marcos who finally discovered an opportunity, and with +characteristic patience he sifted it, and organised a plan of +action before making anything known to his father.</p> +<p>"There is a service in the Cathedral of La Seo tomorrow +evening," he announced suddenly at midnight one night on his +return from a long and tiring day. "All the girls of the convent +schools will be there."</p> +<p>"Ah!" said Sarrion, looking his son up and down with a +speculative eye. "Well?"</p> +<p>"My aunt... Sor Teresa... is likely to be there. She has +returned to Saragossa to-day. The Mother Superior--by the grace +of God--has indigestion. I have got a letter safely through to +Sor Teresa. The service is at seven o'clock. The Archbishop will +go in procession round the Cathedral to bless the people. The +Cathedral is very dark. There will be considerable confusion when +the doors are opened and the people crowd out. I have a few +men--of the road, from the Posada de los Reyes--who will add to +the confusion under my instructions. I think if you help me we +can get Juanita separated from the rest. I will take her home and +see to it that she arrives at the school at the same time as the +others. We can arrange it, I think."</p> +<p>"Yes," answered Sarrion. "I have no doubt that we can arrange +it."</p> +<p>And they sat far into the night, after the manner of +conspirators, discussing Marcos' plans, which were, like himself, +quite simple and direct.</p> +<p>The Cathedral of the Seo in Saragossa is one of the most +ancient in Spain, and bears in its architecture some resemblance +to the Moorish mosque that once stood on the same spot. It is a +huge square building, dimly lighted by windows set high up in the +stupendous roof. The choir is a square set down in the middle--a +church within a Cathedral. There are two principal entrances, one +on the Plaza de la Seo, where the fountain is, and where, in the +sunshine, the philosophers of Saragossa sit and do nothing from +morn till eve. The other entrance is that which is known as the +grand portal, and with a wrong-headedness characteristic of the +Peninsular, it is situated in a little street where no man +passes.</p> +<p>Marcos knew that the grand portal was used by the religious +communities and devout persons who came to church for the good +motive, while those who praised God that man might see them +entered, and quitted the Cathedral by the more public doorway on +the Plaza. He knew also that the convent schools took their +station just within the great porch, which, during the day, is +the parade ground for those authorised beggars who wear their +number and licence suspended round their necks as a guarantee of +good faith.</p> +<p>The Cathedral was crammed to suffocation when Marcos and his +father entered by this door. At the foot of the shallow steps +descending from the porch to the floor of the Cathedral, Sor +Teresa's white cap rose above the heads of the people. Here and +there a nun's cap or the blue veil of a nursing sister showed +itself amidst the black mantillas. Here and there the white head +of some old man made its mark among the sunburnt faces. For there +were as many men as women present. The majority of them looked +about them as at a show, but all were silent and respectful. All +made room readily enough for any who wished to kneel. There was +no pushing, no impatience. All were polite and forbearing.</p> +<p>The Archbishop's procession had already left the door of the +choir, and was moving slowly round the building. It was preceded +by a chorister and a boy, who sang in unison with a strange, +uncomfortable echo in the roof. Immediately on their heels +followed a man in his usual outdoor clothes, who accompanied them +on a haut-boy with queer, snorting notes, and nodded to his +friends as he perceived their faces dimly looming in the light of +the flickering candles carried by acolytes behind him.</p> +<p>They stopped at intervals and sang a verse. Then the organ, +far above their heads, rolled in its solemn notes, and the whole +choir broke into song as they moved on.</p> +<p>The Archbishop, preceded by the Host borne aloft beneath a +silken canopy, wore a long red silk robe, of which the train was +carried by two careless acolytes, a red silk biretta and red +gloves.</p> +<p>As the Host passed the people knelt and rose, and knelt again +as the Archbishop came--a sort of human tide, rising and kneeling +and rising again, to dust their knees and stare about them, which +was not without a symbolical meaning for those who know the +history of the Church in Latin countries.</p> +<p>The face of the Archbishop struck a sudden and startling note +of sincerity as he passed on with upheld hand and eyes turning +from side to side with a luminous look of love and tenderness as +he silently invoked God's blessing on these his people. He passed +on, leaving in some doubting hearts, perhaps, the knowledge that +amid much that was mistaken, and tawdry and superstitious and +evil, here at all events was one good man.</p> +<p>Immediately behind him, came the beadle in vestments and a +long flaxen wig ill-combed, put on all awry, making room with his +staff and hitting the people if they would not leave off praying +and get out of the way.</p> +<p>Then followed the choir--a living study in evil countenances-- +perfunctory, careless, snuff-blown and ill-shaven, with cold hard +faces like Inquisitors.</p> +<p>All the while the great bell was booming overhead, and the +whole atmosphere seemed to vibrate with sound and emotion. It was +moving and impressive, especially for those who think that the +Almighty is better pleased with abject abasement than a plain +common-sense endeavour to do better, and will accept a long tale +of public penance before the record of simple daily duties +honestly performed.</p> +<p>Near the great porch on either side of the bishop's path were +ranged the seminarists, in cassocks of black with a dark blue or +red hood--depressing looking youths with flaccid faces and an +unhealthy eye. Behind them stood a group of friars in rough +woolen garments of brown, with heads clean shaven all but an inch +of closely cut hair like a halo on a saint. They seemed cheerful +and were laughing and joking among themselves while the +procession passed.</p> +<p>Behind these, on their knees, were the girls of the convent +school--and all around them closed in the crowd. Juanita was at +one end of the row and Sor Teresa at the other. Juanita was +looking about her. Her special opportunities for prayer and +reflection had perhaps had the effect that such opportunities may +be expected to have, and she was a little weary of all this to-do +about the world to come; for she was young and this present world +seemed worthy of consideration. She glanced backwards over her +shoulder as the Archbishop passed with his following of candles, +and gave a little start. Marcos was kneeling on the pavement +behind her. Sor Teresa was looking straight in front of her +between the wings of her great cap. It was hard to say whether +she saw Juanita, or was aware that a man was kneeling immediately +behind herself, almost on the hem of her flowing black robes--her +own brother, Sarrion.</p> +<p>The procession moved away down the length of the great +building and left darkness behind it. Already there was a stir +among the people, for it was late and many had come from a +distance.</p> +<p>The great doors, rarely used, were slowly cast open and in the +darkness the crowd surged forward. Juanita was nearest to the +door. She looked round and Sor Teresa made a motion with her head +telling her to lead the way. Marcos was at her side. A few men in +cloaks, and some in shirt-sleeves, seemed to be grouped by chance +around him. He looked back and made a little movement of the head +towards his father.</p> +<p>Juanita felt herself pushed from behind. Before her, +singularly enough, was a clear pathway between the crowds. Behind +her a thousand people pressed forward towards the exit. She +hurried out and glancing back on the steps saw that she had +become separated from the school and from the nuns by a number of +men. But Marcos' hand was already on her arm.</p> +<p>"Come," he said, "I want to speak to you. It is all right. My +father is beside Sor Teresa."</p> +<p>"What fun!" she answered in a whisper. "Let us be quick."</p> +<p>And a moment later they were running side by side down a +narrow street, where a single lamp swung from a gibbet at the +corner and flickered in the wind of Saragossa.</p> +<p>It was Juanita who stopped suddenly.</p> +<p>"Oh, Marcos," she cried, "I forgot; we are not to walk home. +There is an omnibus to meet us as usual at these late +services."</p> +<p>"It will not come," replied Marcos. "The driver is waiting to +tell Sor Teresa that his horses are lame and he cannot come."</p> +<p>"And why have you done this?" asked Juanita, looking at him +with bright eyes beneath her mantilla flying in the wind.</p> +<p>"Because I want to speak to you. We can walk home to the +school together. It is all arranged. My father is with Sor +Teresa."</p> +<p>"What, all the way?" she asked in a delighted voice.</p> +<p>"Yes."</p> +<p>"And can we go through the streets and see the shops?"</p> +<p>"Yes, if you like; if you keep your mantilla close."</p> +<p>"Marcos, you are a dear! But I have no money; you must lend me +some."</p> +<p>"Yes, if you like. What do you want to buy?"</p> +<p>"Oh, chocolates," she answered. "Those brown ones, all soft +inside. How much money have you?"</p> +<p>And she held out her hand in the dim light of the street +lamps.</p> +<p>"I will give you the chocolates," he answered. "As many as you +like."</p> +<p>"How kind of you. You <i>are</i> a dear. I am so glad to see +your solemn old face again. I am very hard up. I don't really +know where all my pocket-money has gone to this term."</p> +<p>She laughed gaily, and turned to look up at him. And in a +moment her manner changed.</p> +<p>"Oh, Marcos," she said, "I am so miserable. And I have no one +to talk to. You know--papa is dead."</p> +<p>"Yes," he answered, "know."</p> +<p>"For three days," she went on, "I thought I should die. And +then, but I am afraid it wasn't prayer, Marcos, I began to +feel--better, you know. Was it very wicked? Of course I had never +seen him. It would have been quite different if it had been my +dear, darling old Uncle Ramon--or even you, Marcos."</p> +<p>"Thank you," said Marcos.</p> +<p>"But I had only his letters, you know, and they were so +political! Then I felt most extremely angry with Leon for being +such a muff. He did nothing to try and find out who had killed +papa, and go and kill him in return. I felt so disgusted that I +was not a man. I feel so still, Marcos. This is the shop, and +those are the chocolates stuck on that sheet of white paper. Let +us buy the whole sheet. I will pay you back next term."</p> +<p>They entered the shop and there Marcos bought her as many +chocolates as she could hope to conceal beneath the long ends of +her mantilla.</p> +<p>"I will bring you more," he said, "if you will tell me how to +get them to you."</p> +<p>She assured him that there was nothing simpler; and made him a +participant in a dead secret only known to a few, of the hole in +the convent wall, large enough to pass the hand through, down by +the frog-pond at the bottom of the garden and near the old door +which was never opened.</p> +<p>"If you wait there on Thursday evening between seven and eight +I will come, if I can, and will poke my hand through the hole in +the wall. But how shall I know that it is you?"</p> +<p>"I will kiss your hand when it comes through," answered +Marcos.</p> +<p>"Yes," she said, rather slowly. "What a joke."</p> +<p>But now they were at the gate of the convent school, having +come a short way, and they stood beneath the thick trees until +the school came, with its usual accompaniment of eager talk like +the running of water beneath a low bridge and its babble round +the stones.</p> +<p>Juanita slipped in among her schoolmates, and Sor Teresa, +looking straight in front of her, saw nothing.</p> +<h1><a name="chap10"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER X</a></h1> +<h2><br> +THISBE</h2> +<p>It was the custom in the convent school on the Torrero-hill to +receive visitors on Thursdays. This festivity farther extended to +the evening, when the girls were allowed to walk for an hour in +the garden and talk. Talking, it must be remembered, as an +indulgence of the flesh, is considered in religious communities +to be a treat only permitted at certain periods. It is, indeed, +only by tying the tongue that tyranny can hope to live.</p> +<p>"These promenades are not without use," the Mother Superior +once said to Evasio Mon, one of the lay directors of this school. +"One discovers what friendships have been formed."</p> +<p>But the Mother Superior, like many cunning persons, was wrong. +For a schoolgirl's friendship is like the seed of grass, blown +hither and thither; while only one or two of a sowing take root +in some hidden corner and grow.</p> +<p>Juanita's bosom friend of the red hair had recovered her lost +position. Her hair was, in fact, golden again. They were walking +in the garden at sunset, and waiting for the clock of San +Fernando to strike seven. Juanita had told her friend of the +chocolates--all soft inside--which were to come through the hole +in the wall; and the golden haired girl had confided in Juanita +that she had never loved her as she did at that moment. Which +was, perhaps, not unnatural.</p> +<p>The garden of the convent school is large, and spreads far +down the slope of the hill. There are many fruit-trees and a few +cypress. Where the stream runs there are bunches of waving +bamboos, and at the lower end, where the wall is broken, there is +a little grove of nut trees, where the nightingales sing.</p> +<p>"It must be seven; come, let us go slowly towards the trees," +said Juanita. They both looked round eagerly. There were two nuns +in the gardens, gravely walking side by side, casting demure and +not unkindly glances from time to time towards their gay charges. +Juanita and her friend had, as elder girls, certain privileges, +and were allowed to walk apart from the rest. They were +heiresses, moreover, which makes a difference even in a convent +school that shuts the world out with forbidding gates.</p> +<p>Juanita bade her friend keep watch, and ran quickly among the +trees. The wall was old and overgrown with wild roses and +honeysuckle. She found the hole, and, hastily turning back her +sleeve, thrust her arm through. Her hand came out through the +flowers with an inconsequent, childish flourish of the fingers +close by the grave face of Marcos. He was essentially a man of +his word; and she jerked her hand away from his lips with a gay +laugh.</p> +<h4><img alt="Illus0304 (295K)" src="Illus0304.JPG" height="775" +width="522"></h4> +<p>"Marcos," she said, "the packets must be small or they will +not come through."</p> +<p>"I have had them made small on purpose," he said. But she +seemed to have forgotten the chocolates already, for her hand did +not come back.</p> +<p>"I'm trying to see through," she explained, after a moment. "I +can see nothing, only something black. I see. It is your horse; +you are on horseback. Is it the Moor? Have you ridden the dear +old Moor up here to see me? Please bring his nose near so that I +can stroke it."</p> +<p>And her fingers came through the flowers again, feeling the +empty air.</p> +<p>"I wonder if he knows my hand," she said. "Oh, Marcos! is +there no one to take me away from here? I hate the place; and yet +I am afraid. I am afraid of something, Marcos, and I do not know +what it is. It was all right when papa was alive. For I felt that +he would certainly come some day and take me away, and all this +would be over."</p> +<p>"All--what?" inquired Marcos, the matter-of-fact, at the other +side of the wall.</p> +<p>"Oh, I don't know. There is a sort of strain and mystery which +I cannot define. I am not a coward, you know, but sometimes I am +afraid and feel alone in the world. There is Leon, of course; but +Leon is no good, is he?"</p> +<p>"No, he is no good," replied Marcos.</p> +<p>"And, Marcos, do you think it is possible to be in the world +and yet be saved; to be quite safe, I mean, for the next world, +like Sor Teresa?"</p> +<p>"Yes, I do."</p> +<p>"Does Uncle Ramon think so?"</p> +<p>"Yes," replied Marcos.</p> +<p>"What a bother one's soul is," she said, with a sigh. "I'm +sure mine is. I am never allowed to think of anything else."</p> +<p>"Why?" asked Marcos, who was a patient searcher after +remedies, and never discussed matters which could not be +ameliorated by immediate action.</p> +<p>"Oh! because it seems that I am more than usually wicked. No +one seems to think it possible that I can save my soul unless I +go into religion."</p> +<p>"And you do not want to do that?"</p> +<p>"No, I never want to do it. Not even when I have been a long +time in Retreat and we have been happy and quiet, here, inside +the walls. And the life they lead here seems so little trouble; +and one can lay aside that nightmare of the world to come. I do +not even want it then. But when I go into the world, like last +Sunday, Marcos, and see the shops, and Uncle Ramon and you, then +I hate the thought of it. And when I touched the dear old Moor's +soft nose just now, I felt I couldn't do it at any cost; but that +I must go into the world and have dogs and horses, and see the +mountains and enjoy myself, and leave the rest to chance and the +kindness of the Virgin, Marcos."</p> +<p>He did not answer at once, and she thrust her hand through the +woodbine again.</p> +<p>"Where are you?" she asked. "Why do you not answer?"</p> +<p>He took her hand and held it for a moment.</p> +<p>"You are thinking," she said, with a little laugh. "I know. I +have seen you think like that by the side of the river, when one +of the trout would not come out of the Wolf and you were +wondering what more you could do to try and make him. What are +you thinking about?"</p> +<p>"About you."</p> +<p>"Oh!" she laughed. "You must not take it so seriously as that. +Everybody is very kind, you know. And I am quite happy here. At +least, I think I am. Where are the chocolates? I believe you have +eaten them on the way--you and the Moor. I always said you were +the same sort of people, you two, didn't I?"</p> +<p>By way of reply he handed the little neat packets, tied with +ribbon.</p> +<p>"Thank you," she said. "You are kind, Marcos. Somehow you +never say things, but you do them--which is better, is it +not?"</p> +<p>"I will get you out of here," he answered, "if you want +it."</p> +<p>"How?" she asked, with a startled ring in her voice. "Can you +really do it? Tell me how."</p> +<p>"No," answered Marcos. "I will not tell you how. Not now. But +I can do it if you are in real danger of going into religion +against your will; if there is real necessity."</p> +<p>"How?" she asked again, with a deeper note in her voice.</p> +<p>"I will not tell you," he answered, "until the necessity +arises. It is a secret, and you might have to tell it... in +confession."</p> +<p>"Yes," she admitted. "Perhaps you are right. But you will come +again next Thursday, Marcos?"</p> +<p>"Yes," he answered, "next Thursday." "By the way, I forgot. I +wrote you a note, in case there should have been no time to speak +to you. Where is it, in my pocket? No, here, I have it. Do you +want it?"</p> +<p>"Yes."</p> +<p>And Marcos tried to get his hand through the hole in the wall, +but he failed.</p> +<p>"Aha?" laughed Juanita. "You see I have the advantage of +you."</p> +<p>"Yes," he answered gravely. "You have the advantage of +me."</p> +<p>And on the other side of the wall, he smiled slowly to +himself.</p> +<p>"Go! Go at once," she whispered hurriedly, "Milagros is +calling me. There is some one coming. I can see through the +leaves. It is Sor Teresa. And she has some one with her. Oh! it +is Senor Mon. He is terrible. He sees everything. Go, +Marcos!"</p> +<p>And Marcos did not wait. He had the note in his hand--a small +screw of paper, all wet with the dew on the woodbine. He galloped +up the hill, close under the wall, and put his willing horse +straight at the canal. The horse leapt in and struggled, half +swimming, across.</p> +<p>To have gone any other way would have been to make himself +visible from one part or another of the convent grounds, and +Evasio Mon was in that garden.</p> +<p>Both Sor Teresa and Evasio Mon saw Juanita emerge from the nut +trees and join her friend, but neither appeared to have noticed +anything unusual.</p> +<p>"By the way," said Mon, pleasantly, "I am on foot and can save +myself a considerable distance by using the door at the foot of +the garden."</p> +<p>"That way is unfrequented," answered Sor Teresa. "It is +scarcely considered desirable at night."</p> +<p>"Oh! no one will touch me--a poor man," said Mon, with his +pleasant smile. "Have you the key with you?"</p> +<p>Sor Teresa looked on the bunch hanging at her girdle.</p> +<p>"No," she admitted rather reluctantly, "I will send for +it."</p> +<p>And she called by gesture one of the nuns who seemed to be +looking the other way and yet perceived the movement of Sor +Teresa's hand.</p> +<p>While the key was being brought, Mon stood looking with his +gentle smile over the lower wall of the garden, where the pathway +cuts across the bare fields down towards the river.</p> +<p>"Would it not be wiser to carry that key with you always in +case it should be wanted, as in the present instance?" he said, +smoothly.</p> +<p>"I shall do so in future," replied Sor Teresa, humbly; for the +first duty of a nun is obedience, and there is no nunnery that is +not under the immediate and unquestioned control of some man, be +he a priest or in some privileged cases, the Pontiff himself.</p> +<p>At last a second bunch of keys was placed in Sor Teresa's +hands, and she examined them carefully.</p> +<p>"I am not quite sure," she said, "which is the right one. It +is so seldom used."</p> +<p>And she fingered them, one by one.</p> +<p>Mon glanced at her sharply, though his lips still smiled.</p> +<p>"Allow me," he said. "Those keys among which you are looking +are the keys of cupboards and not of doors. There are only two +door keys among them all."</p> +<p>He took the keys and led the way towards the door hidden +behind the grove of nut-trees. The nightingales were singing as +he passed beneath the boughs, followed by Sor Teresa. Juanita +hurrying up towards the house by another path, turned and glanced +anxiously over her shoulder.</p> +<p>"This, I think, will be the key," said Mon, affably, as he +stooped to examine the lock. And he was right.</p> +<p>He opened the door, passed out and turned to salute Sor Teresa +before he closed it gently, in her face.</p> +<p>"Go with God, my sister," he said, bowing with a raised hat +and ceremonious smile.</p> +<p>He waited until he heard Sor Teresa lock the door from within. +Then he turned to examine the ground in the little lane that +skirts the convent wall. But on the sun-baked ground, the neat, +light feet of the Moor had made no mark. He looked at the wall, +but failed to perceive the hole in it, for the woodbine and the +wild rose tree covered it like a curtain.</p> +<p>Marcos had made a round by the summit of the hill and turning +to the right rejoined the high road from the Casa Blanca, +crossing the canal again by that bridge and returning to +Saragossa by the broad avenue known as the Monte Torrero.</p> +<p>He reined in his horse beneath the lamp that hangs from the +trees opposite to the gate of the town called the Puerta de Santa +Engracia, and unfolded the note that</p> +<p>Juanita had written to him. It was scribbled in pencil on a +half sheet torn from an exercise book.</p> +<p>"Dear Marcos," it said. "Thank you most preposterously for the +chocolates. The next time please put in some almonds. Milagros so +loves almonds; and I am very fond of Milagros--Your grateful +Juanita."</p> +<p>There was a mistake in the spelling.</p> +<h1><a name="chap11"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XI</a></h1> +<h2><br> +THE ROYAL ADVENTURE</h2> +<p>There are halting-places in the lives of most men when for a +period the individual desire must give place to some great +national need. We each live our little story through, but at +times we find ourselves dragged from the narrow way into the +great high road, where the history of the world blunders to an +end which cannot even yet be dimly discerned.</p> +<p>When Marcos rode into Saragossa after nightfall he found the +streets filled by groups of anxious men. The nerves of +civilisation were at a great tension at this time. Sedan was +past. Paris was already besieged. All the French-speaking people +thought that the end of the world must needs be at hand. The Pope +had been deprived of his temporal power. The great foundations of +the world seemed to tremble beneath the onward tread of +inexorable history.</p> +<p>In Spain itself, no man knew what might happen next. There +seemed no depth to which the land of ancient glory might not be +doomed to descend. Cuba was in wild revolt. Thousands of lives +had been uselessly thrown away. Already the pride of the proudest +nation since Rome, had been humbled by the just interference of +the United States. A kingdom without a king, Spain had hawked her +crown round Europe. For a throne, as for humbler posts, it is +easy enough to find second-rate men who have no special groove, +nor any capacity to delve one, but the first-rate men are, one +discovers, nearly always occupied elsewhere. They are never +waiting for something to turn up.</p> +<p>Spain, with her three crowns in her hand, had called at every +Court in Europe. She had thrown two nations into the greatest war +of civilised ages. She was still looking for a king, still +calling hopelessly to the second-rate royalties. Leopold of +Hohenzollern would have accepted had not France arisen to object, +only to receive a sound thrashing for her pains. Thus, for the +second time in the world's history, Spain was the means of +bringing a French empire to the dust.</p> +<p>Ferdinand of Portugal, a cousin to the Queen of England, +himself a Coburg, finally declined the honour. And Spain could +not wait. There was a certain picturesqueness in Prim, the usual +ornamental General through whose hands Spain has passed and +repassed during the last century. He was a hard man, and the men +of Spain, unlike the French, understand a martinet. But Spain +could not wait. She must have a king; for the regency was +wearisome. It was weary of itself, like an old man ready to die. +There was no money in the public coffers. The Cortes was a house +of words. Here eloquence reigned supreme; and eloquence never yet +made an empire.</p> +<p>Half a dozen different parties made speeches at each other, +but Spain, owing to a blessed immunity from the cheap newspaper, +was spared these speeches. She was told that Castelar was the +eloquent orator of the age.</p> +<p>She looked at Castelar, who was a fat little man with a big +moustache and a small forehead, and she said: "Let us have a +king!"</p> +<p>Prim was better. He was a man at all events, and not a +word-spinner. He was from Cataluña, where they make hard +men with clear heads. And he knew his own mind. And he also said: +"Let us have a king."</p> +<p>One cried for Don Carlos, and another for Espartero. +Cataluña said there was no living with Andalusia. Aragon +wanted her own king and wished Valencia would go hang. Navarre +was all for Don Carlos.</p> +<p>And when Marcos de Sarrion rode into Saragossa they were +calling in the streets that only a republic was possible now.</p> +<p>He went home to that grim palace between the Cathedral and the +Ebro and found his father gone. A brief note told him that +Sarrion had gone to Madrid where a meeting of notables had been +hastily summoned--and that he, Marcos, must hurry back to Torre +Garda--that the Carlists were up for their king.</p> +<p>Marcos returned the same night to Pampeluna, and the next day +rode to Torre Garda by the high road that winds up the valley of +the Wolf. In his own small kingdom be soon made his iron hand +felt. And these people who would pay no taxes to king or regent +remained quiet amid the anarchy that reigned all over Spain.</p> +<p>Thus a week passed and rumours of strange doings at Madrid +reached the quiet valley. All over the country, bands of +malcontents calling themselves Carlists had risen in obedience to +the voice of Don Carlos' grandson, the son of that Don Juan who +had renounced a hopeless cause. To meet a soldier with his cap +worn right side foremost was for the time unusual in the cities +of the north. For the army no longer knew a master; and the +Spanish soldier has a naïve and simple way of notifying this +condition by wearing the peak of his cap behind.</p> +<p>Marcos heard nothing of his father at Madrid, but surmised +that there the talkers still held sway. The postal service of +Spain is still almost mediæval. In the principal cities the +post-offices are to-day only opened for business during two hours +of the twenty-four. In the year of the Franco-Prussian war there +was no postal service at all to the disaffected parts of the +northern provinces.</p> +<p>At the end of a week, Marcos rose at three o'clock and rode +sixty miles before sunset to keep his word with Juanita. He did +not trust the railway, which indeed was in constant danger of +being cut by Carlist or Royalist, but performed the distance by +road where he met many friends from Navarre and one or two from +the valley of the Wolf. A thousand reports, a hundred rumours and +lies innumerable, were on the roads also, traveling hither and +thither over Spain. And Marshall Prim seemed to be the favoured +god of the moment.</p> +<p>Marcos was at his post outside the convent school wall at +seven o'clock. He heard the clock of San Fernando strike eight. +In these Southern latitudes the evenings are not much longer in +summer than in winter. It was quite dark by eight o'clock when +Marcos rode away. He was not given to a display of emotion. He +was an eminently practical man. Juanita would have come if she +could, he reflected. Why could she not keep her appointment?</p> +<p>He rode to the main gate and asked if he could see Sor +Teresa--known in the world as Dolores Sarrion--for the monastic +life was forbidden by law at this time in Spain, and this was no +nunnery; though, as in all such places, certain mediaeval follies +were carefully fostered.</p> +<p>"Sor Teresa is not here," was the reply through the +grating.</p> +<p>"Then where is she?"</p> +<p>But there was no reply to this plain question.</p> +<p>"Has she gone to Pampeluna?"</p> +<p>The little shutter behind the grating was softly closed. And +Marcos turned his horse's head with a quiet smile. His face, +beneath the shadow of his wide hat, was still and hard. He had +ridden sixty miles since morning, but he sat upright in his +saddle. This was a man, as Juanita had observed, not to say +things, but to do them.</p> +<p>It was not difficult for him to find out during the next few +weeks that Juanita had been sent to Pampeluna, whither also Sor +Teresa had been commanded to go. Saragossa has a playful way of +sacking religious houses, which the older-world city of Navarre +would never permit. In Pampeluna the religious habit is still +respected, and a friar may carry his shaven head high in the +windy streets.</p> +<p>Pampeluna, it was known, might at any moment be in danger of +attack, but not of bombardment by the Carlists, who had many +friends within the walls. Juanita was as safe perhaps in +Pampeluna as anywhere in Northern Spain. So Marcos went back to +Torre Garda and held his valley in a quiet grip. The harvests +were gathered in, and starvation during the coming winter was, at +all events, avoided.</p> +<p>The first snow came and still Marcos had no news of Juanita. +He knew, however, that both she and Sor Teresa were still at +Pampeluna in the great yellow house in the Calle de la +Dormitaleria, nearly opposite the Cathedral gate, from whence +there is constant noiseless traffic of sisters and novices +hurrying across, with lowered eyes, to the sanctuary, or back to +their duties, with the hush of prayer still upon them.</p> +<p>In November Marcos received a letter from his father, sent by +hand all the way from the capital. Prim had re-established order, +he wrote. There was hope of a settlement of political +differences. A king had been found, and if he accepted the crown +all might yet go well with Spain.</p> +<p>A week later came the news that Amedeo of Savoy, the younger +son of that brave old Victor Emmanuel, who faced the curse of a +pope, had been declared King of Spain.</p> +<p>Amedeo of Savoy, Duke of Aosta, was not a second-rate man. He +was brave, honest, and a gentleman--qualities to which the throne +of Spain had been stranger while the Bourbons sat there.</p> +<p>Sarrion summoned Marcos to Madrid to meet the new king. The +wise men of all parties knew that this was the best solution of +the hopeless difficulties into which Spain had been thrust by the +Bourbons and the tonguesters. A few honest politicians here and +there set aside their own interests in the interest of the +country, which action is worth recording--for its rarity. But the +country in general was gloomy and indifferent. Spain is slow to +learn, while France is too quick; and her knowledge is always +superficial.</p> +<p>"Give us at all events a Spaniard," muttered those who had +cried "Down with liberty," when that arch-scoundrel, Fernando the +Desired, returned to his own.</p> +<p>"Give us money and we will give you Don Carlos," returned the +cassocked canvassers of that monarch in a whisper.</p> +<p>It was evening when Marcos arrived at Madrid, and the station, +like all the trains, was crowded. All who could were traveling to +Madrid to meet the king--for one reason or another.</p> +<p>Marcos was surprised to see his father on the platform among +those waiting for the train from the capitals of the North.</p> +<p>"Come," said Sarrion, "let us go out by the side door; I have +the carriage there, the streets are impassable. No one knows +where to turn. There is no head in Spain now; they assassinated +him last night."</p> +<p>"Whom?" asked Marcos.</p> +<p>"Prim. They shot him in his carriage, like a dog in a +kennel--five of them--with guns. One has no pride in being a +Spaniard now."</p> +<p>Marcos followed his father through the crowd without +replying.</p> +<p>There seemed nothing, indeed, to be said; nothing to be added +to the simple observation that it was a humiliation for a man to +have to admit in these days that he was a Spaniard.</p> +<p>"He was a Catalonian to the last," said Sarrion, when they +were seated in their carnage. "He walked dying up his own stairs, +so that his wife might be spared the sight of seeing him carried +in. Stubborn and brave! One of the best men we have seen."</p> +<p>"And the king?"</p> +<p>"The king lands at Carthagena to-day--lands with his life in +his hand. He carries it in his hand wherever he goes, day and +night, in Spain, he and his wife. Without Prim he cannot hope to +stand. But he will try. We must do what we can."</p> +<p>The carriage was making its careful way across the Puerta del +Sol, which had been cleared by grape-shot more than once in +Sarrion's recollection. It looked now as if only artillery could +set order there.</p> +<p>"Viva el Rey! viva Don Carlos!" a loafer shouted, and waved +his hat in Sarrion's grim and smiling face.</p> +<p>"I do not understand," he said to Marcos, as they passed on, +"why the good God gives the Bourbons so many chances."</p> +<p>"I cannot understand why the Bourbons never take them," +answered Marcos. For he was not a pushing man, but one of those +patient waiters on opportunity who appear at length quietly at +the top, and look down with thoughtful eyes at those who struggle +below. The sweat and strife of some careers must tarnish the +brightest lustre.</p> +<p>Father and son drove together to the apartment in a street +high above the town, near the church of San José where the +Sarrions lived when in Madrid, and there Sarrion gave Marcos +further details of that strange adventure which Amedeo of Spain +was about to begin.</p> +<p>In return Marcos vouchsafed a brief account of affairs in the +valley of the Wolf. He never had much to say and even in these +stirring times told of a fine harvest; of that brilliant weather +which marked the year of the Napoleonic downfall.</p> +<p>"And Juanita?" inquired Sarrion at length.</p> +<p>"Is at Pampeluna. They cannot get her away from there without +my knowing it. She is well ... and happy."</p> +<p>"You have not written to her?"</p> +<p>"No," answered Marcos.</p> +<p>"We must remember," said Sarrion, with a nod of approval, +"that we are dealing with the cleverest men in the world, and the +greediest----"</p> +<p>"And the hardest pressed," added Marcos.</p> +<p>"But you have not written to her?"</p> +<p>"No."</p> +<p>"Nor heard from her?"</p> +<p>"I had a note from her at Saragossa, before they moved her to +Pampeluna," answered Marcos with a smile. "It was rather badly +spelt."</p> +<p>"And...?" asked Sarrion.</p> +<p>Marcos did not reply to this comprehensive interrogation.</p> +<p>"You have come to some decision?" Sarrion suggested.</p> +<p>"I have come to the usual decision that you are quite right in +your suspicions. They want that money, and they intend to get it +by forcing her into religion and inducing her to sign the usual +testament made by nuns, conferring all their earthly goods upon +the order into which they are admitted."</p> +<p>Then Sarrion went back to his original question.</p> +<p>"And...?"</p> +<p>"As soon as we see signs of their being likely to succeed I +propose to see Juanita again."</p> +<p>"You can do it despite them?"</p> +<p>"Yes, I can do it."</p> +<p>"And...?"</p> +<p>"I shall explain the position to her--that her bad fortune has +given her choice of two evils."</p> +<p>"That is one way of putting it."</p> +<p>"It is the only honest way."</p> +<p>Sarrion shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>"My friend," he said, "I do not think that love and honesty +are much in sympathy."</p> +<h1><a name="chap12"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XII</a></h1> +<h2><br> +IN A STRONG CITY</h2> +<p>Amedeo, as the world knows, landed at Carthagena to be met by +the news that Prim was dead. The man who had summoned him hither +to assume the crown, he who alone in all Spain had the power and +the will to maintain order in the riven kingdom, had himself been +summoned to appear before a higher throne. "There will be no +republic in Spain while I live," Prim had often said. And Prim +was dead.</p> +<p>"Every dog has his day," a deputy sneeringly observed to the +Marshall himself a few hours before he was shot, in response to +Prim's plain-spoken intention of striking with a heavy hand all +those who should manifest opposition to the Duke of Aosta.</p> +<p>So Amedeo of Spain rode into his capital one snowy day in +January, 1871, carrying high his head and looking down with +courageous, intelligent eyes upon the faces of the people who +refused to cheer him, as upon a sea of hidden rocks through which +he must needs steer his hazardous way without a pilot.</p> +<p>Before receiving the living he visited the dead man who may be +assumed to have been honest in his intention, as he undoubtedly +proved himself to be brave in action; the best man that Spain +produced in her time of trouble.</p> +<p>Among the first to bow before the King were the two Sarrions, +and as they returned into an anteroom they came face to face with +Evasio Mon, waiting his turn there.</p> +<p>"Ah!" said Sarrion, who did not seem to see the hand that Mon +had half extended, "I did not know that you were a courtier."</p> +<p>"I am not," replied Mon; "but I am here to see whether I am +too old to learn."</p> +<p>He turned towards Marcos with his pleasant smile, but did not +attempt the extended hand here.</p> +<p>"I shall take a lesson from Marcos," he said.</p> +<p>Marcos made no reply, but passed on. And Mon, turning on his +heel, looked after him with a sudden misgiving, like one who +hears the sound of a distant drum.</p> +<p>"Judging from the persons in his immediate vicinity, our +friend has money in his pocket," said Sarrion, as they descended +those palace stairs which had streamed with blood a few years +earlier.</p> +<p>"Or promises in his mouth. Was that General Pacheco who turned +away as we came?"</p> +<p>"Yes," answered Sarrion. "Why do you ask?"</p> +<p>"I have heard that he is to receive a command in the army of +the North."</p> +<p>Sarrion made a grimace, uncomplimentary to that very smart +soldier General Pacheco, and at the foot of the stairs he stopped +to speak to a friend. He spoke in French and named the man by his +baptismal name; for this was a Frenchman, named Deulin, a person +of mystery, supposed to be in the diplomatic service in some +indefinite position. With him was an Englishman, who greeted +Marcos as a friend.</p> +<p>"What do you make of all this?" asked Sarrion, addressing +himself to the Englishman, who, however, rather cleverly passed +the question on to the older man with a slow, British +gesture.</p> +<p>"I make of it--that they only want a little money to make Don +Carlos king," said Deulin.</p> +<p>"What is Evasio Mon doing in Madrid?" asked Sarrion.</p> +<p>"Raising the money, or spending it," replied the Frenchman, +with a shrug of the shoulders, as if it were no business of +his.</p> +<p>They passed up-stairs together, but had not gone far when +Marcos said the Englishman's name without raising his voice.</p> +<p>"Cartoner."</p> +<p>He turned, and Marcos ran up three steps to meet him.</p> +<p>"Who is the prelate with the face of a fox-terrier?" he +asked.</p> +<p>"He represents the Vatican. Is he with Mon?"</p> +<p>Marcos nodded an affirmative, and, turning, descended the +stairs.</p> +<p>"I had better get back to Pampeluna," he said to his +father.</p> +<p>The train for the Northern frontier leaves Madrid in the +evening, and at this time no man knew who might be the next to +take a ticket for France. The Sarrions made their preparations to +depart the same evening, and, arriving early, secured a +compartment to themselves. Marcos, however, did not take his +seat, but stood on the platform looking towards the gate through +which the passengers must come.</p> +<p>"Are you looking for some one?" asked Sarrion.</p> +<p>"General Pacheco," was the reply; and then, after a pause, +"Here he comes. He is attended by three aides-de-camp and a +squadron of orderlies. He carries his head very high."</p> +<p>"But his feet are on the ground," commented Sarrion, who was +rolling himself a cigarette. "Shall we invite him to come with +us?"</p> +<p>"Yes."</p> +<p>General Pacheco was one of those soldiers of the fifties who +owed their success to a handsome face. He wore a huge moustache, +curling to his eyes, and had the air of an invincible +conqueror--of hearts. He had dined. He was going to take up his +new command in the North. He walked, as the French say, on air, +and he certainly swaggered in his gait on that thin base. He was +hardly surprised to see the Count Sarrion, one of the exclusives +who had never accepted Queen Isabella's new military aristocracy, +with his hat in one hand and the other extended towards him, on +the platform awaiting his arrival.</p> +<p>"You will travel with us," said Sarrion. And the General +accepted, looking round to see that his attendants were duly +impressed.</p> +<p>"I find," he said, seating himself and accepting a cigarette +from Sarrion, "that each new success in life brings me new +friends."</p> +<p>"Making it necessary to abandon the old ones," suggested +Sarrion.</p> +<p>"No, no," laughed the General, with a cackle, and a +patronising hand upheld against the mere thought. "One only adds +to the number as one goes on; just as one adds to a little purse +against the change of fortune, eh?"</p> +<p>And he looked from one to the other still, brown face with a +cunning twinkle. Sarrion was a man of the world. He knew that +this expansiveness would not last. It would probably give way to +melancholy or somnolence in the course of half an hour. These +things are a matter of the digestion. And many vows of friendship +are made by perfectly sober persons who have dined, with a +sincerity which passes off next morning. The milk of human +kindness should be allowed to stand overnight in order to prove +its quality.</p> +<p>"Ah," said Sarrion, "you speak from a happy experience."</p> +<p>"No, no," protested the other, gravely. "It is a small +thing--a mere bagatelle in the French Rentes--but one sees one's +opportunities, one sees one's opportunities."</p> +<p>He made a gesture with the two fingers that held his +cigarette, which seemed to be a warning to the Sarrions not to +make any mistake as to the shrewdness of him who spoke to +them.</p> +<p>"Speak for yourself," said Sarrion, with a laugh.</p> +<p>"I do," insisted the other, leaning forward. "I speak +essentially for myself. One does not mind admitting it to a man +like yourself. All the world knows that you are a Carlist at +heart."</p> +<p>"Does it?"</p> +<p>"Yes--and you must take comfort. I think you are on the right +road now."</p> +<p>"I hope we are."</p> +<p>"I am sure of it. Money. That is the only way. To go to the +right people with money in both hands."</p> +<p>He sat back and looked at the Sarrions with his little, +cunning eyes twinkling beneath his gold laced cap. The +expansiveness would not last much longer. Sarrion's dark glance +was diagnosing the man with a deadly skill.</p> +<p>"The thing," he said slowly, "is to strike while the iron is +hot."</p> +<p>He spoke in the symbolic way of a people much given to +proverbial wisdom and the dark uses of allegory. He might have +meant much or nothing. As it happened, the Count de Sarrion meant +nothing; for he knew nothing.</p> +<p>"That is what I say. Give me a couple of months, I want no +more."</p> +<p>"No?" said Sarrion, looking at him with much admiration. "Is +that so?"</p> +<p>"Two months--and the sum of money I named."</p> +<p>"Ah! In two months," reflected Sarrion. "Rome, you know, was +not built in a day."</p> +<p>The General gave his cackling laugh.</p> +<p>"Aha! " he cried, "I see that you know all about it. You gave +me my cue--the word Rome, eh? To see how much I know!"</p> +<p>And the great soldier-statesman leant back in his seat again, +well pleased with himself.</p> +<p>"I understand," he said, "that it amounts to this; the +sanction of the Vatican is required to the remittance of the +usual novitiate in the case of a young person who is in a great +hurry to take the veil; once that is obtained the money is set at +liberty and all goes merrily. There is enough to--well, let us +say--to <i>convince</i> my whole army corps, and my humble self. +And the Vatican will, of course, consent. I fancy that is how it +stands."</p> +<p>He tapped his pocket as if the golden "piecès de +conviction" were already there, and closed his eye like any +common person; like, for instance, his own father, who was an +Andalusian innkeeper.</p> +<p>"I fancy that is how it is," said Sarrion, turning gravely to +Marcos. "Is it not so?"</p> +<p>"That is how it is," replied Marcos.</p> +<p>The effect of the good dinner was already wearing off. The +train had started, and General Pacheco found himself disinclined +for further conversation. He begged leave to ease some of the +tighter straps and hooks of his smart tunic, opening the collar +of solid gold lace that encircled his thick neck. In a few +minutes he was asleep beneath the speculative eye of Marcos, who +sat in the far corner of the carriage.</p> +<p>The General was going to Saragossa, so they parted from him in +the cold, early morning at Castèjon, where an icy wind +swept over the plain, and the snow lay thick on the ground.</p> +<p>"It will be cold at Pampeluna!" muttered the General from +within the hood of his military cloak. "I pity you! yes, +good-bye; close the door."</p> +<p>The station was full of soldiers, and their high peaked caps +were at every window of the trains. It was barely yet daylight +when the Sarrions alighted at the fortified station in the plain +below Pampeluna.</p> +<p>The city stands upon a hill which falls steeply on the +northeast side to the bed of the river Arga, a green-coloured +stream deep enough to give additional strength to the walls which +tower above like a cliff. Pampeluna is rightly reckoned to be the +strongest city in Europe. It is approached from the southwest by +a table-land, across which run the high roads from Madrid and the +French frontier.</p> +<p>The station lies in the plain across which the railway +meanders like a stream. Both bridges across the Arga are +commanded, as is the railway station, by the guns of the city. +Every approach is covered by artillery.</p> +<p>The sun was rising as the Sarrions' carriage slowly climbed +the incline and clanked across the double drawbridges into the +city. In the Plaza de la Constitucion, the centre of the town, +troops of hopeful dogs followed each other from dust heap to dust +heap, but seemed to find little of succulence, whilst what they +did find appeared to bring on a sudden and violent indisposition. +Perro gazed at them sadly from the carriage window remembering +perhaps his own dust heap days.</p> +<p>The Sarrions had no house in Pampeluna. Unlike the majority of +the Navarrese nobles they lived in their country house which was +only twenty miles away. They made use of the hotel in the corner +of the Plaza de la Constitucion when business or war happened to +call them to Pampeluna.</p> +<p>They went there now and took their morning coffee.</p> +<p>"Two months," said Sarrion, warming himself at the stove in +their simply furnished sitting-room. "Two months, they have given +that scoundrel Pacheco to make his preparations."</p> +<p>"Yes--"</p> +<p>"So that Juanita must make her choice at once."</p> +<p>"They go to vespers in the Cathedral," said Marcos. "It is +dusk by that time. They cross the Calle de la Dormitaleria and go +through the two patios into the cloisters and enter the Cathedral +by the cloister door. If Juanita could forget something and go +back for it, I could see her for a few minutes in the cloisters +which are always deserted in winter."</p> +<p>"Yes," said Sarrion, "but how?"</p> +<p>"Sor Teresa must do it," said Marcos. "You must see her. They +cannot prevent you from seeing your own sister."</p> +<p>"But will she do it?"</p> +<p>"Yes," answered Marcos without any hesitation at all.</p> +<p>"I shall try to see Juanita also," said Sarrion, throwing his +cloak round his shoulders twice so that its bright lining was +seen at the back, hanging from the left shoulder. "You stay +here."</p> +<p>He went out into the cold air. Pampeluna lies fourteen hundred +feet above the sea-level, and is subject to great falls of snow +in its brief winter season.</p> +<p>Sarrion walked to the Calle de la Dormitaleria, a little +street running parallel with the city walls, eastward from the +Cathedral gates. There he learnt that Sor Teresa was out. The +lay-sister feared that he could not see Juanita de Mogente. She +was in class: it was against the rules. Sarrion insisted. The +lay-sister went to make inquiries. It was not in her province. +But she knew the rules. She did not return and in her place came +Father Muro, the spiritual adviser of the school; +Juanita's own confessor. He was a stout man whose face would +have been pleasant had it followed the lines that Nature had laid +down. But there was something amiss with Father Muro--the usual +lack of naturalness in those who lead a life that is against +Nature.</p> +<p>Father Muro was afraid that Sarrion could not see Juanita. It +was not within his province, but he knew that it was against the +rules. Then he remembered that he had seen a letter addressed to +the Count de Sarrion. It was lying on the table at the refectory +door, where letters intended for the post were usually placed. It +was doubtless from Juanita. He would fetch it.</p> +<p>Sarrion took the letter and read it, with a pleasant smile on +his face, while Father Muro watched him with those eyes that +seemed to want something they could not have.</p> +<p>"Yes," said the Count at length, "it is from Juanita de +Mogente."</p> +<p>He folded the paper and placed it in his pocket.</p> +<p>"Did you know the contents of this letter, my father?" he +asked.</p> +<p>"No, my son. Why should I?"</p> +<p>"Why, indeed?"</p> +<p>And Sarrion passed out, while Father Muro held the door open +rather obsequiously.</p> +<h1><a name="chap13"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XIII</a></h1> +<h2><br> +THE GRIP OF THE VELVET GLOVE</h2> +<p>On returning to the hotel in the corner of the Plaza de la +Constitution, Sarrion threw down on the table before Marcos the +note that Father Muro had given him. He made no comment.</p> +<p>"My dear uncle," the letter ran, "I am writing to advise you +of my decision to go into religion. I am prompted to communicate +this to you without delay by the remembrance of your many +kindnesses to me. You will, I know, agree with me that this step +can only be for my happiness in this world and the next. Your +grateful niece.--JUANITA DE MOGENTE."</p> +<p>Marcos read the letter carefully, and then seeking in his +pocket, produced the note that Juanita had passed to him through +the hole in the wall of the convent school at Saragossa. It +seemed that he carried with him always the scrap of paper that +she had hidden within her dress until the moment that she gave it +to him.</p> +<p>He laid the two letters side by side and compared them.</p> +<p>"The writing is the writing of Juanita," he said; "but the +words are not. They are spelt correctly!"</p> +<p>He folded the letters again, with his determined smile, and +placed them in his pocket. Sarrion, smoking a cigarette by the +stove, glanced at his son and knew that Juanita's fate was fixed. +For good or ill, for happiness or misery, she was destined to +marry Marcos de Sarrion if the whole church of Rome should rise +up and curse his soul and hers for the deed.</p> +<p>Sarrion appeared to have no suggestions to make. He continued +to smoke reflectively while he warmed himself at the stove. He +was wise enough to perceive that his must now be the secondary +part. To possess power and to resist the temptation to use it, is +the task of kings. To quietly relinquish the tiller of a younger +life is a lesson that gray hairs have to learn.</p> +<p>"I think," said Marcos at length, "that we must see Leon. He +is her guardian. We will give him a last chance."</p> +<p>"Will you warn him?" inquired Sarrion.</p> +<p>"Yes," replied Marcos, rising. "He may be here in Pampeluna. I +think it likely that he is. They are hard pressed. If they get +the dispensation from Rome they will hurry events. They will try +to rush Juanita into religion at once. And Leon's presence is +indispensable. They are probably ready and only awaiting the +permission of the Vatican. They are all here in Pampeluna, which +is better than Saragossa for such work--better than any city in +Spain. They probably have Leon waiting here to give his formal +consent when required."</p> +<p>"Then let us go and find out," said Sarrion.</p> +<p>The Plaza de la Constitucion is the centre of the town, and +beneath its colonnade are the offices of the countless diligences +that connect the smaller towns of Navarre with the capital, which +continued to run even in time of war to such places as Irun, +Jaca, and even Estella, where the Carlist cause is openly +espoused. Marcos made the round of the diligence offices. He had, +it seemed, a hundred friends among the thick-set muleteers in +breeches, stockings, and spotless shirt, who looked at him with +keen, dust-laden eyes from beneath the shade of their great +berets. The drivers of the diligences, which were now arriving +from the mountain villages, paused in their work of unloading +their vehicles to give him the latest news.</p> +<p>They were soft spoken persons with a repressed manner, which +characterises both men and women of their ancient race, and they +spoke to him in Basque. Some freed their hands from the folds of +the long blanket, which each wore according to his fancy, to +shake hands with him; others nodded curtly. Men from the valley +of Ebro muttered "Buenas"--the curt salutation of Aragon the +taciturn.</p> +<p>Marcos seemed to know them by their baptismal names. He even +knew their horses by name also, and asked after each, while +Perro, affable alike with rich and poor, exchanged the time of +day with traveled dogs, all lean and dusty from the road, who +limped on sore feet and probably told him of the snow while they +lay in the sun and licked their paws. Like his master, he was not +proud, but took a wide view of life, so that all varieties of it +came within his field of vision.</p> +<p>Then master and dog took a walk down the Calle del Pozo +Blanco, where the saddle and harness-makers congregate; where +muleteers must come to buy those gay saddle-bags which so soon +lose their bright colour in the glaring sun; where the +<i>guardias civiles</i> step in to buy their paste and pipe-clay; +where the great man's groom may chat with the teamster from the +mountain while both are waiting on the saddler's needle.</p> +<p>Finally Marcos passed through the wide Calle de San Ignacio to +the drawbridges across the double fosse, where the rope-makers +are always at work, walking backwards with an ever decreasing +bundle of hemp at their waists and one eye cocked upwards towards +the roadway so that they know all who come and go better even +than the sentry at the gate. For the sentries are changed three +or four times a day, while the rope-maker goes on forever.</p> +<p>Just beyond the second line of fortifications is a +halting-place by a low wall where the country women (whom one may +meet riding in the plain--dignified, cloaked and hooded figures, +startlingly suggestive of a sacred picture) on mule or donkey, +stop to descend from their perch between the saddle-bags or +panniers. It is a sort of <i>al fresco</i> cloakroom where these +ladies repair the ravages of wind or storm, where they assemble +in the evening to pack their purchases on their beasts of burden, +and finally climb to the top of all themselves. For it is not +etiquette to ride in or out of the gates upon one's wares; and a +breach of this unwritten law would immediately arouse the +suspicion of the courteous toll-officer, who fingers delicately +with a tobacco-stained hand the bundles and baskets submitted to +his inspection.</p> +<p>Here also Marcos had friends, and was able to tell the latest +news from Cuba, where some had husband, son or lover; a so-called +volunteer to put down the hopeless rebellion, attracted to a +miserable death, by the forty-pound bounty paid by Government. +There were old women who chaffed him, and young ones with +fine-cut classic features and crinkled hair, who lay in wait for +a glance from his grave eyes.</p> +<p>"It is a pity there are not more like you, Señor +Conde," said one old peasant; "for it is you that keeps the men +from fighting among themselves and makes them tend the sheep or +take in the crops. Carlist or Royalist, the land comes before +either, say I."</p> +<p>"For it is the land that feeds the children," added another, +who carried a pair of small espradrillas in her apron pocket.</p> +<p>Marcos went back to his father with such information as he had +been able to gather.</p> +<p>"Leon is here," he said. "He is in Retreat at the monastery of +the Redemptionists, which stands half-empty on the road to +Villaba. Sor Teresa and Juanita are both well and in the school +in the Calle de la Dormitaleria. Mon has been here for some +weeks, but went to Madrid four days ago. It is an open secret +that Pacheco will go over to the Carlists with his whole army +corps for cash down--but he will not take a promise. The Carlists +think that their opportunity has come."</p> +<p>"And so do I," said Sarrion. "The Duke of Aosta is the son of +Victor Emmanuel, we must remember that. And no son of the man who +overthrew the Pope can hope to be tolerated by the clerical party +here. The new king will be assassinated, Marcos. I give him six +months."</p> +<p>"Will you come this afternoon to the old monastery on the +Villaba road and see Leon?" asked Marcos.</p> +<p>"Oh, yes," laughed his father. "I shall enjoy it." It was the +hour of the siesta when they quitted the town on horseback by the +Puerta de Rochapea which gives exit to the city on the northern +side. It had been sunny since morning, and the snow had melted +from the roads, but the hills across the plain were still white +and great drifts were piled against the ramparts, forming a +natural buttress from the summit of the steep river bank almost +to the deep embrasures of the wall.</p> +<p>Marcos turned in his saddle and looked up at these as they +rode down the slope. Sarrion saw the action and glanced at Marcos +and then at the towering walls. But he made no comment and asked +no questions.</p> +<p>There are two old monasteries on the Villaba road; huge +buildings within a high wall, each owning a chapel which stands +apart from the dwelling-house. It is a known fact that the +Carlists have never threatened these buildings which stand far +outside the town. It is also a fact that the range of them has +been carefully measured by the artillery officers, and the great +guns on the city walls were at this time trained on the isolated +buildings to batter them to the ground at the first sign of +treachery.</p> +<h4><img alt="Illus0305 (272K)" src="Illus0305.JPG" height="782" +width="487"></h4> +<p>Marcos pulled the bell-rope swinging in the wind outside the +great door of the monastery, while Sarrion tied the horses to a +post. The door was opened by a stout monk whose face fell when he +perceived two laymen in riding costume. Humbler persons, as a +rule, rang this bell.</p> +<p>"The Marquis de Mogente is here?" said Marcos, and the monk +spread out his hands in a gesture of denial.</p> +<p>"Whoever is here," he said, "is in Retreat. One does not +disturb the devout."</p> +<p>He made a movement to close the door, but Marcos put his +thickly booted foot in the interstice. Then he placed his +shoulder against the weather-worn door and pushed it open, +sending the monk staggering back. Sarrion followed and was in +time to place himself between the monk and the bell towards which +the devotee was running.</p> +<p>"No, my friend," he said, "we will not ring the bell."</p> +<p>"You have no business here," said the holy man, looking from +one to the other with sullen eyes.</p> +<p>"So far as that goes, no more have you," said Marcos. "There +are no monasteries in Spain now. Sit down on that bench and keep +quiet."</p> +<p>He turned and glanced at his father.</p> +<p>"Yes," said Sarrion, with his grim smile, "I will watch +him."</p> +<p>"Where shall I find Leon de Mogente?" said Marcos to the monk. +"I do not wish to disturb other persons."</p> +<p>The monk reflected for a moment.</p> +<p>"It is the third door on the right," he said at length, +nodding his shaven head towards a long passage seen through the +open door.</p> +<p>Marcos went in, his spurred heels clanking loudly in the +half-empty house. He knocked at the door of the third cell on the +right; for in his way he was a devout person and wished to +disturb no man at his prayers. The door was opened by Leon +himself, who started back when he saw who had knocked. Marcos +went into the room which was small and bare and whitewashed, and +closed the door behind him. A few religious emblems were on the +wall above the narrow bed. A couple of books lay on the table. +One was open. It was a very old edition of à Kempis. Leon +de Mogente's religion was of the sort that felt itself able to +learn more from an old edition than a new one. There are many in +these days of cheap imitation of the mediaeval who feel the +same.</p> +<p>Leon sat down on the plain wooden bench and laid his hand on +the open book. He looked with weak eyes at Marcos and waited for +him to speak. Marcos obliged him at once.</p> +<p>"I have come to see you about Juanita," he said. "Have you +given your consent to her taking the veil?"</p> +<p>Leon reflected. He had the air of a man who having been +carefully taught a part, loses his place at the first cue.</p> +<p>"What business is it of yours?" he asked, rather hesitatingly +at length.</p> +<p>"None."</p> +<p>Leon made a hopeless gesture of the hand and looked at his +book with a face of distress and embarrassment. Marcos was sorry +for him. He was strong, and it is the strong who are quickest to +detect pathos.</p> +<p>"Will you answer me?" he asked.</p> +<p>And Leon shook his head.</p> +<p>"I have come here to warn you," said Marcos, not unkindly. "I +know that Juanita has inherited a fortune from her father. I know +that the Carlist cause is falling for want of money. I know that +the Jesuits will get the money if they can. Because Don Carlos is +their last chance in their last stronghold in Europe. They will +get Juanita's money if they can--and they can only do it by +forcing Juanita into religion. And I have come to warn you that I +shall prevent them."</p> +<p>Leon looked at Marcos and gulped something down in his throat. +He was not afraid of Marcos, but he was in terror of some one or +of something else. Marcos studied the white face, the shrinking, +hunted eyes, with the quiet persistence learnt from watching +Nature.</p> +<p>"Are you a Jesuit?" he asked bluntly.</p> +<p>But Leon only drew in a gasping breath and made no answer.</p> +<p>Then Marcos went out and closed the door behind him.</p> +<h1><a name="chap14"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XIV</a></h1> +<h2><br> +IN THE CLOISTER</h2> +<p>Marcos and Sarrion went back to Pampeluna in the dusk of the +winter evening, each meditating over that which they had seen and +heard. Leon had become a Jesuit. And Juanita was +worse--infinitely worse than alone in the world.</p> +<p>Marcos needed no telling of all that lay behind Leon's scared +silence; for his father had brought him up in an atmosphere of +plain language and wide views of mankind. Sarnon himself had seen +Navarre ruined, its men sacrificed, its women made miserable by a +war which had lasted intermittently for thirty years. He had seen +the simple Basques, who had no means of verifying that which +their priests told them, fighting desperately and continuously +for a lie. The Carlist war has always been the war of ignorance +and deceit against enlightenment and the advance of thought. It +is needless to say upon which side the cassock has ranged +itself.</p> +<p>The Basques were promised their liberty; they should be +allowed to live as they had always lived, practically a republic, +if they only succeeded in forcing an absolute monarchy on the +rest of Spain. The Jesuits made this promise. The society found +itself in the position that no promise must be allowed to stick +in the throat.</p> +<p>Sarrion, like all who knew their strange story, was ready +enough to recognise the fact that the Jesuit body must be divided +into two parts of head and heart. The heart has done the best +work that missionaries have yet accomplished. The head has ruined +half Europe.</p> +<p>It was the political Jesuit who had earned Sarrion's deadly +hatred.</p> +<p>The political Jesuit has, moreover, a record in history which +has only in part been made manifest.</p> +<p>William the Silent was assassinated by an emissary of the +Jesuits. Maurice of Orange, his son, almost met the same fate, +and the would-be murderer confessed. Three Jesuits were hanged +for attempting the life of Elizabeth, Queen of England; and +later, another, Parry, was drawn and quartered. Two years later +another was executed for participating in an attempt on the +Queen's life; and at later periods four more met a similar just +fate. Ravaillac, the assassin of Henry IV of France was a +Jesuit.</p> +<p>The Jesuits were concerned in the Gunpowder Plot of England +and two of the fathers were among the executed.</p> +<p>In Paraguay the Jesuits instigated the natives to rebel +against Spain and Portugal; and the holy fathers, taking the +field in person, proved themselves excellent leaders.</p> +<p>Pope Clement XIV was poisoned by the Jesuits. He had signed a +Bull to suppress the order, which Bull was to "be forever and to +all eternity valid." The result of it was "<i>acqua tofana</i> of +Perugia," a slow and torturing poison.</p> +<p>Down to our own times we have had the hand of the Society of +Jesus gently urging the Fenians. O'Farrell, who in 1868 attempted +the life of the Duke of Edinburgh in Australia, was a Jesuit sent +out to the care of the society in Australia.</p> +<p>The great days of Jesuitism are gone but the society still +lives. In England and in other Protestant countries they continue +to exist under different names. The "Adorers of Jesus," the +Redemptionists, the Brothers of the Christian Doctrine, the +Brothers of the Congregation of the Holy Virgin, the Fathers of +the Faith, the Order of St. Vincent de Paul--are Jesuits. How far +they belong to the heart and not to the head, is a detail only +known to themselves. Those who have followed the contemporary +history of France may draw their own conclusions from the trials +of the case of the Assumptionist Fathers.</p> +<p>"<i>Los mismos perros, con nuevos cuellos</i>"--said Sarrion +to any who sought to convince him that Spain owed her downfall to +other causes, and that the Jesuits were no longer what they had +been. "The same dogs with new collars." And he held that they +were not a progressive but a retrogressive society; that their +statutes still held good.</p> +<p>"It is allowable to take an oath without intending to keep it +when one has good grounds for so acting."</p> +<p>"In the case of one unjustifiably making an attack on your +honour, when you cannot otherwise defend yourself than by +impeaching the integrity of the person insulting you, it is quite +allowable to do so."</p> +<p>"In order to cut short calumny most quickly, one may cause the +death of the calumniator, but as secretly as possible to avoid +observation."</p> +<p>"It is absolutely allowable to kill a man whenever the general +welfare or proper security demands it."</p> +<p>If any man has committed a crime, St. Liguori and other Jesuit +writers hold that he may swear to a civil authority that he is +innocent of it provided that he has already confessed it to his +spiritual father and received absolution. It is, they say, no +longer on his conscience.</p> +<p>"Pray," said the founder of the society, "as if everything +depended on prayer, and act as if everything depended on +action."</p> +<p>"Of what are you thinking?" Sarrion asked suddenly, when they +had ridden almost to the city gates in silence.</p> +<p>"I was wondering what Juanita will say, some day, when she +knows and understands everything."</p> +<p>"I was not wondering what Juanita will say," confessed Sarrion +with a laugh, "but what Evasio Mon will do."</p> +<p>For Sarrion persisted in taking an optimistic view of Juanita +and that which must supervene when she had grown into +understanding and knowledge.</p> +<p>Marcos went back to the hotel. He had many arrangements to +make. Sarrion rode to the large house in the Calle de la +Dormitaleria where the school of the Sisters of the True Faith is +located to this day. In an hour he joined Marcos in the little +sitting-room looking on to the Plaza de la Constitucion.</p> +<p>"All is going well," he said, "I have seen Dolores. They go +across to the Cathedral for vespers at five o'clock. It will be +almost dark. You have only to wait in the inner patio, adjoining +the cloisters. They pass through that way. Juanita will be sent +back for something that is forgotten. And then is your time. You +can have ten minutes. It is not long."</p> +<p>"It will do," said Marcos rather gloomily. He was not afraid +of the whole Society of Jesuits, of the king, nor yet of Don +Carlos. But he feared Juanita.</p> +<p>"We need not inquire who will send her back. But she will +come. She will not expect to see you. Remember that and do not +frighten her."</p> +<p>So Marcos set out at dusk to await Juanita. The entrance to +the two patios that give entrance to the Cathedral cloister is +immediately opposite to the door of the school of the Sisters of +the True Faith. A lamp swings over the doorway in the Calle de la +Dormitaleria. There is no lamp in the first patio but another +hangs in the vaulted arch leading from one patio to the other. In +the cloister itself, which is the most beautiful in Spain, there +are two dim lamps.</p> +<p>Marcos sat down on the wooden bench which runs right round the +quadrangle of the inner patio. He had not long to wait. The girls +passed through whispering and laughing among themselves. Two nuns +led the way. Sor Teresa followed the last two girls, looking +straight in front of her between the wings of her great cap. One +of the last pair was Juanita. She walked listlessly, Marcos +thought. He rose and went towards the archway leading from the +inner patio to the cloisters. The moon was rising and cast a +white light down upon the delicate stone-work of the cloister +windows.</p> +<p>Almost immediately Juanita came hurrying back and +instinctively drew her mantilla closer at the sight of his +shadowy form. Then she recognised him.</p> +<p>"Oh, Marcos," she whispered. "At last. I thought you had +forgotten all about me."</p> +<p>"Quick," he answered. "This way. We have only ten +minutes."</p> +<p>He took her hand and hurried her back into the cloisters. He +led her to the right, to the corner of the quadrangle farthest +removed from the Cathedral where by daylight few pass, and at +night none.</p> +<p>"What do you mean?" she asked, "Only ten minutes."</p> +<p>"It has all been arranged," he answered. "I met you here on +purpose. You have only ten minutes in which to settle."</p> +<p>"To settle what?" she asked with a laugh.</p> +<p>"Your whole life."</p> +<p>"But one cannot settle one's life in an Ave Maria," she said, +which means in the twinkling of an eye. And she looked at him by +the dim light and laughed again. For she was young and they had +always made holiday together, and laughed.</p> +<p>"Did you mean that letter which you wrote to my father about +going into religion?"</p> +<p>"Oh, I don't know. I suppose so. I meant it at the time, +Marcos. It seems to be the only thing to do. Everything seems to +point to it. Every sermon I hear. Everything I read. Everything +any one ever says to me. But now--" she turned and looked at him, +"--now that I see you again I cannot think how I did it."</p> +<p>"Am I so very worldly?"</p> +<p>"Of course you are. And yet I suppose you have some chance of +salvation. It seems to me that you have--a little chance, I give +you. But it seems hard on other people. Oh, Marcos, I hate the +idea of it. And yet they are so kind to me--all except Sor +Teresa. If anybody could make me hate it, she would. She is so +unkind and gives me all the punishments she can."</p> +<p>Marcos smiled slowly and with great pity, of which men have a +better understanding than any woman. He thought he knew why Sor +Teresa was cruel.</p> +<p>"They are all so kind. And I know they are good. And they take +it for granted that the religious life is the only possible one. +One cannot help becoming convinced even against one's will."</p> +<p>She turned to him suddenly and laid her two hands on his +arm.</p> +<p>"Oh, Marcos," she whispered, with a sort of sob of +apprehension. "Can you not do something for me?"</p> +<p>"Yes," he answered. "That is why I am here. But it must be +done at once."</p> +<p>"Why?" she asked. And she was grave enough now.</p> +<p>"Because they have sent to Rome for a dispensation of your +novitiate. They wish to hurry you into religion at once."</p> +<p>"Yes," she said. "I know. But why?"</p> +<p>"Because they want your money."</p> +<p>"But I have none, or very little. They have told me so."</p> +<p>"That is a lie," said Marcos, bluntly.</p> +<p>"Oh, but you must not say that," she whispered, with a sort of +horror. "Father Muro told me so. He represents Heaven on earth. +We are told he does."</p> +<p>"He does it badly," said Marcos, quietly.</p> +<p>Juanita reflected for a moment. Then suddenly she stamped her +foot on the pavement worn by the feet of generations of holy +men.</p> +<p>"I will not go into religion," she said. "I will not. I always +feel that there is something wrong in all they say. And with you +and Uncle Ramon it is different. I know at once that what you say +is quite simple and plain and honest; that you have no other +meaning in what you say but that which the words convey. +Marcos--you and Uncle Ramon must take me away from here. I cannot +get away. I am hemmed in on every side."</p> +<p>"We can take you away," answered Marcos slowly, "if you +like."</p> +<p>She turned and looked at him, her attention caught by some +tense note in his voice.</p> +<p>"What do you mean?" she asked. "Your face is so odd and white. +What do you mean, Marcos?"</p> +<p>"We can take you away, but you must marry me."</p> +<p>She gave a short laugh and stopped suddenly.</p> +<p>"Oh--you must not joke," she said. "You must not laugh. It is +my whole life, remember."</p> +<p>"I am not laughing. It is no joke," said Marcos steadily.</p> +<p>"What...?"</p> +<p>For a moment they sat in silence. The low chanting of vespers +came to their ears through the curtained doors of the +Cathedral.</p> +<p>"Listen to them," said Juanita suddenly. "They are half +asleep. They are not thinking of what they are singing. They are +taking snuff surreptitiously behind their hands to keep +themselves awake. And it is we, poor wretched schoolgirls and +nuns who have to keep the saints in a good humour by attending to +every word and being most preposterously devout whether we feel +inclined to be or not. No, I will not go into religion. That is +certain. Marcos, I would rather marry you than that--if it is +necessary."</p> +<p>"It is necessary."</p> +<p>"But they can have all the money; every real,'" suggested +Juanita hopefully.</p> +<p>"No; they have tried that way. They cannot do it in these +times. The only way they can get the money is for you to go of +your own free will into religion and to bequeath of your own free +will all your worldly possessions to the Order you join."</p> +<p>"Yes, I know," said Juanita. Her spirits had risen every +minute. She was gay again now. His presence seemed to restore to +her the happy gift of touching life lightly which is of the +heart. And the heart knows no age, neither is it subject to the +tyranny of years.</p> +<p>"Well, I will marry you if there is no help for it. +But..."</p> +<p>"But..." echoed Marcos.</p> +<p>"But of course it is only a sort of game, is it not?"</p> +<p>"Yes," he answered. "A sort of game."</p> +<p>"Promise?"</p> +<p>"I promise."</p> +<p>They were sitting on the steps of one of the chapels. Juanita +swung round and peered through the railings as if to see what +Saint had his habitation there.</p> +<p>"It is only St. Bartholomew," she said, airily. "But he will +do. You have promised, remember that. And St. Bartholomew has +heard you. It is only to save me from being a nun that we are +being married. And I am to be just the same as I am now. We can +go fishing, I mean, as we used to, and climb the mountains and +have jokes just as we always do in the holidays."</p> +<p>"Yes," said Marcos.</p> +<p>She held out her hand as she had seen the peasants in Torre +Garda when they had struck a bargain and would seal it +irrevocably.</p> +<p>"Touch it," she said with a gay laugh, as she had heard them +say.</p> +<p>And they shook hands in the dark cloisters.</p> +<p>"There is a window at the end of the passage in which is your +room," said Marcos. "It looks out on to a small courtyard and is +quite near the ground. Come to that window to-morrow night at ten +o'clock and I shall be there."</p> +<p>"What for?" she asked.</p> +<p>"To be married," he answered. "My father and I will arrange +it. We shall both be there. If you do not come to-morrow night I +shall come again the next night. You will be back in your room by +half-past eleven."</p> +<p>"Married?" asked Juanita.</p> +<p>"Yes."</p> +<p>He had risen and was standing in front of her.</p> +<p>"And now you must go back to the Cathedral."</p> +<p>"But Sor Teresa's breviary?"</p> +<p>"She has it in her pocket," said Marcos.</p> +<h1><a name="chap15"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XV</a></h1> +<h2><br> +OUR LADY OF THE SHADOWS</h2> +<p>There were great clouds in the sky when the moon rose the next +night and one of them threw Pampeluna into dark shadows when +Marcos took his place in the little passage between the School in +the Calle de la Dormitaleria and the next building. The window at +the end of the passage where Juanita and Sor Teresa and some of +the more favoured of the girls had their rooms, was about six +feet above the ground.</p> +<p>Marcos took his post immediately underneath and stretching his +arm up took hold of one of the two bars, and waited. Juanita +looking from the door of her room could thus see his clenched +hand and must know that he was waiting. The clocks of the city +struck ten. Immediately afterwards the watchmen began their cry. +The city was already asleep.</p> +<p>It was very cold. Marcos changed his hand from time to time +and breathed on his fingers. He carried a cloak for Juanita. The +striking of the quarter found him still waiting beneath the +window. But, soon after, Marcos' heart gave a leap to his throat +at the touch of cold fingers on his wrist. It was Juanita. He +threw the cloak down and placing his heel on the sill of a lower +window near the ground he raised himself to the level of the +bars.</p> +<p>"Oh, Marcos!" whispered Juanita in his ear, through the open +window.</p> +<p>He edged his shoulder in between the two bars which were fixed +perpendicularly, and being strongly built he only found room to +introduce his two thumbs within that which pressed against his +chest. He slowly straightened his arms and the iron gave an +audible creak. It was a hundred years old, all rust-worn and +attenuated.</p> +<p>"There," he said, "you can get through that."</p> +<p>"Yes," she answered. She was shivering and yet half +laughing.</p> +<p>"Listen," she whispered, drawing him towards her. "Sor +Teresa's door is open. You can hear her snoring. Listen!"</p> +<p>She gave a half hysterical laugh.</p> +<p>"Quick," said Marcos--dropping to the ground.</p> +<p>Juanita turned sideways and pushed her head and shoulders +through the bars. She leant down towards him holding out her arms +and her thick plait of hair struck him across the eyes. A moment +later he had lifted her to the ground.</p> +<p>"Quick," he said again, breathlessly. He threw the cloak round +her and drew the hood forward over her head. Then he took her +hand and they ran together down the narrow passage into the Calle +de la Domitaleria. She ran as quickly as he did with her long, +schoolgirl legs, unhampered by a woman's length of skirt. At the +corner Perro, who had been keeping watch there, joined them and +trotted by their side.</p> +<p>"What cloak is this?" she asked. "It smells of tobacco."</p> +<p>"It is my old military cloak."</p> +<p>"And this is my wedding dress!" she said, with a breathless +laugh. "And Perro is my bridesmaid."</p> +<p>They turned sharply to the left and in a moment stood on the +deserted ramparts close under the shadow of the Episcopal Palace. +Below them was darkness. To the right, beneath them, the white +falls of the river gleamed dimly above the bridge, and the roar +of it came to their ears like the roar of the sea.</p> +<p>Far across the plain, the Pyrenees rose, range behind range, a +white wall in the moonlight. At their feet the walls of the +ramparts, bastion below bastion, broken and crenelated, a triumph +of mediaeval fortification, faded into the shadow where the river +ran.</p> +<p>"There is a snow-drift in this corner," whispered Marcos. "It +is piled up against the rampart by the north wind. I will drop +you over the wall on to it and then follow you. You remember how +to hold to my hand?"</p> +<p>"Yes," she answered, very quick and alert. There was good +blood in her veins, which was astir now, in the presence of +danger. "Yes--as we used to do it in the mountains--my hand round +your wrist and your fingers round mine."</p> +<p>They were standing on the wall now. She knelt down and looked +over; then she turned, still on her knees, and clasped her right +hand round his wrist while he held hers in his strong grip. She +leant forward and without hesitation swung out, suspended by one +arm, into the darkness. He stooped, then knelt, and finally lay +face downwards on the wall, lowering her all the while.</p> +<p>"Go!" he whispered. And she dropped lightly on to the +snow-slope beaten by the wind into an icy buttress against the +wall. A moment later he dropped beside her.</p> +<p>"My father is at the bridge," he said, as they scrambled down +to the narrow path that runs along the river bank beneath the +walls. "He is waiting for us there with a carriage and a +priest."</p> +<p>Juanita stopped short.</p> +<p>"Oh, I wish I had not come!" she exclaimed.</p> +<p>"You can go back," said Marcos slowly; "it is not too late. +You can still go back if you want to."</p> +<p>But Juanita only laughed at him.</p> +<p>"And know for the rest of my life that I am a miserable +coward. And it is of cowards that nuns are made; no, thank you. I +will carry it through now. Come along. Come and get married."</p> +<p>She gave a laugh as she led the way. When they reached the +road they were in the full moonlight, and for the first time +could see each other.</p> +<p>"What is the matter?" said Juanita suddenly. "Your face looks +white; there is something I do not understand in it."</p> +<p>"Nothing," answered Marcos. "Nothing. We must be quick."</p> +<p>"You are sure you are keeping nothing back from me?" she +asked, glancing shrewdly at him as she walked by his side.</p> +<p>"Nothing," he answered, for the first time, and very +conscientiously telling her an untruth. For he was keeping back +the crux of the whole affair which he thought she was too young +to be told or to understand.</p> +<p>The carriage was waiting on the high road just across the old +Roman bridge. Sarrion came forward in the moonlight to meet them. +Juanita ran towards him, kissed him and clung to his arm with a +little movement of affection.</p> +<p>"I am so glad to see you," she said. "It feels safer. They +almost made me a nun, you know. And that horrid old Sor +Teresa--oh, I beg your pardon! I forgot she was your sister."</p> +<p>"She is hardly my sister," answered Sarrion with a cynical +laugh. "It is against the rules you know to permit oneself any +family affection when one is in religion."</p> +<p>"You mustn't blame her for that," said Juanita. "One never +knows. You cannot tell why she went into religion. Perhaps she +never meant to. You do not understand."</p> +<p>"Oh, yes I do," answered Sarrion bitterly.</p> +<p>They were hurrying towards the carriage and a man waiting at +the open door took a step forward and raised his hat, showing in +the moonlight a high bald forehead and a clean shaven face. He +was slight and neat.</p> +<p>"This is an old school friend of mine," said Sarrion by way of +introduction. "He is a bishop," he added.</p> +<p>And Juanita knelt on the road while he laid his hand on her +hair with a smile half amused and half pathetic. He looked twenty +years younger than Sarrion, and laying aside his sacerdotal +manner as suddenly as he had assumed it on Juanita's instinctive +initiation, he helped her into the carriage with a grave and +ceremonious courtesy.</p> +<p>"This is your own carriage," she said when they were all +seated.</p> +<p>"Yes--from Torre Garda," answered Sarrion. "And it is Pietro +who is driving. So you are among friends."</p> +<p>"And dear old Perro running at the side," exclaimed Juanita, +jumping up and putting her head out of the window to encourage +Perro with a greeting. Her mantilla flying in the wind blew +across the bishop's face which that youthful-looking dignitary +endured with patience.</p> +<p>"And there is a hot-water tin for our feet. I feel it through +my slippers; for my feet are wet with the snow. How +delightful!"</p> +<p>And Juanita stooped down to warm her hands.</p> +<p>"You have thought of everything--you and Marcos," she said. +"You are so kind to me. I am sure I am very grateful ... to every +one."</p> +<p>She turned towards the bishop, kindly including him in this +expression of thanks; which she could not do more definitely +because she did not know his name. It was obvious that she was +not a bit afraid of him seeing that he had no vestments with +him.</p> +<p>"At one time, on the ramparts, I was sorry I had come," she +explained in a friendly way to him, "but now I am not. Of course +it is all very well for me. It is great fun. But for you it is +different; on such a cold night. I do not know why everybody +takes so much trouble about me."</p> +<p>"Half of Spain is taking trouble about you, my child," was the +answer.</p> +<p>"Ah! that is about my money. That is quite different. But +Marcos, you know, and Uncle Ramon are the only people who take +any trouble about me, for myself you understand."</p> +<p>"Yes, I understand," answered the great man humbly, as if he +were trying to, but was not quite sure of success.</p> +<p>Marcos sat silently in his corner of the carriage. Indeed +Juanita exercised the prerogative of her sex and led the +conversation, gaily and easily. But when the carriage stopped +beneath some trees by the roadside she suddenly lapsed into +silence too.</p> +<p>She stood on the road in the bright moonlight and looked about +her. She had thrown back the hood of Marcos' military cloak and +now set her mantilla in order. Which was all the preparation this +light-hearted bride made for the supreme moment. And perhaps she +never knew all that she had missed.</p> +<p>"I see no church and no houses," said Juanita to Marcos. +"Where are we?"</p> +<p>"The chapel is above us in the darkness," replied Marcos. And +he led the way up a winding path.</p> +<p>The little chapel stood on a sort of table-land looking out +over the plain that lay to the south of it. In front of it were +twelve pines planted in a row at irregular intervals. The shadow +of each tree in succession fell upon a low stone cross set on the +ground before the door at each successive hour of the twelve; a +fantasy of some holy man long dead.</p> +<p>The chapel door stood open and just within it a priest in his +short white surplice awaited their arrival. Juanita recognised +the sunburnt old cura of Torre Garda.</p> +<p>But he only had time to bow rather formally to her; for a +bishop was behind.</p> +<p>"I have only lighted one candle," he said to Marcos. "If we +make an illumination they can see it from Pampeluna."</p> +<p>The bishop followed the old priest into the sacristy where the +one candle gave a flickering light. There they could be heard +whispering together. Sarrion, Marcos and Juanita stood near the +door. The moonlight gleamed through the windows and a certain +amount of reflected light found its way through the open +doorway.</p> +<p>Suddenly Juanita gave a start and clutched at Marcos' arm.</p> +<p>"Look," she said, pointing to the right.</p> +<p>A kneeling figure was there with something that gleamed dully +at the shoulders.</p> +<p>"Yes," explained Marcos. "It is a friend of mine, an officer +of the garrison who has ridden over. We require two witnesses, +you know."</p> +<p>"He is saying his own prayers," said Juanita, looking at +him.</p> +<p>"He has not much opportunity," explained Marcos. "He is in +command of an outpost at the outlet of the valley of the +Wolf."</p> +<p>As they looked at him he rose and came towards them, his spurs +clanking and his great sword swinging against the +<i>prie-dieu</i> chairs of the devout. He bowed formally to +Juanita, and stood, upright and stiff, looking at Marcos.</p> +<p>The old cura came from the sacristy and lighted two candles on +the altar. Then he turned with the taper in his hand and beckoned +to Marcos and Juanita to come forward to the rails where two +stools had been placed in readiness. The cura went back to the +sacristy and returned, followed by the bishop in his +vestments.</p> +<p>So Juanita de Mogente was married in a little mountain chapel +by the light of two candles and a waning moon, while Sarrion and +the officer in his dusty uniform stood like sentinels behind +them, and the bishop recited the office by heart because he could +not see to read. He was a political bishop and no great divine, +but he knew his business, and got through it quickly.</p> +<p>He splashed down his historic name with a great flourish of +the quill pen in the register and on the certificate which he +handed with a bow to Juanita.</p> +<p>"What shall I do with it?" she asked.</p> +<p>"Give it to Marcos," was the answer.</p> +<p>And Marcos put the paper in his pocket.</p> +<p>They passed out of the chapel and stood on the little terrace +in the moonlight amid the shadows of the twelve pine trees while +the bishop disrobed in the sacristy.</p> +<p>"What are those lights?" asked Juanita, breaking the silence +before it grew irksome.</p> +<p>"That is Pampeluna," replied Marcos.</p> +<p>"And the light in the mountains?" she asked, pointing to the +north.</p> +<p>"That is a Carlist watch-fire, Senorita," answered the officer +briskly, and no one seemed to notice his slip of the tongue +except Sarrion, who glanced at him and then decided not to remind +him that the title no longer applied to Juanita.</p> +<p>In a few moments the bishop joined them, and they all made +their way down the winding path. The bishop and Sarrion were to +go by the midnight train to Saragossa, while the carnage and +horses were housed for the night at the inn near the station, a +mile from the gates; for this was a time of war, and Pampeluna +was a fenced city from nightfall till morning.</p> +<p>Marcos and Juanita reached the Calle de la Dormitaleria in +safety, however, and Juanita gave a little sigh of fatigue as +they hurried down the narrow alley.</p> +<p>"To-morrow," she said, "I shall think this has all been a +dream."</p> +<p>"So shall I," said Marcos gravely.</p> +<p>He lifted her into the window, and she stood listening for a +moment while she took from her finger the wedding ring she had +worn for half an hour and gave it back to him.</p> +<p>"It is of no use to me," she said; "I cannot wear it at +school."</p> +<p>She laughed, and held up one finger to command his +attention.</p> +<p>"Listen!" she whispered. "Sor Teresa is still snoring."</p> +<p>She watched him bend the bars back again to their proper +place.</p> +<p>"By the way," she asked him. "What was the name of the chapel +where we were married--I should like to know?"</p> +<p>Marcos hesitated a moment before replying.</p> +<p>"It is called Our Lady of the Shadows."</p> +<h1><a name="chap16"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XVI</a></h1> +<h2><br> +THE MATTRESS BEATER</h2> +<p>Englishmen are justly proud of their birthright. The less they +travel, moreover, the prouder they are, and the stronger is their +conviction that England leads the world in thought and art and +action.</p> +<p>They are quite unaware, for instance, that no country in the +world is behind England (unless it be Scotland) in a small matter +that affects very materially one-third of a human span of life, +namely beds. In any town of France, Germany or Holland, the +curious need not seek long for the mattress-maker. He is usually +to be found in some open space at the corner of a market-place or +beneath an arcade near the Maine exercising his health-giving +trade in the open air. He lives, and lives bountifully, by +unmaking, picking over and re-making the mattresses of the +people. Good housewives, moreover, stand near him with their +knitting to see that he does it well and puts back within the +cover all the wool that he took out. In these backward countries +the domestic mattress is remade once a year if not oftener. In +our great land there is a considerable vagueness as to the period +allowed to a mattress to form itself into lumps and to accumulate +dust or germs. Moreover, there are thousands of exemplary +housekeepers who throw up the eye of horror to their whitewashed +ceiling at the thought of a foreign person's personal habits, who +do not know what is inside their mattress and never think of +looking to see from year's end to year's end.</p> +<p>In Spain, a country rarely visited by those persons who pride +themselves upon being particular, the mattress-maker is a much +more necessary factor in domestic life than is the sweep or the +plumber in northern lands. No palace is too royal for him, no +cottage is too humble to employ him.</p> +<p>He is, moreover, the only man allowed inside a nunnery. Which +is the reason why he finds himself brought into prominence now. +He is usually a thin, lithe man, somewhat of the figure of those +northerners who supply the bull-ring with Banderilléros. +He arrives in the early morning with a sheathe knife at his +waist, a packet of cigarettes in his jacket pocket and two light +sticks under his arm. All he asks is a courtyard and the sunshine +that Heaven gives him.</p> +<p>In a moment he deftly cuts the stitches of the mattress and +lays bare the wool which he never touches with his fingers. The +longer stick in his right hand describes great circles in the air +and descends with the whistle of a sword upon the wool of which +it picks up a small handful. Then the shorter stick comes into +play, picks the wool from the longer, throws it into the air, +beats it this way and that, tosses it and catches it until every +fibre is clear, when the fluffy mass is deftly cast aside. All +the while, through the beating of the wool, the two sticks beaten +against each other play a distinct air, and each mattress-maker +has his own, handed down from his forefathers, ending with a +whole chromatic scale as the shorter stick swoops up the length +of the longer to sweep away the lingering wool. Thus the whole +mattress is transferred from a sodden heap to a high and fluffy +mountain of carded wool, all baked by the heat of the sun.</p> +<p>The man has a hundred attitudes, full of grace. He works with +a skill which is a conscious pleasure; a pleasure unknown to +those who have never had opportunity of acquiring a manual craft +or appreciating the wondrous power that God has put into human +limbs. He has complete control over his two thin sticks, can pick +up with them a single strand of wool, or half a mattress. He can +throw aside a pin that lurks in a ball of wool, or kill a fly +that settles on his work, without staining the snowy mass. And +all the while, from the moment that the mattress is open till the +heap is complete, the two sticks never cease playing their thin +and woody air so that any within hearing may know that the +"colchonero" is at work.</p> +<p>When the mattress case is empty he pauses to wipe his brow +(for he must needs work in the sun) and smoke a cigarette in the +shade. It is then that he gossips.</p> +<p>In a Southern land such a worker as this must always have an +audience, and the children hail with delight the coming of the +mattress-maker. At the Convent School of the Sisters of the True +Faith his services were required once a fortnight; for there were +many beds; but his coming was none the less exciting for its +frequency. He was the only man allowed inside the door. Father +Muro was, it seemed, not counted as a man. And in truth a priest +is often found to possess many qualities which are essentially +small and feminine.</p> +<p>The mattress-maker of Pampeluna was a thin man with a ropy +neck, and keen black eyes that flashed hither and thither through +the mist of wool and dust in which he worked. He was considered +so essentially a domestic and harmless person that he was +permitted to go where he listed in the house and high-walled +garden. For nuns have a profound distrust of man as a mass and a +confiding faith in the few individuals with whom they have to +deal.</p> +<p>The girls were allowed to watch the colchonero at his work, +more especially the elder girls such as Juanita de Mogente and +her friend Milagros of the red-gold hair. Juanita watched him so +closely one spring afternoon that the keen black eyes kept +returning to her face at each round of the long whistling stick. +The other girls grew tired of the sight and moved away to another +part of the garden where the sun was warmer and the violets +already in bloom; but Juanita lingered.</p> +<p>She did not know that this was one of Marcos' friends--that in +the summer this colchonero took the road with his packet of +cigarettes and two sticks and wandered from village to village in +the mountains beating the mattresses of the people and seeing the +wondrous works of God as these are only seen by such as live all +day and sleep all night beneath the open sky.</p> +<p>Quite suddenly the polished sticks ceased playing loudly and +dropped their tone to pianissimo, so that if Juanita were to +speak she could be heard.</p> +<p>"Hombre," she said, "do you know Marcos de Sarrion?"</p> +<p>"I know the chapel of Our Lady of the Shadows," he answered, +glancing at her through a mist of wool.</p> +<p>"Will you give him a letter?"</p> +<p>"Fold it small and throw it in the wool," he said, and +immediately the sticks beat loudly again.</p> +<p>Juanita's hand was already in her pocket seeking her +purse.</p> +<p>"No, no," he said; "I am too much caballero to take money from +a lady."</p> +<p>She walked away, dropping as she passed the uncarded heap, a +folded paper which was lost amid the fluff. The sticks flew this +way and that, and the twisted note shot up into the air with a +bunch of wool which fell across the two sticks and was presently +cast aside upon the carded heap. And peeping eyes from the barred +windows of the convent school saw nothing.</p> +<p>Marcos and his father had returned to Saragossa. They were +people of influence in that city, and Saragossa, strange to say, +had a desire to maintain law and order within its walls. It was +unlike Barcelona, which is at all times republican and frankly +turbulent. Its other neighbour, Pampeluna, remains to this day +clerical and mysterious. It is the city of the lost causes; +Carlism and the Church. The Sarrions were not looked upon with a +kindly eye within the walls of the Northern fortress and it is +much too small a town for any to pass unobserved in its +streets.</p> +<p>There was work to do in Saragossa. In Pampeluna there were +only suspicions to arouse. Juanita was in Sor Teresa's care and +could scarcely come to harm, holding in her hand as she did a +strong card to be played on emergency.</p> +<p>All Spain seemed to be pausing breathlessly. The murder of +Prim had shaken the land like an earthquake. The king had already +made enemies. He had no enthusiasm. His new subjects would have +preferred a few mistakes to this cautious pause. They were a +people vaguely craving for liberty before they had cast off the +habit of servitude.</p> +<p>No Latin race will ever evolve a great republic; for it must +be ruled. But Spain was already talking of democracy and the new +king had scarcely seated himself on the throne.</p> +<p>"We can do nothing," said Sarrion, "but try to keep order in +our own small corner of this bear-garden."</p> +<p>So he remained at Saragossa and threw open his great house +there, while Marcos passed to and fro into Navarre up the Valley +of the Wolf to Torre Garda.</p> +<p>Where Evasio Mon might be, no man knew. Paris had fallen. The +Commune was rife. France was wallowing in the deepest +degradation. And in Bayonne the Carlist plotters schemed without +let or hindrance.</p> +<p>"So long as he is away we need not be uneasy about Juanita," +said Marcos. "He cannot return to Saragossa without my hearing of +it."</p> +<p>And one evening a casual teamster from the North, whose great +two-wheeled cart, as high as a house and as long as a locomotive, +stood in the dusty road outside the Posada de los Reyes, dropped +in, cigarette in mouth, to the Palacio Sarrion. In Spain, a +messenger delivers neither message nor letter to a servant. A +survival of mediaeval habits permits the humblest to seek the +presence of the great at any time of day.</p> +<p>The Sarrions had just finished dinner and still sat in the +vast dining-room, the walls of which glittered with arms and +loomed darkly with great portraits of the Spanish school of +painting.</p> +<p>The teamster was not abashed. It was a time of war, and war is +a great leveler of social scales. He had brought his load through +a disturbed country. He was a Guipuzcoan--as good as any man.</p> +<p>"It was about the Señor Mon," he said. "You wished to +hear of him. He returned to Pampeluna two days ago."</p> +<p>The teamster thanked their Excellencies, but he could not +accept their hospitality because he had ordered his supper at his +hotel. It was only at the Posada de los Reyes in all Saragossa +that one procured the real cuisine of Guipuzcoa. Yes, he would +take a glass of wine.</p> +<p>And he took it with a fine wave of the arm, signifying that he +drank to the health of his host.</p> +<p>"Evasio Mon will not leave us long idle," said Sarrion, when +the man had gone, and he had hardly spoken when the servant +ushered in a second visitor, a man also of the road, who handed +to Marcos a crumpled and dirty envelope. He had nothing to say +about it, so bowed and withdrew. He was a man of the newer stamp, +for he was a railway worker, having that which is considered a +better manner. He knew his place, and that knowledge had affected +his manhood.</p> +<p>The letter he gave to Marcos bore no address. It was sealed, +however, in red wax, which had the impress of Nature's seal, a +man's thumb--unique and not to be counterfeited.</p> +<p>From the envelope Marcos took a twisted paper, not innocent of +carded wool.</p> +<p>"We are going back to Saragossa," Juanita wrote. "I have +refused to go into religion, but they say it is too late; that I +cannot draw back now. Is this true?"</p> +<p>Marcos passed the note across to his father.</p> +<p>"I wish this was Barcelona," he said, with a sudden gleam in +his grave eyes.</p> +<p>"Why?"</p> +<p>"Because then we could pull the school down about their ears +and take Juanita away."</p> +<p>Sarrion smiled.</p> +<p>"Or get shot mysteriously from a window while attempting it," +he said. "No, we fight with finer weapons than that. Mon has got +his dispensation from Rome ... a few hours too late."</p> +<p>He handed back the note, and they sat in silence for a long +time in the huge, dimly-lighted room. Success in life rests upon +one small gift--the secret of the entry into another man's mind +to discover what is passing there. The greatest general the world +has known owed his success, by his own admission, to his power of +guessing correctly what the enemy would do next. Many can guess, +but few guess right.</p> +<p>"She has not dated her letter," said Sarrion, at length.</p> +<p>"No, but it was written on Thursday. That is the day that the +colchonero goes to the Calle de la Dormitaleria."</p> +<p>He drew a strand of wool from the envelope and showed it to +Sarrion.</p> +<p>"And the day that Mon returned to Pampeluna. He will be prompt +to act. He always has been. That is what makes him different from +other men. Prompt and restless."</p> +<p>Sarrion glanced across the table, as he spoke, at the face of +his son, who was also a prompt man, but withal restful, as if +possessing a reserve upon which to draw in emergency. For the +restless and the uneasy are those who have all their forces in +the field.</p> +<p>"Do not sit up for me," said Marcos, rising. He stood and +thoughtfully emptied his glass. "I shall change my clothes," he +said, "and go out. There will be plenty of Navarrese at the +Posada de los Reyes. The night <i>diligencias</i> will be in +before daylight. If there is any news of importance I will wake +you when I come in."</p> +<p>It was a dark night, and the wind roared down the bed of the +Ebro. For the spring was at hand with its wild march "solano" and +hard, blue skies. There was no moon. But Marcos had good eyes, +and those whom he sought were men who, after a long siesta, +traveled or worked during half the night.</p> +<p>The dust was astir on the Paseo del Ebro, where it lies four +inches deep on the broad space in front of the Posada de los +Reyes where the carts stand. There were carts here now with dim, +old-fashioned lanterns, and long teams of mules waiting patiently +to be relieved of their massive collars.</p> +<p>The first man he met told him that Evasio Mon must have +arrived in Saragossa at sunset, for he had passed him on the +road, going at a good pace on horseback.</p> +<p>From another he heard the rumour that the Carlists had torn up +the line between Pampeluna and Castéjon.</p> +<p>"Go to the station," this informant added. "They will tell you +there, because you are a rich man. To me they will tell +nothing."</p> +<p>At the station he learnt that this rumour was true; and one +who was in the telegraph service gave him to understand that the +Carlists had driven the outpost back from the mouth of the Valley +of the Wolf, which was now cut off.</p> +<p>"He thinks I am at Torre Garda," reflected Marcos, as he +returned to the city, fighting the wind on the bridge.</p> +<p>Chance favoured him, for a man with tired horses stopped his +carriage to inquire if that were the Count Marcos de Sarrion. He +had brought Juanita to Saragossa in his carriage, not with Sor +Teresa, but with the Mother Superior of the school and two other +pupils. He had been dismissed at the Plaza de la Constitucion, +and the ladies had taken another carriage. He had not heard the +address given to the driver.</p> +<p>By daylight Marcos returned to the Palacio Sarrion without +having discovered the driver of the second carriage or the +whereabouts of Juanita in Saragossa. But he had learnt that a +carriage had been ordered by telegraph from a station on the +Pampeluna line to be at Alagon at four o'clock in the morning. He +learnt also that telegraphic communication between Pampeluna and +Saragossa was interrupted.</p> +<p>The Carlists again.</p> +<h1><a name="chap17"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XVII</a></h1> +<h2><br> +AT THE INN OF THE TWO TREES</h2> +<p>At dawn the next morning, Marcos and Sarrion rode out of the +city towards Alagón by the great high road many inches +deep in dust which has always been the main artery of the capital +of Aragon.</p> +<p>The pace was leisurely; for the carriage they were going to +meet had been timed to leave Alagón fifteen miles away at +four o'clock. There was but one road. They could scarcely miss +it.</p> +<p>It was seven o'clock when they halted at a roadside inn. +Sarrion quitted the saddle and went indoors to order coffee while +Marcos sat on his tall black horse scanning the road in front of +him. The valley of the Ebro is flat here, with bare, brown hills +rising on either side like a gigantic mud-fence. Strings of carts +were making their way towards Saragossa. Far away, Marcos could +perceive a recurrent break in the dusty line. A cart or carriage +traveling at a greater than the ordinary market pace was making +its laborious way past the heavier traffic. It came at length +within clearer sight; a carriage all white with dust and a pair +of skinny, Aragonese horses such as may be hired on the road.</p> +<p>The driver seemed to recognise Marcos, for he smiled and +raised his hand to his hat as he drew up at the inn, a recognised +halting-place before the last stage of the journey.</p> +<p>Marcos caught sight of a white cap inside the carriage. He +leant down on his horse's neck and perceived Sor Teresa, who had +not seen him looking out of the carriage window towards the inn. +He rode round to the other door and dropped out of the saddle. +Then he turned the handle and opened the door. But Sor Teresa had +no intention of descending. She leant forward to say as much and +recognised her nephew.</p> +<p>"You!" she exclaimed. And her pale face flushed suddenly. She +had been a nun for many years and was no doubt a conscientious +one, but she had never yet learnt to remove all her love from +earth to fix it on heaven.</p> +<p>"Yes."</p> +<p>"How did you know that I should be here?"</p> +<p>"I guessed it," answered Marcos, who was always practical. +"You will like some coffee. It is ordered. Come in and warm +yourself while the horses rest."</p> +<p>He led the way towards the inn.</p> +<p>"What did you say?" he asked, turning on the threshold; for he +had heard her mutter something.</p> +<p>"I said, 'Thank God'!"</p> +<p>"What for?"</p> +<p>"For your brains, my dear," she answered. "And your strong +heart."</p> +<p>Sarrion was making up the fire when they entered the +room--lithe and young in his riding costume--and he turned, +smiling, to meet her. She kissed him gravely. There was always +something unexplained between these two, something to be said +which made them both silent.</p> +<p>"There is the coffee," said Marcos, "on the table. We have no +time to spare."</p> +<p>"Marcos means," explained Sarrion significantly, "that we have +no time to waste."</p> +<p>"I think he is right," said Sor Teresa.</p> +<p>"Then if that is the case, let us at least speak plainly," +said Sarrion, "with a due regard," he allowed, with a shrug of +the shoulder, "to your vows and your position, and all that. We +must not embroil you with your confessor; nor Juanita with +hers."</p> +<p>"You need not think of that so far as Juanita is concerned," +said Sor Teresa. "It is I who have chosen her confessor."</p> +<p>"Where is she?" asked Marcos.</p> +<p>"She is here, in Saragossa!"</p> +<p>"Why?" asked the man of few words.</p> +<p>"I don't know."</p> +<p>"Where is she in Saragossa?"</p> +<p>"I don't know. I have not seen her for a fortnight. I only +learnt by accident yesterday afternoon that she had been brought +to Saragossa with some other girls who have been postulants for +six months and are about to become novices."</p> +<p>"But Juanita is not a postulant," said Sarrion, with a +laugh.</p> +<p>"She may have been told to consider herself one."</p> +<p>"But no one has a right to do that," said Sarrion +pleasantly.</p> +<p>"No."</p> +<p>"And even if she were a novice she could draw back."</p> +<p>"There are some Orders," replied Sor Teresa, slowly stirring +her coffee, "which make it a matter of pride never to lose a +novice."</p> +<p>"Excuse my pertinacity," said Sarrion. "I know that you prefer +generalities to anything of a personal nature, but does Juanita +wish to go into religion?"</p> +<p>"As much ..." She paused.</p> +<p>"Or as little," suggested Marcos, who was looking out of the +window.</p> +<p>"As many who have entered that life." Sor Teresa completed the +sentence without noticing Marcos' interruption.</p> +<p>"And these periods of probation," said Sarrion, reverting to +those generalities which form the language of the cloister. "May +they be dispensed with?"</p> +<p>"Anything can be dispensed with--by a dispensation," was the +reply.</p> +<p>Sarrion laughed, and with an easy tact changed the subject +which could scarcely be a pleasant one between a professed nun +and two men known all over Spain as leaders in that party which +was erroneously called Anti-Clerical, because it held that the +Church should not have the dominant voice in politics.</p> +<p>"Have you seen our friend, Evasio Mon, lately?" he asked.</p> +<p>"Yes--he is on the road behind me."</p> +<p>"Behind you? I understood that he left Pampeluna yesterday for +Saragossa," said Sarrion.</p> +<p>"Yes--but I heard at Alagón that he was delayed on the +road at the Castejon side of Alagón--an accident to his +carriage--a broken wheel."</p> +<p>"Ah!" said Sarrion sympathetically. He glanced at Marcos who +was looking out of the window with a thoughtful smile.</p> +<p>"You yourself have had a hurried journey from Pampeluna," said +Sarrion to his sister. "I hear the railway line is broken by the +Carlists."</p> +<p>"The damage is being repaired," replied Sor Teresa. "My +journey was not a pleasant one, but that is of no importance +since I have arrived."</p> +<p>"Why did you come?" asked Marcos, bluntly. He was a +plain-dealer in thought and word. If Sor Teresa should embroil +herself with her confessor, as Sarrion had gracefully put it, by +answering his questions, that was her affair.</p> +<p>"I came to prevent, if I could, a great mistake."</p> +<p>"You mean that Juanita is quite unfitted for the life into +which, for the sake of his money, she is being forced or +tricked."</p> +<p>"Force has failed," replied Sor Teresa. "Juanita has spirit. +She laughed in the face of force and refused absolutely."</p> +<p>"And?" muttered Sarrion.</p> +<p>"One may presume that subtler means were used," answered the +nun.</p> +<p>"You mean trickery," suggested Marcos. "You mean that her own +words were twisted into another meaning; that she was committed +or convicted out of her own lips; that she was brought to +Saragossa by trickery, and that by trickery she will be dragged +unwittingly into religion--you need not shake your head. I am +saying nothing against the Church. I am a good Catholic. It is a +question of politics. And in politics you must fight with the +weapon that the adversary selects. We are only politicians ... my +dear aunt."</p> +<p>"Is that all?" said Sor Teresa, looking at him with her deep +eyes which had seen the world before they saw heaven. Things seen +leave their trace behind the eyes.</p> +<p>Marcos made no answer, but turned away and looked out of the +window again.</p> +<p>"It is a question of mutual accommodation," put in Sarrion in +his lighter voice. "Sometimes the Church makes use of politics. +And at another time it is politics making use of the Church. And +each sullies the other on each occasion. We shall not let Juanita +go into religion. The Church may want her and may think that it +is for her happiness, but we also have our opinion on that point; +we also ..."</p> +<p>He broke off with a laugh and threw out his hands in a gesture +of deprecation; for Sor Teresa had placed her two hands over that +part of her cap which concealed her ears.</p> +<p>"I can hear nothing," she said. "I can hear nothing."</p> +<p>She removed her hands and sat sipping her coffee in silence. +Marcos was standing near the window. He could see the white road +stretched out across the plain for miles.</p> +<p>"What did you intend to do on your arrival in Saragossa if you +had not met us?" he asked.</p> +<p>"I should have gone to the Casa Sarrion to warn your father or +yourself that Juanita had been taken from my control and that I +did not know where she was."</p> +<p>"And then?" inquired Marcos.</p> +<p>"And then I should have gone to Torrero," she answered with a +smile at his persistence; "where I intend to go now. Then I shall +learn at what hour and in which chapel the ceremony is to take +place to-day."</p> +<p>"The ceremony in which Juanita has been ordered to take part +as a spectator only?"</p> +<p>Sor Toresa nodded her head.</p> +<p>"It cannot well take place without you?"</p> +<p>"No," she answered. "Neither can it take place without Evasio +Mon. One of the novices is his niece, and, where possible, the +near relations are necessarily present."</p> +<p>"Yes--I know," said Marcos. He had apparently studied the +subject somewhat carefully. "And Evasio Mon is delayed on the +road, which gives us a little more time to mature our plans."</p> +<p>Sor Teresa said nothing, but glanced towards Marcos who was +watching the road.</p> +<p>"You need not be anxious, Dolores," said Sarrion, cheerfully. +"Between politicians these matters settle themselves quietly +enough in Spain."</p> +<p>"I ceased to be anxious," replied Sor Teresa, "from the moment +that I saw Marcos in the inn yard."</p> +<p>It was Marcos who spoke next, after a short silence.</p> +<p>"Your horses are ready, if you are rested," he said. "We shall +return to Saragossa by a shorter route."</p> +<p>"And I again assure you," added Sor Teresa's brother, "that +there is no need for anxiety. We shall arrange this +matter quite quietly with Evasio Mon. We shall take Juanita away +from your school to-day. Our cousin Peligros is already at the +Casa Sarrion waiting her arrival. Marcos has arranged these +matters."</p> +<p>He made a gesture of the hand, presumably symbolic of Marcos' +plans, for it was short and sharp.</p> +<p>"There will be nothing for you to do," said Marcos from the +window. "Waste no time. I see a carriage some miles away."</p> +<p>So Sor Teresa went on her journey. Her dealings with men had +been confined to members of that sex who went about their purpose +in an indirect and roundabout way, speaking in generalities, +attentive to insignificant detail, possessing that smaller sense +of proportion which is a feminine failing and which must always +make a tangled jumble of those public affairs in which women and +priests may play a part. She had come into actual touch in this +little room of an obscure inn with a force which seemed to walk +calmly on its way over the petty tyranny that ruled her daily +life, which seemed to fear no man, neither God as represented by +man, but shaped for itself a Deity, large-minded and manly; Who +considered the broad inner purpose rather than petty detail of +outward observance.</p> +<p>The Sarrions returned to their gloomy house on the Paseo del +Ebro and there awaited the information which Sor Teresa alone +could give them. They had not waited long before the driver of +her carriage, who had seemed to recognise Marcos on the road from +Alagón, brought a note:</p> +<p>"It is at number five, Calle de la Merced, but they will +await, E. M."</p> +<p>"And the other carriage that is on the road?" Marcos asked the +man. "The carriage which brings the caballero--has it arrived in +Saragossa?"</p> +<p>"Not yet," answered the driver. "I have heard from one who +passed them on the road that they had a second mishap just after +leaving the inn of The Two Trees, where their Excellencies took +coffee--a little mishap this one, which will only delay them an +hour or less. He has no luck, that caballero."</p> +<p>The man looked quite gravely at Marcos, who returned the +glance as solemnly. For they were as brothers, these two, sons of +that same mother, Nature, with whom they loved to deal, fighting +her strong winds, her heat, her cold, her dust and rivers, +reading her thousand and one secrets of the clouds, of night and +dawn, which townsmen never know and never even suspect. They had +a silent contempt for the small subtleties of a man's mind, and +were half ashamed of the business on which they were now +engaged.</p> +<p>As the man withdrew in obedience to Marcos' salutation, "Go +with God," the clock struck twelve.</p> +<p>"Come," said Marcos to his father, "we must go to number five, +Calle de la Merced. Do you know the house?"</p> +<p>"Yes; it is one of the many in Saragossa that stand empty, or +are supposed to stand empty. It is an old religious house which +was sacked in the disturbances of Christina's reign."</p> +<p>He walked to the window as he spoke and looked out.</p> +<p>The house had been thrown open for the first time for many +years, and they now occupied one of the larger rooms looking +across the garden to the Ebro.</p> +<p>"Ah! you have ordered the carriage," he said, seeing the +brougham standing at the door, and the rusty gates thrown open, +giving egress to the Paseo del Ebro.</p> +<p>"Yes," answered Marcos in an odd and restrained voice. "To +bring Juanita back."</p> +<h1><a name="chap18"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XVIII</a></h1> +<h2><br> +THE MAKERS OF HISTORY</h2> +<p>Number Five Calle de la Merced is to this day an empty house, +like many in Saragossa, presenting to the passer-by a dusty stone +face and huge barred windows over which the spiders have drawn +their filmy curtain. For one reason or another there are many +empty houses in the larger cities of Spain and many historical +names have passed away. With them have faded into oblivion some +religious orders and not a few kindred brotherhoods.</p> +<p>Number Five Calle de la Merced has its history like the rest +of the monasteries, and the rounded cobblestones of the large +courtyard bear to-day a black stain where, the curious inquirer +will be told, the caretakers of the empty house have been in the +habit of cooking their bread on a brazier of charcoal fanned into +glow with a palm leaf scattering the ashes. But the true story of +the black stain is in reality quite otherwise. For it was here +that the infuriated people burnt the chapel furniture when the +monasteries of Saragossa were sacked.</p> +<p>The Sarrions left their carriage at the corner of the Calle de +la Merced, in the shadow of a tall house, for the sun was already +strong at midday though the snow lay on the hills round Torre +Garda. They found the house closely barred. The dust and the +cobwebs were undisturbed on the huge windows. The house was as +empty as it had been these forty years.</p> +<p>Marcos tried the door, which resisted his strength like a +wall. It was a true monastic door with no crack through which +even a fly could pass.</p> +<p>"That house stands empty," said an old woman who passed by. +"It has stood empty since I was a girl. It is accursed. They +killed the good fathers there."</p> +<p>Sarrion thanked her and walked on. Marcos was examining the +dust on the road out of the corners of his eyes.</p> +<p>"Two carriages have stopped here," he said, "at this small +door which looks as if it belonged to the next house."</p> +<p>"Ah!" answered Sarrion, "that is an old trick. I have seen +doors like that before. There are several in the Calle San +Gregorio. Sitting on my balcony in the Casa Sarrion I have seen a +man go into one house and look out of the window of the next a +minute later."</p> +<p>"Mon has not arrived," said Marcos, with his eye on the road. +"He has the carriage of One-eyed Pedro whose near horse has a +circular shoe."</p> +<p>"But we must not wait for him. The risk would be too great. +They may dispense with his presence."</p> +<p>"No," answered Marcos thoughtfully, looking at the smaller +door which seemed to belong to the next house. "We must not +wait."</p> +<p>As he spoke a carriage appeared at the farther end of the +Calle de la Merced, which is a straight and narrow street.</p> +<p>"Here they come," he added, and drew his father into a doorway +across the street.</p> +<p>It was indeed the carriage of the man known as One-eyed Pedro, +a victim to the dust of Aragon, and the near horse left a +circular mark with its hind foot on the road.</p> +<p>Evasio Mon descended from the carriage and paid the man, +giving, it would seem, a liberal "propina," for the One-eyed +Pedro expectorated on the coin before putting it into his +pocket.</p> +<p>Mon tapped on the door with the stick he always carried. It +was instantly opened to give him admittance, and closed as +quickly behind him.</p> +<p>"Ah!" whispered Sarrion, with a smile on his keen face. "I +have heard them knock like that on the doors in the Calle San +Gregorio. It is simple and yet distinctive."</p> +<p>He turned and illustrated the knock on the balustrade of the +stairs up which they had hastened.</p> +<p>"We will try it," he added grimly, "on that door when Evasio +has had time to go away from it."</p> +<p>They waited a few minutes, and then went out again into the +Calle de la Merced. It was the luncheon hour, and they had the +street to themselves. They stood for a moment in the doorway +through which Mon had passed.</p> +<p>"Listen," said Marcos in a whisper.</p> +<p>It was the sound of an organ coming almost muffled from the +back of the empty house, and it seemed to travel through long +corridors before reaching them.</p> +<p>"They had," said Sarrion, "so far as I recollect, a large and +beautiful chapel in the patio opposite to that great door, which +has probably been built up on the inside."</p> +<p>Then he gave the peculiar knock on the door. At a gesture from +Marcos he stood back so that he who opened the door would need to +open it wide and almost come out into the street to see who had +summoned him.</p> +<p>They heard the door opening, and the head that came round the +door was that of the tall and powerful friar who had come to the +assistance of Francisco de Mogente in the Calle San Gregorio. He +drew back at once and tried to close the door, but both father +and son threw their weight against it and slowly pressed him +back, enabling Marcos at length to get his shoulder in. Both men +were somewhat smaller than the friar, but both were quicker to +see an advantage and take it.</p> +<p>In a moment the friar abandoned the attempt and ran down the +long corridor, into which the light filtered dimly through +cobwebs. Marcos gave chase while Sarrion stayed behind to close +the door. At the corner of the corridor the friar slipped, and, +finding himself out-matched, raised his voice to shout. But the +cry was smothered by Marcos, who leapt at him like a cat, and +they rolled on the floor together.</p> +<p>The friar was heavier and stronger. He had led a simple and +healthy life, his muscles were toughened by his wanderings and +the hardships of his calling. At first Marcos was underneath, but +as Sarrion hurried up he saw his son come out on the top and +heard at the same moment a dull thud. It was the friar's head +against the floor, a Guipuzcoan trick of wrestling which usually +meant death to its victim, but the friar's thick cloak happened +to fall between his head and the hard floor. This alone saved +him; for Marcos was a Spaniard and did not care at that moment +whether he killed the holy man or not. Indeed Sarrion hastily +leant down to hold him back and Marcos rose to his feet with +blazing eyes and the blood trickling from a cut lip. The friar +would have killed him if he could; for the blood that runs in +Southern men is soon heated and the primeval instinct of fight +never dies out of the human heart.</p> +<h4><img alt="Illus0306 (303K)" src="Illus0306.JPG" height="775" +width="512"></h4> +<p>"He is not killed," said Marcos breathlessly.</p> +<p>"For which we may thank Heaven," added Sarrion with a short +laugh. "Come, let us find the chapel."</p> +<p>They hurried on through the dimly lighted corridors guided by +the sound of the distant organ. There seemed to be many closed +doors between them and it; for only the deeper and more resonant +notes reached their ears. They gained the large patio where the +grass grew thickly, and the iron-work of the well in the centre +was hidden by the trailing ropes of last year's clematis.</p> +<p>"The chapel is there, but the door is built up," said Sarrion +pointing to a doorway which had been filled in. And they paused +for a moment as all men must pause when they find sudden evidence +that that Sword which was brought into the world nineteen hundred +years ago is not yet sheathed.</p> +<p>Marcos had already found a second door leading from the +cloister that surrounded the patio, back in the direction from +which they had come. They entered the corridor which turned +sharply back again--the handiwork of some architect skilful, not +in the carrying of sound, but in killing it.</p> +<p>"It is the way to the organ loft," whispered Marcos.</p> +<p>"It is probably the only entrance to the chapel."</p> +<p>They opened a door and were faced by a second one covered and +padded with faded felt. Marcos pushed it ajar and the notes of +the organ almost deafened them. They were in the chapel, behind +the organ, at the west end.</p> +<p>They passed in and stood in the dark, the notes of the great +organ braying in their ears. They could hear the panting of the +man working at the bellows. Marcos led the way and they passed on +into the chapel which was dimly lighted by candles. The subtle +odour of stale incense hung heavily in the atmosphere which +seemed to vibrate as if the deeper notes of the organ shook the +building in their vain search for an exit.</p> +<p>The chapel was long and narrow. Marcos and his father were +alone at the west end, concealed by the font of which the wooden +cover rose like a miniature spire almost to the ceiling. A group +of people were kneeling on the bare floor by the screen which had +never been repaired but showed clearly where the carving had been +knocked and torn to make the bonfire in the patio.</p> +<p>Two priests were on the altar steps while the choristers were +dimly visible through the broken railing of the screen. There +seemed to be some nuns within the screen while others knelt +without; four knelt apart, as if awaiting admission to the inner +sanctum.</p> +<p>"That is Juanita," whispered Marcos, pointing with a steady +finger. The girl kneeling next to her was weeping. But Juanita +knelt upright, her face half turned so that they could see her +clear-cut profile against the candle-light beyond. To those who +study human nature, every attitude or gesture is of value; there +were energy and courage in the turn of Juanita's head. She was +listening.</p> +<p>Near to her the motionless black form of Sor Teresa towered +among the worshippers. She was looking straight in front of her. +Not far away a bowed figure all curved and cringing with weak +emotion--a sight to make men pause and think--was Leon de +Mogente. Behind him, upright with a sleek bowed head, was Evasio +Mon. From his position and in the attitude in which he knelt, he +could without moving see Juanita, and was probably watching +her.</p> +<p>The chapel was carpeted with an old and faded matting of grass +such as is made on all the coasts of the Mediterranean. Marcos +and Sarrion went forward noiselessly. Instinctively they crossed +themselves as they neared the chancel. Evasio Mon was nearest to +them kneeling apart, a few paces behind Leon. He could see every +one from this position, but he did not hear the Sarrions a few +yards behind him.</p> +<p>At this moment Juanita turned round and perceiving them gave a +little start which Mon saw. He turned his head to the left; +Sarrion was standing in the semi-darkness at his shoulder. Then +he turned to the right and there was Marcos, motionless, with a +handkerchief held to his lips.</p> +<p>Evasio Mon reflected for a moment; then he turned to Sarrion +with his ready smile.</p> +<p>"Do you come here to see me?" he whispered.</p> +<p>"I want you to get Juanita de Mogente away from this as +quickly as possible," returned Sarrion in a whisper. "We need not +disturb the service."</p> +<p>"But, my friend," protested Mon, still smiling, "by what +right?"</p> +<p>"That you must ask of Marcos."</p> +<p>Mon turned to Marcos in silent inquiry and he received a +wordless answer; for Marcos held under his eyes in the half light +the certificate of marriage signed by that political bishop who +was no Carlist, and was ever a thorn in the side of the Churchmen +striving for an absolute monarchy.</p> +<p>Mon shook his head still smiling, more in sorrow than in +anger, at the misfortune which his duty compelled him to point +out.</p> +<p>"It is not legal, my dear Marcos; it is not legal."</p> +<p>He glanced round into Marcos' still face and perceived perhaps +that he might as well try the effect of words upon the stone +pillar behind him. He reflected again for a moment, while the +service proceeded and the voices of the choir rose and fell like +the waves of the sea in a deep cave. It was a simple enough +ceremonial denuded of many of the mediaeval mummeries which have +been revived by a newer emotional Church for the edification of +the weak-minded.</p> +<p>Juanita glanced back again and saw Mon kneeling between the +two motionless upright men, who were grave while he smiled ... +and smiled.</p> +<p>Then at length he rose to his feet and stood for a moment. If +he ever hesitated in his life it was at that instant. And Marcos' +hand came forward beneath his eyes pointing inexorably at +Juanita. There was a pause in the service, a momentary silence +only broken by the smothered sobs of the novice who knelt next to +Juanita.</p> +<p>The organ rolled out its deep voice again, and under cover of +the sound Mon stepped forward and touched Juanita on the +shoulder. She turned instantly, and he beckoned to her to follow +him. If the priests at the altar perceived anything they made no +sign. Sor Teresa, absorbed in prayer, never turned her head. The +service went on uninterruptedly.</p> +<p>Sarrion led the way and Mon followed. Juanita glanced at +Marcos, indicated with a nod Evasio Mon's back, and made a gay +little grimace, suggestive of that schemer's discomfiture. Then +she followed Mon, and Marcos came noiselessly behind her.</p> +<p>They passed out through the dark passage behind the organ into +the old cloister.</p> +<p>There Mon turned to look at Juanita and from her to Marcos. He +was distressed for them.</p> +<p>"It is illegal," he repeated, gently. "Without a +dispensation."</p> +<p>And by way of reply Marcos handed him a second paper, bearing +at its foot the oval seal of the Vatican. It was the usual +dispensation, easy enough to procure, for the marriage of an +orphan under age.</p> +<p>"I am glad," said Mon, and he tried to look it.</p> +<p>Sarrion went on into the narrow corridor. The friar was +sitting on a worm-eaten bench there, leaning back against the +wall, his hand over his eyes.</p> +<p>"He is hurt," explained Marcos, simply. "He tried to stop +us."</p> +<p>Mon made no comment but accompanied them to the door, which he +closed behind them, and then returned to the chapel, reflecting +perhaps upon how small an incident the history of nations may +turn. For if the friar had been able to withstand the +Sarrions--if there had been a grating to the small door in the +Calle de la Merced--Don Carlos de Borbone might have worn the +three crowns of Spain.</p> +<h1><a name="chap19"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XIX</a></h1> +<h2>COUSIN PELIGROS</h2> +<p>The novitiate dress had been dispensed with, and Juanita wore +her usual school-dress of black, with a black mantilla. They +therefore walked the length of the Calle de la Merced without +attracting undue attention.</p> +<p>Juanita's cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright with +excitement. She slipped her hand within Sarrion's arm and gave it +a little squeeze of affection.</p> +<p>"How kind of you to come," she said. "I knew I could trust +you. I was never afraid."</p> +<p>Sarrion smiled a little dryly and glanced towards Marcos, who +had met and overcome all the difficulties, and who now walked +quietly by his side, concealing the bloodstains on the +handkerchief covering his lips.</p> +<p>Then Juanita let go Sarrion's left arm and ran round behind +him to take the other, while with her right hand she took Marcos' +left arm.</p> +<p>"There," she cried, with a laugh. "Now I am safe from all the +world--from all the world! Is it not so?"</p> +<p>"Yes," answered Marcos, turning to look at her as she moved, +her feet hardly touching the ground, between them.</p> +<p>"Why do you look at me like that?" she asked.</p> +<p>"I think you have grown."</p> +<p>"I know I have," she answered gravely. And she stopped in the +street to stand her full height and to draw her slim bodice in at +the waist. "I am an inch taller than Milagros, but Milagros is +getting most preposterously fat. The girls tell her that she will +soon be like Sor Dorothea who is so huge that she has to be +hauled up from her knees like a sack that has been saying its +prayers. That stupid Milagros cries when they say it."</p> +<p>"Is Milagros going to be a nun?" asked Sarrion, +absent-mindedly. He was thinking of something else and looked at +Juanita with a speculative glance. She was so gay and +inconsequent.</p> +<p>"Heaven forbid!" was the reply. "She says she is going to +marry a soldier. I can't think why. She says she likes the drums. +But I told her she could buy a drum and hire a man to hit it. She +is very rich, you know. It is not worth marrying for that, is +it?"</p> +<p>"No," answered Marcos, to whom the question had been +addressed.</p> +<p>"She may get tired of drums, you know. Just as we get tired +saying our prayers at school. I am sure she ought to reflect +before she marries a soldier. I wouldn't if I were she. Oh! but I +forgot...."</p> +<p>She paused and turning to Marcos she gripped his arm with a +confidential emphasis. "Do you know, Marcos, I keep on forgetting +that we are married. You don't mind, do you? I am not a bit +sorry, you know. I am so glad, because it gets me away from +school. And I hate school. And there was always the dread that +they would make me a nun despite us all. You don't know what it +is to feel helpless and to have a dread; to wake up with it at +night and wish you were dead and all the bother was over."</p> +<p>"It is all over now, without being dead," Marcos assured her, +with his slow smile.</p> +<p>"Quite sure?"</p> +<p>"Quite sure," answered Marcos.</p> +<p>"And I shall never go back to school again. And they have no +power over me; neither Sor Teresa, nor Sor Dorothea, nor the dear +mother. We always call her the 'dear mother,' you know, because +we have to; but we hate her. But that is all over now, is it +not?"</p> +<p>"Yes," answered Marcos.</p> +<p>"Then I am glad I married you," said Juanita, with +conviction.</p> +<p>"And I need not be afraid of Señor Mon, with his gentle +smile?" asked Juanita, turning on Marcos with a sudden shrewd +gravity.</p> +<p>"No."</p> +<p>She gave a great sigh of relief and shook back her mantilla. +Then she laughed and turned to Sarrion.</p> +<p>"He always says 'yes' or 'no'--and only that," she remarked +confidentially to him. "But somehow it seems enough."</p> +<p>They had reached the corner of the street now, and the +carriage was approaching them. It was one of the heavy carriages +used only on state occasions which had stood idle for many years +in the stables of the Palacio Sarrion. The horses were from Torre +Garda and the men in their quiet liveries greeted her with +country frankness.</p> +<p>"It is one of the grand carriages," said Juanita.</p> +<p>"Yes."</p> +<p>"Why?" she asked.</p> +<p>"To take you home," replied Sarrion.</p> +<p>Juanita got into the carriage and sat down in silence. The man +who closed the door touched his hat, not to the Sarrions but to +her; and she returned the salutation with a friendly smile.</p> +<p>"Where are we going?" she asked after a pause.</p> +<p>"To the Casa Sarrion," was the reply.</p> +<p>"Is it open, after all these years?"</p> +<p>"Yes," answered Sarrion.</p> +<p>"But why?"</p> +<p>"For you," answered Sarrion.</p> +<p>Juanita turned and looked out of the window, with bright and +thoughtful eyes. She asked no more questions and they drove to +the Palacio Sarrion in silence.</p> +<p>There they found Cousin Peligros awaiting them.</p> +<p>Cousin Peligros was a Sarrion and seemed in some indefinite +way to consider that in so being and so existing she placed the +world under an obligation. That she considered the world bound, +in return for the honour she conferred upon it, to support her in +comfort and deference was a patent fact hardly worth putting into +words.</p> +<p>"The old families," she was in the habit of saying with a +sigh, "are dying out."</p> +<p>At the same time she made a little gesture with outspread +palms, and folded her white hands complacently on her lap as if +to indicate that society was not left comfortless--that she was +still there. From her inferiors she looked for the utmost +deference. Her white hands had never done an hour's work. She was +ignorant and idle; but she was a lady and a Sarrion.</p> +<p>Cousin Peligros lived in a little apartment in Madrid, which +she fondly imagined to be the hub of the social universe.</p> +<p>"They all come," she said, "to consult the Senorita de Sarrion +upon points of etiquette."</p> +<p>And she patted the air condescendingly with her left hand. +There are some people who seem to be created by a far-seeing +Providence as a solemn warning.</p> +<p>"Cousin Peligros," said Juanita one day, after listening +respectfully to a lecture on the care of the hands, "lives in a +little field of her own."</p> +<p>"Like a scarecrow," added Marcos, the taciturn.</p> +<p>And this was the lady who awaited them at the Palacio Sarrion. +She had been summoned from Madrid by Sarrion, who paid the +expenses of the journey; no small item, by the way. For Cousin +Peligros, like many people who live at the expense of others, +sought to mitigate the bitterness of the bread of charity by +spreading it very thickly with other people's butter.</p> +<p>She did not come down to the door to meet them when the +carriage clattered over the cobble-stones of the echoing +patio.</p> +<p>Such a proceeding might have lowered her dignity in the eyes +of the servants, who, to do them justice, saw right through +Cousin Peligros into the vacuum that lay behind her. She sat in +state in the great drawing-room with her hands folded on her lap +and placidly arranged her proposed mode of greeting the +newcomers. She had been informed that Sarrion had found it +necessary to take +Juanita de Mogente away from the convent school and to assume +the cares of that guardianship which had always been an +understood obligation mutually binding between himself and +Francisco de Mogente.</p> +<p>Cousin Peligros was therefore keenly alive to the fact, that +Juanita required at this critical moment of her life a good and +abiding example. Hers also was the blessed knowledge that no one +in all Spain was better fitted to offer such an example than the +Señorita Peligros de Sarrion.</p> +<p>She therefore sat in her best black silk dress in an attitude +subtly combining, with a kind tolerance for all who were so +unfortunate as not to be Sarrions, a complacent determination to +do her duty.</p> +<p>It is to be regretted that she was for a time left sitting +thus, for Perro was in the hall, and his greeting of Juanita had +to be acknowledged with several violent hugs, which resulted in +Juanita's mantilla getting mixed up with Perro's collar. Then +there were the pictures and the armour to be inspected on the +stairs. For Juanita had never seen the palace with its shutters +open.</p> +<p>"Are they all Sarrions?" she exclaimed. "Oh mi alma! What a +fierce company. That old gentleman with a spike on top of his hat +is a crusader I suppose. And there is a helmet hanging on the +wall beneath the portrait, with a great dent in it. But I expect +he hit him back again. Don't you think so, Uncle Ramon, if he was +a Sarrion?"</p> +<p>"I dare say he did," answered the Count.</p> +<p>"I wish I was a Sarrion," said Juanita, looking up at the +armour with a light in her eyes.</p> +<p>"You are one," replied Sarrion, gravely.</p> +<p>She stopped and glanced back over her shoulder at him. Marcos +was some way behind, and took no part in the conversation.</p> +<p>"So I am," she said. "I forgot."</p> +<p>And with a little sigh, as of a realised responsibility, she +continued her way up the wide stairs. The sight of Cousin +Peligros, upright on a chair, dispelled Juanita's momentary +gravity, however.</p> +<p>"Oh, Cousin Peligros," she cried, running to her and taking +both her hands. "Just think! I have left school. No more +punishments--no more grammar--no more arithmetic!"</p> +<p>Cousin Peligros had risen and endeavoured to maintain that +dignity which she felt to be so beneficial an example to the +world. But Juanita emphasised each item of her late education +with a jerk which gradually deranged Cousin Peligros' prim +mantilla. Then she danced her round an impalpable mulberry bush +until the poor lady was breathless.</p> +<p>"No more Primes at six o'clock in the morning," concluded +Juanita, suddenly allowing Cousin Peligros to sit again. "Do you +ever go to Primes at six o'clock in the morning, Cousin +Peligros?"</p> +<p>"No," was the grave answer. "Such things are not expected of +ladies."</p> +<p>"How thoughtful of Heaven!" exclaimed Juanita, with a light +laugh. "Then I do not mind being grownup--and putting up my +hair--if you will lend me two hairpins."</p> +<p>She fell on Cousin Peligros' mantilla and extracted two +hairpins from it despite the resistance of the soft white hands. +Then she twisted up the heavy plait that hung to her waist, threw +back her mantilla and stood laughing before the old lady.</p> +<p>"There--I am grown-up! I am more grown-up than you, you know; +for I am ..."</p> +<p>She broke off, and turning to Sarrion, asked,</p> +<p>"Does she know ... does she know the joke?"</p> +<p>"No," said Sarrion.</p> +<p>"We are married," she said, standing squarely in front of +Cousin Peligros.</p> +<p>"Married ..." echoed the disciple of etiquette, faintly. +"Married--to whom?"</p> +<p>"Marcos and I."</p> +<p>But Cousin Peligros only gasped and covered her face with her +hands.</p> +<p>Marcos came into the room at this moment and scarcely looked +at Cousin Peligros. Those white hands played so large a part in +her small daily life that they were always in evidence, and it +did not seem out of place that they should cover her foolish +face.</p> +<p>"I found all your clothes ready packed at the school," he +said, addressing Juanita. "Sor Teresa brought them with her from +Pampeluna. You will find them in your room."</p> +<p>"Oh ..." groaned Cousin Peligros.</p> +<p>"What is it?" inquired Marcos practically. "What is the matter +with her?"</p> +<p>"She has just been told that we are married," explained +Juanita, airily. "And I think you shocked her by mentioning my +clothes. You shouldn't do it, Marcos."</p> +<p>And she went and stood by Cousin Peligros with her hand upon +her shoulder as if to protect her. She shook her head gravely at +Marcos.</p> +<p>Cousin Peligros rose rigidly and walked towards the door.</p> +<p>"I will go," she said. "I will see that your room is in order. +I have never before been made an object of ridicule in a +gentleman's house."</p> +<p>"But we may surely laugh and be happy in a gentleman's house, +may we not?" cried Juanita, running after her, and throwing one +arm round her rather unbending and capacious waist. "You are an +old dear, and you must not be so solemn about it. Marcos and I +are only married for fun, you know."</p> +<p>And the door closed behind them, shutting off Juanita's +voluble explanations.</p> +<p>"You see," said Sarrion, after a pause. "She is happy +enough."</p> +<p>"Now," answered Marcos. "But she may find out some day that +she is not."</p> +<p>Juanita came back before long and found Sarrion alone.</p> +<p>"Where is Marcos?" she asked.</p> +<p>"He is taking a siesta," answered Sarrion.</p> +<p>"Like a poor man."</p> +<p>"Yes, like a poor man. He was not in bed all last night. You +had a narrower escape of being made a nun than you suspect."</p> +<p>Juanita's face fell. She went to the window and stood there +looking out.</p> +<p>"When are we going to Torre Garda?" she asked, after a long +silence. "I hate towns ... and people. I want to smell the pines +... and the bracken."</p> +<h1><a name="chap20"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XX</a></h1> +<h2><br> +AT TORRE GARDA</h2> +<p>Tne river known as the Wolf finds its source in the eternal +snows of the Pyrenees. Amid the solitary grandeur of the least +known mountains in Europe it rolls and tumbles--tossed hither and +thither in its rocky bed, fed by this and that streamlet from +stony gorges--down to the green valley of Torre Garda.</p> +<p>Here there is a village crouched on either side of the +river-bed, and above it on a plateau surrounded by chestnut trees +and pines, stands the house of the Sarrions. In winter the +wholesome smell of wood smoke rising from the chimneys pervades +the air. In summer the warm breath of the pines creeps down the +mountains to mingle with the cooler air that stirs the +bracken.</p> +<p>Below all, summer and winter, at evening and at dawn, night +and day, growls the Wolf--so named from the continuous +low-pitched murmur of its waters through the defile a mile below +the village. The men of the valley of the Wolf have a hundred +tales of their river in its different moods, and firmly believe +that the voice which is ever in their ears speaks to such as have +understanding, of every change in the weather. The old women have +no doubt that it speaks also of those things that must affect the +prince and the peasant alike; of good and ill fortune; of life +and of death; of hope and its slow, slow dying in the heart. +Certain it is that the river had its humours not to be accounted +for by outward things--seeming to be gay without reason, like any +human heart, in dull weather, and murmuring dismally when the sun +shone and the birds were singing in the trees.</p> +<p>In clearest summer weather, the water would sometimes run +thick and yellow for days, the result of some landslip where the +snow and ice were melting. Sometimes the Wolf would hurl down a +mass of debris--a forest torn from the mountainside by avalanche, +the dead bodies of a few stray sheep, or a fox or a wolf or the +dun corpse of a mountain bear. Many in the valley had seen tables +and chairs and the roof, perhaps, of a house caught in the +timbers of the old bridge below the village. And the river, of +course, had exacted its toll from more than one family. It was +jocularly said at the Venta that the Wolf was Royalist; for in +the first Carlist war it had fought for Queen Christina, doing to +death a whole company of insurgents at that which is known as the +False Ford, where it would seem that a child could pass while in +reality no horseman might hope to get through.</p> +<p>The house of Torre Garda was not itself ancient though it +undoubtedly stood on the site of some mediaeval watch-tower. It +had been built in the days of Ferdinand VII at the period when +French architecture was running rife over the world, and had the +appearance of a Gascon chateau. It was a long low house of two +stories. Every room on the ground floor opened with long French +windows to a terrace built to the edge of the plateau, where a +fountain splashed its clear spring water into a stone basin, +where gray stone urns stood on lichen-covered pillars amid +flower-beds.</p> +<p>Every room on the first floor had windows opening on a wide +balcony which ran the length of the house and was protected from +the rain and midday sun by the far-stretching eaves of the roof. +The house was of gray stone, roofed with slabs of the same, such +as peel off the slopes of the Pyrenees and slide one over the +other to the valleys below. The pointed turrets at each corner +were roofed with the small green tiles that the Moors loved. The +winds and the snow and the rain had toned all Torre Garda down to +a cool gray-green against which the four cypress trees on the +terrace stood rigid like sentinels keeping eternal guard over the +valley.</p> +<p>Above the house rose a pine-slope where the snow lingered late +into the summer. Above this again were rocks and broken +declivities of sliding stones; and, crowning all, the everlasting +snow.</p> +<p>From the terrace of Torre Garda a strong voice could make +itself heard in the valley where tobacco grew and ripened, or on +the height where no vegetation lived at all. The house seemed to +hang between sky and earth, and the air that moved the cypress +trees was cool and thin--a very breath of heaven to make thinkers +wonder why any who can help it should choose to live in +towns.</p> +<p>The green shutters had been closed across the windows for +nearly three months, when on one spring morning the villagers +looked up to see the house astir and the windows opened wide.</p> +<p>There had been much to detain the Sarrions at Saragossa and +Juanita had to wait for the gratification of her desire to smell +the pines and the bracken again.</p> +<p>It seemed that it was no one's business to question the +validity of the strange marriage in the chapel of Our Lady of the +Shadows. Evasio Mon who was supposed to know more about it than +any other, only smiled and said nothing. Leon de Mogente was +absorbed in his own peculiar selfishness which was not of this +world but the next. He fell into the mistake common to ecstatic +minds that thoughts of Heaven justify a deliberate neglect of +obvious duties on earth.</p> +<p>"Leon," said Juanita gaily to Cousin Peligros, "will assuredly +be a saint some day: he has so little sense of humour."</p> +<p>For Leon it seemed could not be brought to understand +Juanita's sunny view of life.</p> +<p>"You may look solemn and talk of great mistakes as much as you +like," she said to her brother. "But I know I was never meant for +a nun. It will all come right in the end. Uncle Ramon says so. I +don't know what he means. But he says it will all come right in +the end."</p> +<p>And she shook her head with that wisdom of the world which is +given to women only; which may live in the same heart as +ignorance and innocence and yet be superior to all the knowledge +that all the sages have ever put in books.</p> +<p>There were lawyers to be consulted and moreover paid, and +Juanita gaily splashed down her name in a bold schoolgirl hand on +countless documents.</p> +<p>There is a Spanish proverb warning the unwary never to drink +water in the dark or sign a paper unread. And Marcos made Juanita +read everything she signed. She was quick enough, and only +laughed when he protested that she had not taken in the full +meaning of the document.</p> +<p>"I understand it quite enough," she answered. "It is not worth +troubling about. It is only money. You men think of nothing else. +I do not want to understand it any better."</p> +<p>"Not now; but some day you will."</p> +<p>Juanita looked at him, pen in hand, momentarily grave.</p> +<p>"You are always thinking of what I shall do ... some day," she +said.</p> +<p>And Marcos did not deny it.</p> +<p>"You seem to hedge me around with precautions against that +time," she continued, thoughtfully, and looked at him with bright +and searching eyes.</p> +<p>At length all the formalities were over, and they were free to +go to Torre Garda. Events were moving rapidly in Spain at this +time, and the small wonder of Juanita's marriage was already a +thing half forgotten. Had it not been for her great wealth the +whole matter would have passed unnoticed; for wealth is still a +burden upon its owners, and there are many who must perforce go +away sorrowful on account of their great possessions. Half the +world guessed, however, at the truth, and every man judged the +Sarrions from his own political standpoint, praising or blaming +according to preconceived convictions. But there were some in +high places who knew that a great danger had been averted.</p> +<p>Cousin Peligros had consented to Sarrion's proposal that she +should for a time make her home with him, either at Torre Garda +or at Saragossa. She had lived in troublous times, but was +convinced that the Carlists, like Heaven, made special provision +for ladies.</p> +<p>"No one," said she, "will molest me," and she folded her hands +in complacent serenity on her lap.</p> +<p>She had a profound distrust of railways, in which common mode +of conveyance she suspected a democratic spirit, though to this +day the Spanish ticket collector presents himself, hat in hand, +at the door of a first-class carriage, and the time-table finds +itself subservient to the convenience of any Excellency who may +not have finished his coffee in the refreshment-room.</p> +<p>Cousin Peligros was therefore glad enough to quit the train at +Pampeluna, where the carriage from Torre Garda awaited them. +There were saddle horses for Sarrion and Marcos, and a handful of +troops were waiting in the shadow of the trees outside of the +station yard. An officer rode forward and paid his respects to +Juanita.</p> +<p>"You do not recognise me, Senorita," he said. "You remember +the chapel of Our Lady of the Shadows?"</p> +<p>"Yes. I remember," she answered, shaking hands. "We caught you +saying your prayers when we arrived."</p> +<p>He blushed as he laughed; for he was a simple man leading a +hard and lonely life.</p> +<p>"Yes, Senorita; why not?"</p> +<p>"I have no doubt," said Juanita, looking at him shrewdly, +"that the saints heard you."</p> +<p>"Marcos," he explained, "wrote to ask me for a few men to take +your carriage through the danger zone. So I took the liberty of +riding with them myself. I am the watch-dog, Señorita, at +the gate of your valley. You are safe enough once you are within +the valley of the Wolf."</p> +<p>They talked together until Sarrion rode forward to announce +that all were ready to depart, while Cousin Peligros sat with +pinched lips and disapproving face. She took an early opportunity +of mentioning that ladies should not talk to gentlemen with such +familiarity and freedom; that, above all, a smile was sufficient +acknowledgment for any jest except those made by the very aged, +when to laugh was a sign of respect. For Cousin Peligros had been +brought up in a school of manners now fortunately extinct.</p> +<p>"He is Marcos' friend," explained Juanita. "Besides, he is a +nice person. I know a nice person when I see one," she concluded, +with a friendly nod towards the watch-dog of the valley of the +Wolf, who was talking in the shade of the trees with Marcos.</p> +<p>The men rode together in advance of the carriages and the +luggage carts. The journey was uneventful, and the sun was +setting in a cloudless west when the mouth of the valley was +reached. It was Cousin Peligros' happy lot to consider herself +the centre of any party and the pivot upon which social events +must turn. She bowed graciously to Captain Zeneta when he came +forward to take his leave.</p> +<p>"It was most considerate of Marcos," she said to Juanita in +his hearing, "to provide this escort. He no doubt divined that, +accustomed as I am to living in Madrid, I might have been nervous +in these remote places."</p> +<p>Juanita was tired. They were near their journey's end. She did +not take the trouble to explain the situation to Cousin Peligros. +There are some fools whom the world allows to continue in their +folly because it is less trouble. Marcos and Sarrion were riding +together now in silence. From time to time a peasant waiting at +the roadside came forward to exchange a few words with one or the +other. The road ascended sharply now, and the pace was slow. The +regular tramp of the horses, the quiet evening hour, the fatigue +of the journey were conducive to contemplation and silence.</p> +<p>When Marcos helped Cousin Peligros and Juanita to descend from +the high-swung traveling carriage, Juanita was too tired to +notice one or two innovations. When, as a schoolgirl, she had +spent her holidays at Torre Garde no change had been made in the +simple household. But now Marcos had sent from Saragossa such +modern furniture as women need to-day. There were new chairs on +the terrace. Her own bedroom at the western corner of the house, +next door to the huge room occupied by Sarrion, had been entirely +refurnished and newly decorated.</p> +<p>"Oh, how pretty!" she exclaimed, and Marcos lingering in the +long passage perhaps heard the remark.</p> +<p>Later, when they were all in the drawing-room awaiting dinner, +Juanita clasped Sarrion's arm with her wonted little gesture of +affection.</p> +<p>"You are an old dear," she said to him, "to have my room done +up so beautifully, so clean, and white, and simple--just as you +know I should like it. Oh, you need not smile so grimly. You know +it was just what I should like--did he not, Marcos?"</p> +<p>"Yes," answered Marcos.</p> +<p>"And it is the only room in the house that has been done. I +looked into the others to see--into your great barrack, and into +Marcos' room at the end of the balcony. I have guessed why Marcos +has that room ..."</p> +<p>"Why?" he asked.</p> +<p>"So that you can see down the valley--so that Perro who sleeps +on the balcony outside the open window has merely to lift his +head to look right down to where the other watch-dogs are, ten +miles away."</p> +<p>After dinner, Juanita discovered that there was a new piano in +the drawing-room, in addition to a number of those easier chairs +which our grandmothers never knew. Cousin Peligros protested that +they were unnecessary and even conducive to sloth and indolence. +Still protesting, she took the most comfortable and sat with +folded hands listening to Juanita finding out the latest waltz, +with variations of her own, on the new piano.</p> +<p>Sarrion and Marcos were on the terrace smoking. The small new +moon was nearing the west. The night would be dark after its +setting. They were silent, listening to the voice of their +ancestral river as it growled, heavy with snow, through the +defile. Presently a servant brought coffee and told Marcos that a +messenger was waiting to deliver a note. After the manner of +Spain the messenger was invited to come and deliver his letter in +person. He was a traveling knife-grinder, he explained, and had +received the letter from a man on the road whose horse had gone +lame. One must be mutually helpful on the road.</p> +<p>The letter was from Zeneta at the end of the valley; written +hastily in pencil. The Carlists were in force between him and +Pampeluna; would Marcos ride down to the camp and hear +details?</p> +<p>Marcos rose at once and threw his cigarette away. He looked +towards the lighted windows of the drawing-room.</p> +<p>"No good saying anything about it," he said. "I shall be back +by breakfast time. They will probably not notice my absence."</p> +<p>He was gone--the sound of his horse's feet was drowned in the +voice of the river--before Juanita came out to the terrace, a +slim shadowy form in her white evening dress. She stood for a +minute or two in silence, until, her eyes becoming accustomed to +the darkness, she perceived Sarrion and an empty chair. Perro +usually walked gravely to her and stood in front of her awaiting +a jest whenever she came. She looked round. Perro was not +there.</p> +<p>"Where is Marcos?" she asked, taking the empty chair.</p> +<p>"He has been sent for to the valley. He has gone."</p> +<p>"Gone!" echoed Juanita, standing up again. She went to the +stone balustrade of the terrace and looked over into the +darkness.</p> +<p>"I heard him cross the bridge a few minutes ago," Sarrion said +quietly.</p> +<p>"He might have said good-bye."</p> +<p>Sarrion turned slowly in his chair and looked at her.</p> +<p>"He probably did not wish his comings and goings to be talked +of by Cousin Peligros," he suggested.</p> +<p>"Still, he might have said good-bye ... to me."</p> +<p>She turned again and leaning her arms on the gray stone she +stood in silence looking down into the valley.</p> +<h1><a name="chap21"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXI</a></h1> +<h2><br> +JUANITA GROWS UP</h2> +<p>Marcos' horse, the Moor, had performed the journey to +Pampeluna once in the last twelve hours. He was a strong horse +accustomed to long journeys. But Marcos chose another, an older +and staider animal of less value, better fitted for night +work.</p> +<p>He wished to do the journey quickly and return by +breakfast-time; he was not in a mood to spare his beast. Men who +live in stirring times and meet death face to face quite +familiarly from day to day, as Englishmen meet the rain, soon +acquire the philosophy which consists in taking the good things +the gods send them, unhesitatingly and thankfully.</p> +<p>Juanita was at Torre Garda at last--after months of patient +waiting and watching, after dangers foreseen and faced--that was +enough for Marcos de Sarrion.</p> +<p>He therefore pressed his horse. Although he was alert and +watchful because it was his habit to be so, he was less careful +perhaps than usual; he rode at a greater pace than was prudent on +such a road, by so dark a night.</p> +<p>The spring comes early on the Southern slope of the Pyrenees. +It was a warm night and there had been no rain for some days. The +dust lay thickly on the road, muffling the beat of the horse's +feet. The Wolf roared in its narrow bed. The road, only recently +made practicable for carriages at Sarrion's expense, was not a +safe one. It hung like a cornice on the left-hand bank of the +river and at certain corners the stones fell from the mountain +heights almost continuously. In other places the heavy stone +buttresses had been undermined by the action of the river. It was +a road that needed continuous watching and repair. But Marcos had +ridden over it a few hours earlier and there had been no change +of weather since.</p> +<p>He knew the weak places and passed them carefully. Three miles +below the village, the river passes through a gorge and the road +mounts to the lip of the overhanging cliffs. There is no danger +here; for there are no falling stones from above. It is to this +passage that the Wolf owes its name and in a narrow place +invisible from the road the water seems to growl after the manner +of a wild beast at meat.</p> +<p>Marcos' horse knew the road well enough, which, moreover, was +easy here. For it is cut from the rock on the left-hand side, +while its outer boundary is marked at intervals by white stones. +The horse was perhaps too cautious. By night a rider must leave +to his mount the decision as to what hills may be descended at a +trot. Marcos knew that the old horse beneath him invariably +decided to walk down the easiest declivity. At the summit of the +road the horse was trotting at a long, regular stride. On the +turn of the hill he proposed to stop, although he must have known +that the descent was easy. Marcos touched him with the spur and +he started forward. The next instant he fell so suddenly and +badly that his forehead scraped the road.</p> +<p>Marcos was thrown so hard and so far that he fell on his head +and shoulder three feet in front of the horse. It was the +narrowest place in the whole road, and the knowledge of this +flashed through Marcos' mind as he fell. He struck one of the +white stones that mark the boundary of the road, and heard his +collar-bone snap like a dry stick. Then he rolled over the edge +of the precipice into the blackness filled by the roar of the +river.</p> +<p>He still had one hand whole and ready, though the skin was +scraped from it, and the fingers of this hand were firmly twisted +into the bridle. He hung for a moment jerked hither and thither +by the efforts of the horse to pick himself up on the road above. +A stronger jerk lifted him to the edge of the road, and Marcos, +hanging there for an instant, found an insecure foothold for one +foot in the root of an overhanging bush. But the horse was nearer +to the edge now; he was half over and might fall at any +moment.</p> +<p>It flashed through Marcos' mind that he must live at all +costs. There was no one to care for Juanita in the troubled times +that were coming. Juanita was his only thought. And he fought for +his life with skill and that quickness of perception which is the +real secret of success in human affairs.</p> +<p>He jerked on the bridle with all the strength of his iron +muscle; jerked himself up on the road and the horse over into the +gorge. As the horse fell it lashed out wildly; its hind foot +touched the back of Marcos' head and seemed almost to break his +spine.</p> +<p>He rolled over on his side, choking. He did not lose +consciousness at once, but knew that oblivion was coming. Perro, +the dog, had been excitedly skirmishing round, keeping clear of +the horse's heels and doing little else. He now looked over after +the horse and Marcos saw his lean body outlined against the sky. +He had let the reins go and found that he was grasping a stone in +his bleeding fingers instead. He threw the stone at Perro and hit +him. The surprised yelp was the last sound he heard as the night +of unconsciousness closed over him.</p> +<p>Juanita had gone to bed very tired. She slept the profound +sleep of youth and physical fatigue for an hour. In the ordinary +way she would have slept thus all night. But at midnight she +found herself wide-awake again. The first fatigue of the body was +past, and the busy mind asserted its rights again. She was not +conscious of having anything to think about. But the moment she +was half awake the thoughts leapt into her mind and awoke her +completely.</p> +<p>She remembered again the startling silence of Torre Garda, +which was in some degree intensified by the low voice of the +river. She lifted her head to listen and caught her breath at the +instant realisation of the sound quite near at hand. It was the +patter of feet on the terrace below her window. Perro had +returned. Marcos must therefore be back again. She dropped her +head sleepily on the pillow, expecting to hear some sound in the +house indicative of Marcos' return, but not intending to lie +awake to listen for it.</p> +<p>She did not fall asleep again, however, and Perro continued to +patter about on the terrace below as if he were going from window +to window seeking an entrance. Juanita began to listen to his +movements, expecting him to whimper, and in a few moments he +fulfilled her anticipation by giving a little uneasy sound +between his teeth. In a moment Juanita was out of bed and at the +open window. Perro would awake Sarrion and Marcos, who must be +very tired. It was a woman's instinct. Juanita was growing +up.</p> +<p>Perro heard her, and in obedience to her whispered injunction +stood still, looking up at her and wagging his uncouth tail +slowly. But he gave forth the uneasy sound again between his +teeth.</p> +<p>Juanita went back into her room; found her slippers and +dressing-gown. But she did not light a candle. She had acquired a +certain familiarity with the night from Marcos, and it seemed +natural at Torre Garda to fall into the habits of those who lived +there. She went the whole length of the balcony to Marcos' room, +which was at the other end of the house, while Perro +conscientiously kept pace with her on the terrace below.</p> +<p>Marcos' window was shut, which meant that he was not there. +When he was at home his window stood open by night or day, winter +or summer.</p> +<p>Juanita returned to Sarrion's room, which was next to her own. +The window was ajar. The Spaniards have the habit of the open air +more than any other nation of Europe. She pushed the window +open.</p> +<p>"Uncle Ramon," she whispered. But Sarrion was asleep. She went +into the room, which was large and sparsely furnished, and, +finding the bed, shook him by the shoulder.</p> +<p>"Uncle Ramon," she said, "Perro has come back ... alone."</p> +<p>"That is nothing," he replied, reassuringly, at once. "Marcos, +no doubt, sent him home. Go back to bed."</p> +<p>She obeyed him, going slowly back to the open window. But she +paused there.</p> +<p>"Listen," she said, with an uneasy laugh. "He has something on +his mind. He is whimpering. That is why I woke you."</p> +<p>"He often whimpers when Marcos is away. Tell him to be quiet, +and then go back to bed," said Sarrion.</p> +<p>She obeyed him, setting the window and the jalousie ajar after +her as she had found them. But Sarrion did not go to sleep again. +He listened for some time. Perro was still pattering to and fro +on the terrace, giving from time to time his little plaint of +uneasiness between his closed teeth.</p> +<p>At length Sarrion rose and struck a light. It was one o'clock. +He dressed quickly and noiselessly and went down-stairs, candle +in hand. The stable at Torre Garda stands at the side of the +house, a few feet behind it against the hillside. In this remote +spot, with but one egress to the outer world, bolts and locks are +not considered a necessity of life. Sarrion opened the door of +the house where the grooms and their families lived, and went +in.</p> +<p>In a few moments he returned to the stable-yard, accompanied +by the man who had driven Juanita and Cousin Peligros from +Pampeluna a few hours earlier. Together they got out the same +carriage and a pair of horses. By the light of a stable lantern +they adjusted the harness. Then Sarrion returned to the house for +his cloak and hat. He brought with him Marcos' rifle which stood +in a rack in the hall and laid it on the seat of the carriage. +The man was already on the box, yawning audibly and without +restraint.</p> +<p>As Sarrion seated himself in the carriage he glanced upwards. +Juanita was standing on the balcony, at the corner by Marcos' +window, looking down at him, watching him silently. Perro was +already out of the gate in the darkness, leading the way.</p> +<p>They were not long absent. Perro was no genius, but what he +did know, he knew thoroughly, which for practical purposes is +almost as good. He led them to the spot little more than three +miles down the valley, where Marcos lay at the side of the road, +which is white and dusty. It was quite easy to perceive the dark +form lying there, and Perro's lean limbs shaking over it.</p> +<p>When the carriage returned Juanita was standing at the open +door. She had lighted the lamp in the hall and carried in her +hand a lantern which she must have found in the kitchen. But she +had awakened none of the servants, and was alone, still in her +dressing-gown, with her dark hair flying in the breeze.</p> +<p>She came forward to the carriage and held up the lantern.</p> +<p>"Is he dead?" she asked quietly.</p> +<p>Sarrion did not answer at once. He was sitting in one corner +of the carriage, with Marcos' head and shoulders resting on his +knees.</p> +<p>"I do not know how badly he is hurt," he answered at length. +"We called at the chemist's as we came through the village and +awoke him. He has been an army servant and is as good as a +doctor--"</p> +<p>"If the Señorita will hold the horses," interrupted the +coachman, pushing Juanita gently aside, "we will carry him +up-stairs."</p> +<p>And something in the man's manner made her think that Marcos +was dead. She was compelled to wait there at least ten minutes, +holding the horses. When at length he returned she did not wait +to ask questions, but left him and ran up-stairs.</p> +<p>In Marcos' room she found Sarrion lighting a lamp. Marcos had +been laid on the bed. She glanced at him, holding her lower lip +between her teeth. His face was covered with dust and blood. One +blood-stained hand lay across his chest, the other was stretched +by his side, unnaturally straight.</p> +<p>Sarrion looked up at her and was about to speak when she +forestalled him.</p> +<p>"It is no good telling me to go away," she said, "because I +won't."</p> +<p>Then she turned to get a sponge and water. Sarrion was already +busy at Marcos' collar, which he had unbuttoned. Suddenly he +changed his mind and turned away.</p> +<p>"Undo his collar," he said. "I will go down-stairs and get +some warm water."</p> +<h4><img alt="Illus0307 (285K)" src="Illus0307.JPG" height="776" +width="502"></h4> +<p>He took the candle and left Juanita alone with Marcos. She did +as she was told and bent over him. Her fingers had caught in a +string fastened round Marcos' neck. She brought the lamp nearer. +It was her own wedding ring, which she had returned to him after +so brief a use of it through the bars of the little window +looking on to the Calle de la Dormitaleria at Pampeluna.</p> +<p>She tried to undo the knot, but failed to do so. She turned +quickly, and took the scissors from the dressing-table and cut +the cord, which was a piece of old fishing-line, frayed and worn +by friction against the rocks of the river. Juanita hastily +thrust the cord into her pocket and drew the ring less quickly on +to that finger for which it had been destined.</p> +<p>When Sarrion returned to the room a minute later she was +carefully and slowly cutting the sleeve of the injured arm.</p> +<p>"Do you know, Uncle Ramon," she said cheerfully, "I am sure--I +am positively certain he will recover, poor old Marcos."</p> +<p>Sarrion glanced at her sharply, as if he had detected a new +note in her voice. And his eye fell on her left hand. He made no +answer.</p> +<h1><a name="chap22"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXII</a></h1> +<h2><br> +AN ACCIDENT</h2> +<p>Marcos recovered consciousness at daybreak. It was a sign of +his great strength and perfect health that he regained all his +faculties at once. He moved, opened his eyes, and was fully +conscious, like a child awakening from sleep. As soon as his eyes +were open they showed surprise; for Juanita was sitting beside +him, watching him.</p> +<p>"Ah!" she said, and rose at once to give him some medicine +that stood ready in a glass. She glanced at the clock as she did +so. The room had been rearranged. It was orderly and simple like +a hospital ward.</p> +<p>"Do not try to lift your head," she said. "I will do that for +you."</p> +<p>She did it with skill and laid him back again with a gay +laugh.</p> +<p>"There," she said. "There is one thing, and one only, that +they teach in covents."</p> +<p>As she spoke she turned to write on a sheet of paper the exact +hour and minute at which he recovered consciousness. For her +knowledge was fresh enough in her mind to be half mechanical in +its result.</p> +<p>"Will that drug make me sleep?" asked Marcos, alertly.</p> +<p>"Yes."</p> +<p>"How soon?"</p> +<p>"That depends upon how stale the little apothecary's +stock-in-trade may be," answered Juanita. "Probably a quarter of +an hour. He is a queer little man and unwashed. But he set your +collar-bone like an angel. You have to do nothing but keep quiet. +I fancy you will have to be content with a quiet seat in the +background for some weeks, amigo mio."</p> +<p>She busied herself as she spoke, with some duties of a +sick-nurse which had been postponed during his +unconsciousness.</p> +<p>"It is nearly six o'clock," she said, without appearing to +look in his direction. "So you need not try to peep round the +corner at the clock. Please do not manage things, Marcos. It is I +who am manager of this affair. You and Uncle Ramon think that I +am a child. I am not. I have grown up--in a night, like a +mushroom, and Uncle Ramon has been sent to bed."</p> +<p>She came and sat down at the bedside again.</p> +<p>"And Cousin Peligros has not been disturbed. She has not left +her room. She will tell us to-morrow morning that she scarcely +slept at all. A real lady never sleeps well, you know. She must +have heard us but she did not come out of her room. For which we +may thank the Saints. There are some people one would rather not +have in an emergency. In fact, when you come to think of it--how +many are there in the world whose presence would be of the +slightest use in a crisis--one or two at the most."</p> +<p>She held up her finger to emphasise the smallness of this +number, and withdrew it again, hastily. But she was not quick +enough, for Marcos had seen the ring and his eyes suddenly +brightened. She turned away towards the window, holding her lip +between her teeth, as if she had committed an indiscretion. She +had been talking against time slowly and continuously to prevent +his talking or thinking, to give the apothecary's soothing drug +time to take effect. For the little man of medicine had spoken +very clearly of concussion and its after-effects. He had posted +off to Pampeluna to fetch a doctor from there, leaving +instructions that should Marcos recover his reason he should not +be permitted to make use of it.</p> +<p>And here in a moment, was Marcos fully in possession of his +senses and making a use of them, which Juanita resented without +knowing why.</p> +<p>"I must see my father," he said, stirring the bedclothes, +"before I go to sleep again."</p> +<p>Juanita turned on her heel, but did not approach him or seek +to rearrange the sheets.</p> +<p>"Lie still," she said. "Why do you want to see him? Is it +about the war?"</p> +<p>"Yes."</p> +<p>Juanita reflected for a moment.</p> +<p>"Then you had better see him," she said conclusively. "I will +go and fetch him."</p> +<p>She went to the window and passed out on to the balcony. +Sarrion had, in obedience to her wishes, gone to his room. He was +now sitting on a long chair on the balcony, apparently watching +the dawn.</p> +<p>"Of what are you thinking as you sit there watching the new +light in the mountains?" she asked gaily.</p> +<p>He looked at her with a softness in the eyes which usually +expressed a tolerant cynicism.</p> +<p>"Of you," he answered. "I heard the murmur of your voices. You +need not tell me that he has recovered consciousness."</p> +<p>"He wants to see you," she said. "I think he was surprised not +to see you--to see only me--when he regained his senses."</p> +<p>There was the faintest suspicion of resentment in her +voice.</p> +<p>"But I thought that the apothecary said that he was to be kept +absolutely quiet," said Sarrion, rising.</p> +<p>"So he did. But he is only a man, you know, just like you and +Marcos--and he doesn't understand."</p> +<p>"Oh!" said Sarrion meekly, as he followed her. She led the way +into Marcos' room. She was as fresh and rosy as the morning +itself, with the delicate pink and white of the convent still in +her cheeks. It was on Sarrion's face that the night's work had +left its mark.</p> +<p>"Here he is," she said. "He was not asleep. Is it a secret? I +suppose it is--you have so many, you two."</p> +<p>She laughed, and looked from one to the other. But neither +answered her.</p> +<p>"Shall I go away, Marcos?" she asked abruptly, turning towards +the bed, as if she knew at all events that from him she would get +a plain answer. And it came, uncompromisingly.</p> +<p>"Yes," he said.</p> +<p>She went to the door with a curt laugh and closed it behind +her, with decision. Sarrion looked after her with a sudden frown. +He looked for an instant as if he were about to suggest that +Marcos might have made a different reply, and then decided to +hold his peace. He was perhaps wise in his generation. Politeness +never yet won a woman's love.</p> +<p>Marcos had noted Juanita's lightness of heart. On recovering +his senses the first use he had made of them was to observe her +every glance and silence. There was no sign of present anxiety or +of great emotion. The incident of the ring had no other meaning +therefore, than a girlish love of novelty or a taste not hitherto +made manifest, for personal ornament. It might have deceived any +one less observant than Marcos; less in the habit of watching +Nature and dumb animals. He was patient, however, and industrious +in the collection of evidence against himself. And she had +startled him by saying that she was grown-up; though he perceived +soon after, that it was only a manner of speaking; for she was +still careless and happy, without a thought of the future, as +children are.</p> +<p>These things, however, he kept to himself. He had not sent for +his father to talk to him of Juanita. Men never discuss a woman +in whom they are really interested, though fools do.</p> +<p>"That horse didn't fall," said Marcos to his father. "He was +thrown. There was a wire across the road."</p> +<p>"There was none when I got there," replied Sarrion.</p> +<p>"Then it had been removed. I saw it as we fell. My foot caught +in it or I could have thrown myself clear in the usual way."</p> +<p>Sarrion reflected a moment.</p> +<p>"Let me look at the note that Zeneta wrote you," he said.</p> +<p>"You will find it in my pocket, hanging behind the door. I was +a fool. I was in too great a hurry. Now that I think of it, +Zeneta would not have written a note like that."</p> +<p>"Then he never wrote it at all," said Sarrion, who had found +the paper and was reading it near the window. The clear morning +light brought out the wrinkles and the crow's-feet with +inexorable distinctness on his keen narrow face.</p> +<p>"What does it mean?" he asked at length, folding the letter +and replacing it in the pocket from which he had taken it.</p> +<p>Marcos roused himself with an effort. He was sleepy.</p> +<p>"I think it means that Evasio Mon is about," he answered.</p> +<p>"No man in the valley would have done it," suggested +Sarrion.</p> +<p>"If any man in the valley had done it he would have put his +knife into me when I lay on the road, which would have been +murder."</p> +<p>He gave a short laugh and was silent.</p> +<p>"And the hand inside the velvet glove does not risk murder," +reflected Sarrion, "They have not given up the game yet. We must +be careful of ourselves."</p> +<p>"And of Juanita."</p> +<p>"I count her as one of ourselves," replied Sarrion quickly, +for he heard her voice in the passage. With a brief tap on the +door she came in. She was struggling with Perro.</p> +<p>"You have had long enough for your secrets," she said. "And +now Marcos must go to sleep. I have brought Perro to see him. He +is so uneasy in his canine mind."</p> +<p>Perro, low-born and eager, needed restraint to keep him from +the bed where his master lay, and Juanita continued to hold him +while she spoke.</p> +<p>"You must remember," she said, "that it is owing to Perro that +you are here at all. If he had not come back and awakened us all +you would have been on the road still."</p> +<p>Sarrion glanced sharply at her, his attention caught by her +version of that which had really happened. She did not want +Marcos to know that it was she who had heard Perro; she, who had +insisted that something had happened to Marcos.</p> +<p>"And some Jesuit coming along the road might have found you +there," she said, "and pushed you over. It would have been so +easy."</p> +<p>Marcos and Sarrion glanced at each other, and possibly Juanita +saw the glance as she held Perro back from his master.</p> +<p>"You do not know, Marcos, how they hate you. They could not +hate you more if you were a heretic. I have always known it, +because Father Muro was always trying to find things out about +you in confession. He asked questions about you--who your +confessor was; if you did a pilgrimage. I said--be quiet, +Perro!--I said you never did a pilgrimage, and you were always +changing your confessor because no holy father could stand the +strain for long."</p> +<p>She forcibly ejected Perro from the room, and came back +breathless and laughing. "She has not a care in the world," +thought Marcos, who knew well enough the danger that he had +passed through.</p> +<p>"But Father Muro is such an innocent old love," she went on, +"that he did it badly. He had been told to do it by the Jesuits +and he made a bungle of it. He thought that he could make a +schoolgirl answer a question if she did not want to. And no one +was afraid of him. He is a dear, good, old saint, and will +assuredly go to Heaven. He is not a Jesuit, you know, but he is +afraid of them, as everybody else is, I think--" She paused and +closed the shutters to soften the growing day.</p> +<p>"Except Marcos," she threw back over her shoulder towards the +bed, with some far-off suggestion of anger still in her +voice.</p> +<p>"And now he must be allowed to sleep until the doctor comes +from Pampeluna," she concluded.</p> +<p>She left the room as she spoke to warn the servants, who were +already astir, to do their work as noiselessly as possible. When +she returned Marcos was asleep.</p> +<p>"The doctor cannot be here for another hour, at least," +whispered Sarrion, who was standing by the window watching +Marcos. "It is too far for a man of his age to ride, and he has +no carriage. There may be some delay in finding one to do so +great a distance at this time in the morning. You must take the +opportunity to get some sleep."</p> +<p>But Juanita only shook her head and laughed.</p> +<p>Sarrion did not persuade her, but turned to quit the room. His +hand was on the door when some one tapped on the other side of +it. It was Marcos' servant.</p> +<p>"The doctor, Excellency," he announced briefly.</p> +<p>In the passage stood a man of middle height, hard and wiry, +with those lines in his face that time neither obliterates nor +deepens; the parallels of hunger. He had been through the first +Carlist war nearly thirty years earlier. He had starved in +Pampeluna, the hungry, the impregnable.</p> +<p>Sarrion shook hands with him and passed into the room.</p> +<p>"Ah!" he said, in the quiet voice of one who is accustomed to +speak in the presence of sleep, when he saw Juanita, +"Ah--you!"</p> +<p>"Yes," said Juanita.</p> +<p>"So you are nursing your husband," he murmured abstractedly, +as he bent over the bed.</p> +<p>And Juanita made no answer.</p> +<p>"How long has he been asleep?" he asked, after a few moments, +and in reply received the written paper which he read quickly, +with a practised eye, and laid it aside.</p> +<p>"We must wait," he said, turning to Sarrion, "until he awakes. +But it is all right. I can see that while he sleeps. He is a +strong man; none stronger in all Navarre."</p> +<p>As he spoke, he was examining the bottles left by the village +apothecary, tasting one, smelling another. He nodded approval. In +medicine, as in war, one expert may know unerringly what another +will do. Then he looked round the room, which was orderly as a +hospital ward.</p> +<p>"One sees," he said, "that he has a nun to care for him."</p> +<p>He smiled faintly, so that his features fell into the lines +that hunger draws. But Juanita looked at him with grave eyes and +did not answer to his pleasantry.</p> +<p>Then he turned to Sarrion.</p> +<p>"It was only by the kindness of a mere acquaintance," he said, +"that I was enabled to get here so soon. My own horses were tired +out with a hard day yesterday, and I was going out to seek others +in Pampeluna--no easy task on market-day--when I met a travelling +carriage on the Plaza de la Constitution Its owner must have +divined my haste, for he offered assistance, and on hearing my +story, and whither I was bound, he gave up his intended journey, +decided to remain a few days longer in Pampeluna and placed his +carriage at my disposal. I hardly know the man at all--though he +tells me that he is an old friend of yours. He lives in +Saragossa."</p> +<p>"Ah!" said Sarrion, who was listening with rather marked +attention.</p> +<p>Juanita had moved away, but she was standing now, listening +also, looking back over her shoulder with waiting eyes.</p> +<p>"It was the Senior Evasio Mon," said the doctor. And in the +silence that followed, Marcos stirred in his sleep, as if he, +too, had heard the name.</p> +<h1><a name="chap23"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXIII</a></h1> +<h2><br> +KIND INQUIRIES</h2> +<p>For the next fortnight Juanita remained in supreme command at +Torre Garda, exercising that rule which she said she had acquired +at the convent school. It had, in reality, come to her straight +from Heaven, as it comes to all women. Is it not part of the +gentler soul to care for the helpless and the sick? Just as it is +in a man's heart to fight the world for a woman's sake.</p> +<p>Marcos made a quick recovery. His broken bones knit together +like the snapped branch of a young tree. His cuts and bruises +healed themselves unaided.</p> +<p>"He has no nerves," said Juanita. "You should see a nun when +she is ill! St. Luke and all the saints have their hands full, I +can tell you."</p> +<p>With returning health came energy. Indeed, the patient had +never lost his grip of the world. Many from the valley came to +make inquiry. Some left a message of condolence. Some departed +with a grunt, indicative of satisfaction. A few of the more +cultivated gave their names to the servant as they drank a glass +of red wine in the kitchen.</p> +<p>"Say it was Pedro from the mill."</p> +<p>"Tell him that Three Fingered Thomas passed by," muttered +another, grudgingly.</p> +<p>"It is I, so-called Short Knife, who came to ask," explained a +third, tapping the sheath of his baptismal weapon.</p> +<p>"How far have you come?" asked Juanita, who found these +gentlemen entertaining.</p> +<p>"Seventeen miles from the mountain," was the reply.</p> +<p>"All your friends are calling to inquire after your health," +said Juanita to Marcos. "They are famous brigands, and make one +think fondly of the Guardia Civile. There are not many razors in +the valley, and I am sure there is no soap."</p> +<p>"They are honest enough, though their appearance may be +disquieting."</p> +<p>"Oh! I am not afraid of them," answered Juanita, with a shrewd +and mystic smile. "It is Cousin Peligros who fears them. She +scolded me for speaking to one of them on the verandah. It +undermines the pedestal upon which a lady should always stand. Am +I on a pedestal, Marcos?"</p> +<p>She looked back at him over her shoulder, through the fold of +her mantilla. It was an opportunity, perhaps, which a skillful +lover would have seized. Marcos was silent for a moment. Then he +spoke in a repressed voice.</p> +<p>"If they come again," he said, "I should like to see +them."</p> +<p>But Juanita had already put into the apothecary's lips a +command that no visitors should be admitted.</p> +<p>She kept this up for some days, but was at length forced to +give way. Marcos was so obviously on the high road to recovery. +There was no suggestion of an after-effect of the slight +concussion of the brain which had rendered him insensible.</p> +<p>It was Short Knife who first gained admittance to the +sick-room. He was quite a simple person, smelling of sheep, and +endowed with a tact which is as common among the peasantry as +amid the great. There was no sign of embarrassment in his manner, +and he omitted to remove his beret from his close-cropped head +until he saw Juanita whom he saluted curtly, replacing his cap +with a calm unconsciousness before he nodded to Marcos.</p> +<p>"It was you I heard singing the Basque songs as I climbed the +hill," he said, addressing Juanita first with the instinct of a +gentleman. "You speak Basque?"</p> +<p>"I understand it, at all events, though I cannot speak it as +well as Marcos."</p> +<p>"Oh, he!" said the man, glancing towards the bed. "He is one +of us--one of us. Do you know the song that the women of the +valley sing to their babies? I cannot sing to you for I have no +voice except for the goats. They are not particular, the +goats--they like music. They stand round me and listen. But if +you are passing in the mountain my wife will sing it to you--she +knows it well. We have many round the table--God be thanked. It +makes them sleep when they are contrary. It tells how easy it is +to kill a Frenchman."</p> +<p>Then, having observed the conventionalities, he turned eagerly +to Marcos.</p> +<p>Juanita listened to them for a short time while they spoke +together in the Basque tongue. Then she went to the balcony and +stood there, leaning her arms on the iron rail, looking out over +the valley with thoughtful eyes. She had seen clearly a hundred +devices to relieve her of her watch at the bedside. Marcos made +excuses for her to absent herself. He found occupations for her +elsewhere. With his returning strength came anxiety that she +should lead her own life--apart from him.</p> +<p>"You need not try to get rid of me," she said to him one day. +"And I do not want to go for a walk with Cousin Peligros. She +thinks only of her shoes and her clothes while she walks. I would +go for a walk with Perro if I went with any one. He has a better +understanding of what God made the world for than Cousin +Peligros. But I am not going to walk with any one, thank +you."</p> +<p>Nevertheless she absented herself. And Marcos' attempts to +find diversions for her, ceased with a suspicious suddenness. She +fell into the habit of using the drawing-room which was +immediately beneath the sick-room, and spent much of her time at +the piano there.</p> +<p>"It keeps Marcos quiet," she explained airily to Sarrion, and +vouchsafed nothing further on the subject.</p> +<p>Chiefly because the music of Handel and Beethoven alone had +been encouraged by her professors, Juanita had learnt with some +enthusiasm the folk songs of the Basques, considered worthy only +of the attention of the people. She had a pretty voice, round and +young with strange low notes in it that seemed to belong not to +her but to some woman who had yet to live and suffer, or, +perhaps, be happy as some few are in this uneven world. She had +caught, moreover, the trick of slurring from one note to the +other, which must assuredly have been left in Spain by the Moors. +It comes from the Far East. It was probably characteristic of +those songs that they could not sing by the waters of Babylon, +when they hanged their harps upon a tree in the strange land. For +it gives to songs, sad or gay, the minor, low clear note of +exile. It rings out unexpectedly in strange places. The boatmen +of the Malabar Coast face the surf singing no other than the +refrain that the Basque women murmur over the cradle. "It keeps +Marcos quiet," said Juanita.</p> +<p>"I suppose," she suggested to Marcos one day when she returned +to his room and found him quiet, "that when you are well enough +to ride you will begin your journeys up and down the valley."</p> +<p>"Yes."</p> +<p>"And your endless watch over the Carlists?"</p> +<p>"They are making good use of their time, I hear," replied +Marcos, with the grave appreciation of a good fighter for a +worthy foe.</p> +<p>Juanita remembered this now as she stood on the balcony. For +he of the Short Knife and Marcos were talking politics--those +rough and ready politics of the valley of the Wolf, which dealt +but little in words and very considerably in deeds of a bloody +nature.</p> +<p>She could hear Marcos talking of the near future when he +should be in the saddle again. And her eyes grew gloomy and dark +with those velvet depths that lie in hazel eyes when they are +grave. Her kingdom was slipping away from her.</p> +<p>She was standing thus when the sound of a horse's feet caught +her attention. A horseman was coming up the slope from the +village to the castle of Torre Garda.</p> +<p>She looked at him with eyes that had been trained by Marcos in +the holiday times to see great distances in the mountains. Then +she turned and reentered the sick man's room.</p> +<p>"There is another visitor coming to make inquiry into your +welfare--it is Senor Mon."</p> +<p>And she looked for the gleam that immediately lighted Marcos' +dark eyes.</p> +<p>Sarrion was out. He had ridden to a distant hamlet earlier in +the day. The tidings of this journey might well have reached +Evasio Mon's ears. Cousin Peligros was taking the siesta by which +she sought to forestall a possible fatigue later in the day. +There are some people who seem to have the misfortune to be +absent on the rare occasions when they are wanted.</p> +<p>"He is not coming into this room," said Juanita, coolly. "I +will go down and see him."</p> +<p>Evasio Mon greeted her with a gay smile.</p> +<p>"I am so glad," he said, "to hear that all goes well with +Marcos. We heard of his accident at Pampeluna. I had a day of +leisure so I rode out to pay my respects."</p> +<p>He glanced at her, but did not specify whether he had come to +pay his respects to her as a bride or to Marcos as an +invalid.</p> +<p>"It is a long way to come for a mere politeness," replied +Juanita, who could meet smile with smile if need be. But the eyes +before which Evasio Mon turned aside were grave enough.</p> +<p>"It is not a mere politeness," he answered. "I have known +Marcos since he was a child; and have watched his progress in the +world--not always with a light heart."</p> +<p>"That is kind of you," replied Juanita. "But why watch him if +it gives you pain?"</p> +<p>Mon laughed. He was quick to see a joke and Juanita, he knew, +was a gay soul.</p> +<p>"One cannot help taking an interest in one's friends and is +naturally sorry to see them drifting..."</p> +<p>"Into what...?" asked Juanita turning to the table where a +servant had placed coffee for the visitor.</p> +<p>"Politics."</p> +<p>"Are politics a crime?"</p> +<p>"They lead to many--but do not let us talk of them--" he broke +off with a light gesture dismissing as it were an unpleasant +topic. "Since you are happy," he concluded, looking at her with +benevolent eyes.</p> +<p>He was a man of quick gesture and slow precise speech. He +always seemed to mean much more than was conveyed by the mere +words he enunciated. Juanita looked quickly at him. What did he +know of her happiness? Was she happy--when she came to think of +it? She remembered her gloomy thoughts of a few minutes earlier +on the balcony. When we are young we confound thoughts with +facts. When the heart is young it makes for itself a new heaven +and a new earth from a word, a glance, a silence. It is a +different earth from this one, but who can tell that it is not +the same heaven as that for which men look?</p> +<p>Marcos was talking politics in the room overhead, forgetting +her perhaps by now. Evasio Mon's suggestion had come at an +opportune moment.</p> +<p>"Leon is much exercised on your account," said Mon, quietly, +as if he had divined her thoughts. It was unlike Leon, perhaps, +to be exercised about anything but his own soul; for he was a +very devout man. But Juanita was not likely to pause and reflect +on that point.</p> +<p>"Why?" she asked.</p> +<p>"He naturally dislikes the idea of your being dragged into +politics," answered Mon, gently.</p> +<p>"I? Why should I be dragged into politics?"</p> +<p>Mon made a deprecatory gesture. It seemed that he found +himself drawn again to speak of a subject that was distasteful to +him. Then he shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>"Well," he said, half to himself, "we live in a practical age. +Let us be practical. But he would have preferred that you should +marry for love. Come, let us change the subject, my child. How is +Sarrion? In good health, I hope."</p> +<p>"It is very kind of Leon to exercise his mind on my account," +said Juanita steadily. "But I can manage my own affairs."</p> +<p>"Those are my own words," answered Mon soothingly. "I said to +him: 'Juanita is no longer a child; Marcos is honest, he will not +have deceived her; he must have told her that such a marriage is +a mere question of politics; that there is no thought of +love.'"</p> +<p>He glanced sharply at her. It was almost prophetic; for Marcos +had used the very words. It is not difficult to be prophetic if +one can sink self sufficiently to cloak one's thoughts with the +mind of another and thus divine the workings of his brain. +Juanita remembered that Marcos had told her that this was a +matter of politics. Mon was only guessing; but he guessed right. +The greatest men the world has produced only guessed after all; +but they did not guess wrong.</p> +<p>"Such a fortune as yours," he said, with an easy laugh, "would +make or mar any cause you see. Your fortune is perhaps your +misfortune--who knows?"</p> +<p>Juanita laughed also, as at a pleasant conceit. The wit that +had baffled Father Muro was ready for Evasio Mon. A woman will +take her stand before her own heart and defy the world. Juanita's +eyes flashed across the man's gentle face.</p> +<p>"But," she said, "if the fortune is my own; if I prefer that +Marcos should have it--to the church?"</p> +<p>Evasio Mon smiled gently.</p> +<p>"Of course," he murmured. "That is what I said to Leon, and to +Sor Teresa also, who naturally is troubled about you. Though +there are other alternatives. Neither Marcos nor the Church need +have it. You could have it yourself as your father, my old and +dear friend, intended it."</p> +<p>"How could I have it myself?" asked Juanita, whose curiosity +was aroused.</p> +<p>Mon shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>"The Pope could annul such a marriage as yours by a stroke of +the pen if he wished." He paused, looking at her beneath his +light lashes. "And I am told he does wish it. What the Pope +wishes--well, one must try to be a good Catholic if one can."</p> +<p>Juanita smiled. She did not perhaps consider herself called +upon to admit the infallibility of his Holiness in matters of the +heart. She knew better than the Pope. Mon saw that he had struck +a false note.</p> +<p>"I am a sentimentalist myself," he said, with a frank laugh. +"I should like every girl to marry for love. I should like love +to be treated as something sacred--not as a joke. But I am +getting to be an old man, Juanita. I am behind the times. Do I +hear Sarrion in the passage?"</p> +<p>He rose as he spoke and went towards the door. Sarrion came in +at that moment. The Spanish sense of hospitality is strongly +Arabic. Mon had ridden many miles. Sarrion greeted him almost +eagerly.</p> +<h1><a name="chap24"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXIV</a></h1> +<h2><br> +THE STORMY PETREL</h2> +<p>As Juanita quitted the room she heard Sarrion ask Evasio Mon +if he had lunched. And Mon admitted that he had as yet omitted +that meal. Juanita shrugged her shoulders. It is only in later +life that we come to realise the importance of meals. If Mon was +hungry he should have said so. She gave no further thought to +him. She hated him. She was glad to think that he should have +suffered, even if his pain was only hunger. What was hunger, she +asked herself, compared with a broken heart? One was a passing +pang that could be alleviated, could be confessed to the first +comer, while a broken heart must be hidden at any cost from all +the world.</p> +<p>She met Cousin Peligros coming towards the drawing-room in her +best black silk dress, and in what might have been called a +fluster of excitement at the thought of a visitor, if such a word +had been applicable to her placid life of self-deception. Juanita +made some small jest and laughed rather eagerly at it as she +passed the pattern lady on the stairs.</p> +<p>She was very calm and collected; being a determined person, as +many seemingly gay and light-hearted people are. She was going to +leave Torre Garda and Marcos, who had married her for her money. +It is characteristic of determined people that they are +restricted in their foresight. They look in front with eyes so +steady and concentrated that they perceive no side issues, but +only the one path that they intend to tread. Juanita was going +back to Pampeluna, to Sor Teresa at the convent school in the +Calle de la Dormitaleria. She recked nothing of the Carlists, of +the disturbed country through which she had to pass.</p> +<p>She had never lacked money, and had sufficient now for her +needs. The village of Torre Garda could assuredly provide a +carriage for the journey; or, at the worst, a cart. Anything +would be better than remaining in this house--even the hated +school in the Calle de la Dormitaleria. She had always known that +Sor Teresa was her friend, though the Sister Superior's manner of +indicating friendship had not been invariably comprehensible.</p> +<p>Juanita took a cloak and what money she could find. She was +not a very tidy person, and the money had to be collected from +odd trinket-boxes and discarded purses. Marcos was still talking +politics with his friend from the mountains when she passed +beneath his window. Sarrion and Evasio Mon had gone to the +dining-room, where, it was to be presumed, Cousin Peligros had +followed them. She professed a great admiration for Evasio Mon, +who was on familiar terms with people of the highest distinction. +An hour's start would be sufficient. In that time she could be +half-way to Pampeluna. Secrecy was of course out of the +question.</p> +<p>The drawing-room window was open. Juanita paused on the +threshold for a moment. Then she went into the room and scribbled +a hurried note--not innocent of blots--which she addressed to +Marcos. She left it on the writing-table and carrying her cloak +over her arm she hurried down a zigzag path concealed in a +thicket of scrub-oak to the village of Torre Garda.</p> +<p>Before reaching the village she overtook a traveling-carriage +going at a walking pace down the hill. The carriage, which was +old-fashioned in build, and set high upon its narrow wheels, was +empty.</p> +<p>"Where are you going?" asked Juanita, of the man who took off +his hat to her, almost as if he had expected her.</p> +<p>"I am returning to Pampeluna, empty, Excellency," he +answered. "I have brought the baggage of Señor Mon, who is +traveling over the mountains on horseback. I am hoping to get a +fare from Torre Garda back to Pampeluna, if I have the good +fortune."</p> +<p>The coincidence was rather startling. Juanita had always been +considered a lucky girl, however; one for whom the smaller +chances of daily existence were invariably kind. She accepted +this as another instance of the indulgence of fate in small +things. She was not particularly glad or surprised. A dull +indifference had come over her. The small things of daily life +had never engrossed her mind. She was quite indifferent to them +now. It was her intention to get to Pampeluna, through all +difficulties, and the incidents of the road occupied no place in +her thoughts. She was vaguely confident that no one could +absolutely stand in her way. Had not Evasio Mon said that the +Pope would willingly annul her marriage?</p> +<p>She was thinking these thoughts as she drove through the +little mountain village.</p> +<p>"What is that--it sounds like thunder or guns?" inquired +Evasio Mon, pausing in his late and simple luncheon in the +dining-room.</p> +<p>"A clerical ear like yours should not know the sound of guns," +replied Sarrion with a curt laugh. "It is not that, however. It +is a cart or a carriage crossing the bridge below the +village."</p> +<p>Mon nodded his head and continued to give his attention to his +plate.</p> +<p>"Juanita looks well--and happy," he said, after a pause.</p> +<p>Sarrion looked at him and made no reply. He was borrowing from +the absent Marcos a trick of silence which he knew to be +effective in a subtle war of words.</p> +<p>"Do you not think so?"</p> +<p>"I am sure of it, Evasio."</p> +<p>Sarrion was wondering why he had come to Torre Garda--this +stormy petrel of clerical politics--whose coming never boded +good. Mon was much too wise to be audacious for audacity's sake. +He was not a theatrical man, but one who had worked consistently +and steadily for a cause all through his life. He was too much in +earnest to consider effect or heed danger.</p> +<p>"I am not on the winning side, but I am sure that I am on the +right one," he had once said in public. And the speech went the +round of Spain.</p> +<p>After he had finished luncheon he spoke of taking his leave, +and asked if he might be allowed to congratulate Marcos on his +escape.</p> +<p>"It should be a warning to him," he went on, "not to ride at +night. To do so is to court mishap in these narrow mountain +roads."</p> +<p>"Yes," said Sarrion, slowly.</p> +<p>"Will his nurse allow me to see him?" asked the visitor.</p> +<p>"His nurse is Juanita. I will go and ask her," replied +Sarrion, looking round him quite openly to make sure that there +were no letters lying about on the tables of the terrace that Mon +might be tempted to read in his absence.</p> +<p>He hurried to Marcos' room. Marcos was out of bed. He was +dressing, with the help of his servant and the visitor from the +mountains. With a quick gesture, Marcos indicated the open +window, through which the sound of any exclamation might easily +reach the ear of Evasio Mon.</p> +<p>"Juanita has gone," he said, in French. "Read that note. It is +his doing, of course."</p> +<p>"I know now," wrote Juanita, "why you were afraid of my +growing up. But I am grown up--and I have found out why you +married me."</p> +<p>"I knew it would come sooner or later," said Marcos, who +winced as he drew his sleeve over his injured arm. He was very +quiet and collected, as people usually are in face of a long +anticipated danger which when it comes at last brings with it a +dull sense of relief.</p> +<p>Sarrion made no reply. Perhaps he, too, had anticipated this +moment. A girl is a closed book. Neither knew what might be +written in the hidden pages of Juanita's heart.</p> +<p>A crisis usually serves to accentuate the weakness or strength +of a man's character. Marcos was intensely practical at this +moment--more practical than ever. He had only one thought--the +thought that filled his life--which was Juanita's welfare. If he +could not make her happy he could, at all events, shield her from +harm. He could stand between her and the world.</p> +<p>"She can only have gone down the valley," he said, continuing +to speak in French, which was a second mother tongue to him. "She +must have gone to Sor Teresa. He has induced her to go by some +trick. He would not dare to send her anywhere else."</p> +<p>"I heard a carriage cross the bridge," replied Sarrion. "He +heard it also, and asked what it was. The next moment he spoke of +Juanita. The sound must have put the thought of Juanita into his +mind."</p> +<p>"Which means that he provided the carriage. He must have had +it waiting in the village. Whatever he may undertake is always +perfectly organised; we know that. How long ago was that?"</p> +<p>"An hour ago and more."</p> +<p>Marcos nodded and glanced at the clock.</p> +<p>"He will no doubt have made arrangements for her to get safely +through to Pampeluna."</p> +<p>"Then where are you going?" asked Sarrion, perceiving that +Marcos was slipping into his pocket the arm without which he +never traveled in the mountains.</p> +<p>"After her," was the reply.</p> +<p>"To bring her back?"</p> +<p>"No."</p> +<p>Marcos paused for a moment, looking from the window across the +valley to the pine-clad heights with thoughtful eyes. He held odd +views--now deemed chivalrous and old-fashioned--on the question +of a woman's liberty to seek her own happiness in her own way. +Such views are unnecessary to-day when woman is, so to speak, up +and fighting. They belong to the days of our grandmothers, who +had less knowledge and much more wisdom; for they knew that it is +always more profitable to receive a gift than demand a right. The +measure will be fuller.</p> +<p>"No. Not unless it is her own wish," he said.</p> +<p>Sarrion made no answer. In human difficulties there is usually +nothing to be said. There is nearly always one clear course to +steer and the deviations are only found by too much talk and too +much licence given to crooked minds. If happiness is not to be +found in the straight way nothing is gained by turning into +by-paths to seek it. A few find it and a great number are not +unhappy who have seen it down a side-path and have yet held their +course in the straight way.</p> +<p>"Will you keep him in the library--make the excuse that the +sun is too hot on the verandah--until I am gone?" said Marcos. "I +will follow and, at all events, see that she arrives safely at +Pampeluna."</p> +<p>Sarrion gave a curt laugh.</p> +<p>"We may be able," he said, "to turn to good account Evasio's +conviction that you are ill in bed, when in reality you are in +the saddle."</p> +<p>"He will soon find out."</p> +<p>"Of course--but in the meantime..."</p> +<p>"Yes," said Marcos with a slow smile ... "in the meantime." He +left the room as he spoke, but turned on the threshold to look +back over his shoulder. His eyes were alight with anger and the +smile had lapsed into a grin.</p> +<p>Sarrion went down to the verandah to entertain the unsought +guest.</p> +<p>"They have given us coffee," he said, "in the library. It is +too hot in the sun, although we are still in March! Will you +come?"</p> +<p>"And what has Juanita decreed?" asked Mon, when they were +seated and Sarrion had lighted his cigarette.</p> +<p>"The verdict has gone against you," replied Sarrion. "Juanita +has decreed most emphatically that you are not to be allowed to +see Marcos."</p> +<p>Mon laughed and spread out his hands with a characteristic +gesture of bland acceptance of the inevitable. The man, it +seemed, was a philosopher; a person, that is to say, who will +play to the end a game which he knows he cannot win.</p> +<p>"Aha!" he laughed. "So we arrive at the point where a woman +holds the casting vote. It is the point to which all men travel. +They have always held the casting vote--<i>ces dames</i>--and we +can only bow to the inevitable. And Juanita is grown up. One sees +it. She is beginning to record her vote."</p> +<p>"Yes," answered Sarrion with a narrow smile. "She is +beginning to record her vote."</p> +<p>With a Spanish formality of manner, Sarrion placed his horse +at the disposition of Evasio Mon, should the traveller feel +disposed to pass the night at Torre Garda. But Mon declined.</p> +<p>"I am a bird of passage," he explained. "I am due in Pampeluna +again to-night. I shall enjoy the ride down the valley now that +your hospitality has so well equipped me for the journey----"</p> +<p>He broke off and looked towards the open window, +listening.</p> +<p>Sarrion had also been listening. He had heard the thud of +Marcos' horse as it passed across the wooden bridge below the +village.</p> +<p>"Guns again?" he suggested, with a short laugh.</p> +<p>"I certainly heard something," Mon answered. And rising +briskly from his chair, he went to the window. Sarrion followed +him, and they stood side by side looking out over the valley. At +that moment that which was more of a vibration than a sound came +to their ears across the mountains--deep and foreboding.</p> +<p>"I thought I was right," said Mon, in little more than a +whisper. "The Carlists are abroad, my friend, and I, who am a man +of peace must get within the city walls."</p> +<p>With an easy laugh he said good-bye. In a few minutes he was +in the saddle riding leisurely down the valley of the Wolf after +Juanita--with Marcos de Sarrion in between them on the road.</p> +<h1><a name="chap25"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXV</a></h1> +<h2><br> +WAR'S ALARM</h2> +<p>Juanita's carriage emerged from the valley of the Wolf into +the plain at sunset. She could see that the driver paid but +little heed to his horses. His attention wandered constantly to +the mountains. For, instead of looking to the road in front, his +head was ever to the right, and his eyes searched the plain and +the bare brown hills.</p> +<p>At last he pulled up and, turning on his box, held up one +finger.</p> +<p>"Listen, Señorita," he said, and his dark eyes were +alight with excitement.</p> +<p>Juanita stood up and listened, looking westward as he did. The +sound was like the sound of thunder, but shorter and sharper.</p> +<p>"What is it?"</p> +<p>"The Carlists--the sons of dogs!" he answered, with a laugh, +and he shook his whip towards the mountains. "See," he said, +gathering up the reins again, "that dust on the road to the +west--that is the troops marching out from Pampeluna. We are in +it again--in it again!"</p> +<p>At the gate of the city there was a crowd of people. The +carriage had to stand aside against the trees to let pass the +guns which clattered down the slope. The men were laughing and +shouting to each other. The officers, erect on their horses, +seemed to think only of the safety of the guns as a woman +entering a ballroom reviews her jewelery with a quick +comprehensive glance.</p> +<p>At the guard-house, beneath the second gateway, there occurred +another delay. The driver was a Pampeluna man and well-known to +the sentries. But they did not recognise his passenger and sent +for the officer on duty.</p> +<p>"The Señorita Juanita de Mogente," he muttered, as he +came into the road--a stout and grizzled warrior smoking a +cigarette. "Ah, yes!" he said, with a grave bow at the carriage +door. "I remember you as a schoolgirl. I remember now. Forgive +the delay and pass in--Señora de Sarrion."</p> +<p>Juanita was ushered into the little bare waiting-room in the +convent school of the Sisters of the True Faith in the Calle de +la Dormitaleria. It is a small, square apartment at the end of a +long and dark passage. The day filters dimly into it through a +barred window no larger than a pocket-handkerchief. Juanita stood +on tiptoe and looked into a narrow alley. On the sill of this +window Marcos had stood to wrench apart the bars of the window +immediately overhead, through which he had lifted her one cold +night--years and years ago, it seemed.</p> +<p>Nothing had changed in this gloomy house.</p> +<p>"The dear Sister Superior is at prayer in the chapel," the +doorkeeper had whispered. The usual formula; for a nun must +always be given the benefit of the doubt. If she is alone in her +cell or in the chapel it is always piously assumed that she is at +prayer. Juanita smiled at the familiar words.</p> +<p>"Then I will wait," she said, "but not very long."</p> +<p>She gave the nun a familiar little nod of warning as if to +intimate that no tricks of the trade need be tried upon her.</p> +<p>She stood alone in the little gray, dim room now, and waited +with brooding eyes. Within, all was quiet with that air of +awesome mystery peculiar to the cloister, which so soon gives +place with increasing familiarity, to a sense of deadly monotony. +It is only from outside that the mystery of the cloister +continues to interest. Juanita knew every stone in this silent +house. Its daily round of artificial duties appeared small to her +eyes.</p> +<p>"They have nothing to do all day in a nunnery," she once said +to Marcos in jest. "So they rise up very early in the morning to +do it."</p> +<p>She had laughed on first seeing the mark of Marcos' heel on +the window-sill. She turned and looked at it again now--without +laughing. And she thought of Torre Garda with its keen air, cool +to the cheek like spring water; with the scent of the bracken +that she loved; with the tall, still pines, upright against the +sky, motionless, whispering with the wind.</p> +<p>She had always thought that the cloister represented safety +and peace in a world of strife. And now that she was back within +the walls she felt that it was better to be in the world, to take +part in the strife, if necessary; for Heaven had given her a +proud and a fierce heart. She would rather be miserable here all +her life than go back to Marcos, who had dared to marry her +without loving her.</p> +<p>The door of the waiting-room opened and Sor Teresa stood on +the threshold.</p> +<p>"I have come back," said Juanita. "I think I shall go into +religion. I have left Torre Garda."</p> +<p>She gave a short laugh and looked curiously at Sor +Teresa--impassive in her straight-hanging robes.</p> +<p>"So you have got me back," she said. "Back to the +convent."</p> +<p>"Not to this convent," replied Sor Teresa, quietly.</p> +<p>"But I have come back. I shall come back--the Mother +Superior..."</p> +<p>"The Mother Superior is in Saragossa. I am mistress here," +replied Sor Teresa, standing still and dark, like one of the +pines at Torre Garda. The Sarrion blood was rising to her pale +cheek. Her eyes glowed darkly beneath her overshadowing +head-dress. Command--that indefinable spirit which is vouchsafed +to gentle people, while rough and strong men miss it--was written +in every line of her face, every fold of her dress, in the quiet +of her small, white hands, resting motionless against her +skirt.</p> +<p>Juanita stood looking at her with flashing eyes, with her head +thrown back, with clenched hands,</p> +<p>"Then I will go somewhere else. But I do not understand you. +You always wanted me to go into religion."</p> +<p>Sor Teresa held up one hand and cut short her speech. For the +habit of obedience is so strong that clear-headed men will +deliberately go to their death rather than relinquish it. The +gesture was known to Juanita. It was dreaded in the school.</p> +<p>"Think--" said Sor Teresa. "Think before you say that."</p> +<p>"Well," argued Juanita, "if you did not urge me in words, you +used every means in your power to induce me to take the veil--to +make it impossible for me to do anything else."</p> +<p>"Think!" urged Sor Teresa. "Think again. Do not include me in +such generalities without thinking."</p> +<p>Juanita paused. She ran back in her mind over a hundred +incidents of school life, remembered, as such are, with +photographic accuracy.</p> +<p>"Well," she admitted at length. "You did your best to make me +hate it--at all events."</p> +<p>"Ah!" said Sor Teresa, with a slow smile.</p> +<p>"Then you did not want me to go into religion--" Juanita came +a step nearer and peered into Sor Teresa's face. She might as +well have sought an answer in a face of stone.</p> +<p>"Answer me," she said impatiently.</p> +<p>"All are not suited for the religious life," answered the +Sister Superior after the manner of her teaching. "I have known +many such, and I have seen much sorrow arising from a mistaken +sense of duty. I have heard of lives wrecked by it--I have known +of two."</p> +<p>Juanita who had moved away impatiently, now turned and looked +at Sor Teresa. The gloom of evening was gathering in the little +bare room. The stillness of the convent was oppressive.</p> +<p>"Were <i>you</i> suited to the religious life?" asked the girl +suddenly.</p> +<p>But Sor Teresa made no answer.</p> +<p>Juanita sat suddenly down. Her movements were quick and +impulsive still, as they had been when she was a schoolgirl. When +she had arrived at the convent she had felt hungry and tired. The +feelings came back to her with renewed intensity now. She was +sick at heart. The gray twilight within these walls was like the +gloom of a hopeless life.</p> +<p>"I wonder who the other was," she said, half to herself. For +the world was opening out before her like a great book hitherto +closed. The lives of men and women had gained depth and meaning +in a flash of thought.</p> +<p>She rose and impulsively kissed Sor Teresa.</p> +<p>"I used to be afraid of you," she said, with a laugh which +seemed to surprise her, as if the voice that had spoken was not +her own. Then she sat down again. It was almost dark in the room +now, and the window glimmered a forlorn gray.</p> +<p>"I am so hungry and tired," said Juanita in rather a faint +voice, "but I am glad I came. I could not stay in Torre Garda +another hour. Marcos married me for my money. The money was +wanted for political purposes. They could not get it without +me--so I was thrown in."</p> +<p>She dropped her two hands heavily on the table and looked up +as if expecting some exclamation of surprise or horror. But her +hearer made no sign.</p> +<p>"Did you know this?" she asked, in an altered voice after a +pause. "Are you in the plot, too, as well as Marcos and Uncle +Ramon? Have you been scheming all this time as well, that I +should marry Marcos?"</p> +<p>"Since you ask me," said Sor Teresa, slowly and coldly, "I +think you would be happier married to Marcos than in religion. It +is only my opinion, of course, and you must decide for yourself. +It is probably the opinion of others, however, as well. There are +plenty of girls who ..."</p> +<p>"Oh! are there?" cried Juanita, passionately. "Who--I should +like to know?"</p> +<p>"I am only speaking in generalities, my child."</p> +<p>Juanita looked at her suspiciously, her April eyes glittering +with a new light.</p> +<p>"I thought you meant Milagros. He once said that he thought +her pretty, and liked her hair. It is red, everybody knows that. +Besides, we are married."</p> +<p>She dropped her tired head upon her folded arms--a schoolgirl +attitude which returned naturally to her amid the old +surroundings.</p> +<p>"I don't care what becomes of me," she said wearily. "I don't +know what to do. It is very hard that papa should be dead and +Leon ... Leon such a preposterous stupid. You know he is."</p> +<p>Sor Teresa did not deny this sisterly truth; but stood +motionless, waiting for Juanita's decision.</p> +<p>"I am so hungry and tired," she said at length. "I suppose I +can have something to eat ... if I pay for it."</p> +<p>"Yes; you can have something to eat."</p> +<p>"And I may be allowed to stay here to-night, at all +events."</p> +<p>"No, you cannot do that," answered the Sister Superior.</p> +<p>Juanita looked up in surprise.</p> +<p>"Then what am I to do? Where am I to go?"</p> +<p>"Back to your husband," was the reply in the same gentle, +inexorable voice. "I will take you back to Marcos--that is all I +will do for you. I will take you myself."</p> +<p>Juanita laughed scornfully and shook her head. She had plenty +of that spirit which will fight to the end and overcome fatigue +and hunger.</p> +<p>"You may be mistress here," she said. "But I do not think you +can deny me a lodging. You cannot turn me out into the +street."</p> +<p>"Under exceptional circumstances I can do both."</p> +<p>"Ah!" muttered Juanita, incredulously.</p> +<p>"And those circumstances have arisen. There, you can satisfy +yourself."</p> +<p>She laid before Juanita, on the bare table, a paper which it +was not possible to read in the semi-darkness. She turned to the +mantelpiece, where two tall candles added to the sacerdotal +simplicity of the room. While the sulphur match burnt blue, +Juanita looked indifferently at the printed paper.</p> +<p>"It is a siege notice," said Sor Teresa, seeing that her +hearer refused to read. "It is signed by General Pacheco, who +arrived here with a large army to-day. It is expected that +Pampeluna may be besieged by to-morrow evening. The investment +may be a long one, which will mean starvation. Every householder +must make a return of those dwelling under his roof. He must +refuse domicile to any strangers; and I refuse to take you into +this house."</p> +<p>Juanita read the paper now by the light of the candles which +Sor Teresa set on the table. It was a curt, military document +without explanation or unnecessary mitigation of the truth. For +Pampeluna had seen the like before and understood this business +thoroughly.</p> +<p>"You can think about it," said Sor Teresa, folding the paper +and placing it in her pocket. "I will send you something to eat +and drink in this room."</p> +<p>She closed the door, leaving Juanita to realise the grim fact +that--shape our lives how we will, with all foresight--every +care--the history of the world or of a nation will suddenly break +into the story of the single life and march over it with a giant +stride.</p> +<p>Presently a lay-sister brought refreshments and set the tray +on the table without speaking. Juanita knew her well--and she, +doubtless, knew Juanita's story; for her pious face was drawn +into lines indicative of the deepest disapproval.</p> +<p>Juanita ate heartily enough, not noticing the cold simplicity +of the fare. She had finished before Sor Teresa returned and +without thinking of what she was doing, had rearranged the tray +after the manner of the refectory. She was standing by the window +which she had opened. The sounds of war came into the room with +startling distinctness. The boom of the distant guns disputing +the advance of the Carlists; while nearer, the bugles called the +men to arms and the heavy tramp of feet came and went in the +Calle de la Dormitaleria.</p> +<p>"Well," asked Sor Teresa. "What have you decided to do?"</p> +<p>Juanita listened to the alarm of war for a moment before +turning from the window.</p> +<p>"It is not a false alarm?" she inquired. "The Carlists are +really out?"</p> +<p>For she had fallen into the habit of the Northern Provinces, +of speaking of the insurrection as if it were a recurrent +flood.</p> +<p>"They have been preparing all the winter," answered Sor +Teresa.</p> +<p>"And Pampeluna is to be invested?"</p> +<p>"Yes."</p> +<p>"And Torre Garda?..."</p> +<p>"Torre Garda," answered the nun, "is to be taken this time. +The Carlists have decided to besiege it. It is at the mouth of +the valley that the fighting is taking place."</p> +<p>"Then I will go back to Torre Garda," said Juanita.</p> +<h1><a name="chap26"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXVI</a></h1> +<h2><br> +AT THE FORD</h2> +<p>"They will allow two nuns to pass anywhere," said Sor Teresa +with her chilling smile as she led the way to her own cell in the +corridor overhead. She provided Juanita with that dress which is +a passport through any quarter of a town, across any frontier; to +any battlefield. So Juanita took the veil at last--in order to +return to Marcos.</p> +<p>Sor Teresa's words proved true enough at the city gates where +the sentinels recognised her and allowed her carriage to pass +across the drawbridge by a careless nod of acquiescence to the +driver.</p> +<p>It was a clear dark night without a moon. The prevailing wind +which hurries down from the Pyrenees to the warmer plains of +Spain stirred the budding leaves of the trees that border the +road below the town walls.</p> +<p>"I suppose," said Sor Teresa suddenly, "that Evasio Mon was at +Torre Garda to-day."</p> +<p>"Yes."</p> +<p>"And you left him there when you came away."</p> +<p>"Yes."</p> +<p>"We shall meet him on the road," said Sor Teresa with a note +of anxiety in her voice. Presently she stood up in the carriage +which was an open one on high wheels and spoke to the driver in a +low voice into his ear. He was a stout and respectable man with a +good ecclesiastical clientèle in the pious capital of +Navarre. He had a confidential manner.</p> +<p>The distant firing had ceased now and a great stillness +reigned over the bare land. There are no trees here to harbour +birds or to rustle in the wind. The man, nursing his horses for +the long journey, drove at an easy pace. Juanita, usually voluble +enough, seemed to have nothing to say to Sor Teresa. The driver +could possibly overhear the conversation of his passengers. For +this, or for another reason, Sor Teresa was silent.</p> +<p>As they approached the hills, they found themselves in a more +broken country. They climbed and descended with a rather +irritating regularity. The spurs of the Pyrenees keep their form +right down to the plains and the road to Torre Garda passes over +them. Juanita leant sideways out of the carnage and stared +upwards into the pine trees.</p> +<p>"Do you see anything?" asked Sor Teresa.</p> +<p>"No--I can see nothing."</p> +<p>"There is a chapel up there, on the slope."</p> +<p>"Our Lady of the Shadows," answered Juanita and lapsed into +silence again. She knew now why the name had struck her with such +foreboding, when she had learnt it from the lips of the laughing +young captain of infantry.</p> +<p>It told of calamity--the greatest that can happen to a +woman--to be married without love.</p> +<p>The driver turned in his seat and tried to overhear. He seemed +uneasy and looked about him with quick turns of the head. At +last, when his horses were mounting a hill, he turned round.</p> +<p>"Did these sainted ladies hear anything?" he asked.</p> +<p>"No," answered Sor Teresa. "Why do you ask?"</p> +<p>"There has been a man on horseback on the road behind us," he +answered with assumed carelessness, "all the way from Pampeluna. +He has now taken a short cut and is in front on the road above +us; I can hear him; that is all."</p> +<p>And he gave a little cry to his horses; the signal for them to +trot. They were approaching the mouth of the Valley of the Wolf, +and could hear the sound of its wild waters in the darkness below +them. The valley opens out like a fan with either slope rising at +an easy angle to the pine woods. The road is a cornice cut on the +western bank upon which side it runs for ten miles until the +bridge below the village of Torre Garda leads it across the river +to the sunny slope where the village crouches below the ancient +castle from which the name is taken.</p> +<p>The horses were going at a walking pace now, and the driver to +show, perhaps, his nonchalance and fearlessness was humming a +song beneath his breath, when suddenly the hillside burst into +flame and a deafening roar of musketry stunned both horses and +driver. Juanita happened to be looking up at the hillside and she +saw the fire run along like a snake of flame in the grass. In a +moment the carriage had swung round and the horses were going at +a gallop down the hill again. The driver stood up. He had a rein +in either hand and he hauled the horses round each successive +corner with consummate skill. All the while he used language +which would have huddled Cousin Peligros shrieking in the bottom +of the carriage.</p> +<p>Juanita and Sor Teresa stood up and looked back. By the light +of the firing they saw a man lying low on his horse's neck +galloping headlong through the zone of death after them.</p> +<p>"Did you hear the bullets?" said Juanita breathlessly. "They +were like the wind through the telegraph-wires. Oh, I should like +to be a man; I should like to be a soldier!"</p> +<p>And she gave a low laugh of thrilling excitement.</p> +<p>The driver was now pulling up his horses. He too laughed +aloud.</p> +<p>"It is the troops," he cried. "They thought we were the +Carlists. But, who is this, Señoras? It is that man +again."</p> +<p>He leant back and hastily twisted one of the carriage-lamps +round in its socket so as to show a light behind him towards the +newcomer.</p> +<p>As the rider pulled up he came within the rays of the lamp +which was a powerful one; and at the sight of him Juanita gave a +sharp cry which neither she nor any that heard it forgot to the +end of their lives.</p> +<p>"It is Marcos," she cried, clutching Sor Teresa's arm. "And he +came through that--he came through that!"</p> +<p>"No one hurt?" asked Marcos' deep voice.</p> +<p>"No one hurt, Señor," answered the driver who had +recognised him.</p> +<p>"And the horses?"</p> +<p>"The horses are safe. A malediction upon them; they nearly had +us over the cliff. Those are the troops. They took us for +Carlists."</p> +<p>"No," said Marcos. "They are the Carlists. The troops have +been driven farther up the valley where they are entrenched. They +have sent to Pampeluna for help. This is a Carlist trap to catch +the reinforcements as they approach. They thought your carriage +was a gun."</p> +<p>The driver scratched his head and made known his views as to +the ancestory of the Carlists.</p> +<p>"There is no getting into the valley to-night," said Marcos to +Sor Teresa and Juanita. "You must return to Pampeluna."</p> +<p>"And what will you do?" asked Juanita in a hard voice.</p> +<p>"I will go on to Torre Garda on foot," answered Marcos +speaking in French so that the driver should not hear and +understand. "There is a way over the mountains which is known to +two or three only."</p> +<p>"Uncle Ramon is at Torre Garda?" asked Juanita in the same +curt, quick way.</p> +<p>"Yes."</p> +<p>"Then I will go with you," she said with her hand already on +the door.</p> +<p>"It is sixteen miles," said Marcos, "over the high mountains. +The last part can only be done by daylight. I shall be in the +mountains all night."</p> +<p>Juanita had opened the door. She stood on the step looking up +at him as he sat on the tall black horse,</p> +<p>"If you will take me," she said in French, "I will come with +you."</p> +<p>Sor Teresa was silent still. She had not spoken since Marcos +had pulled up his sweating horse in the lamplight. What a simple +world this would be if more of its women knew when to hold their +tongues!</p> +<p>Marcos, fresh from a bed of sickness was not fit to undertake +this journey. He must already be tired out; for she knew that it +was Marcos who had followed their carriage from Pampeluna. She +guessed that finding no troops where he expected to find them he +had ridden ahead to discover the cause of it and had passed +unheard through the Carlist ambush and back again through the +zone of fire. That Juanita could accomplish the journey on foot +to Torre Garda seemed doubtful. The country was unsafe; the snows +had hardly melted. It was madness for a wounded man and a girl to +attempt to reach Torre Garda through a pass held by the enemy. +But Sor Teresa said nothing.</p> +<p>Marcos sat motionless in the saddle. His face was above the +radius of the reversed carriage-lamp, while Juanita standing on +the dusty road in her nun's dress looking up at him, was close to +the glaring light. It is to be presumed that he was watching her +descend from the carriage and then turn to shut the door on Sor +Teresa. By his silence, Marcos seemed to consent to this +arrangement.</p> +<p>He came forward into the light now. In his hand he held a +paper which he was unfolding. Juanita recognised the letter she +had written to him in the drawing-room at Torre Garda. He tore +the blank sheet off and folding the letter closely, replaced it +in his pocket. Then he laid the blank sheet on the dusty +splash-board of the carriage and wrote a few words in pencil.</p> +<p>"You must get back to Pampeluna," he said to the driver in +that tone of command which is the only survival of feudal days +now left in Europe--and even the modern Spaniards are losing +it--"at any cost--you understand. If you meet the reinforcements +on the road give this note to the commanding officer. Take no +denial; give it into his own hand. If you meet no troops go +straight to the house of the commandant at Pampeluna and give the +letter to him. You will see that it is done," he said in a lower +voice, turning to Sor Teresa.</p> +<p>The man protested that nothing short of death would prevent +his carrying out the instructions.</p> +<p>"It will be worth your while," said Marcos. "It will be +remembered afterwards."</p> +<p>He paused deep in thought. There were a hundred things to be +considered at that moment; quickly and carefully. For he was +going into the Valley of the Wolf, cut off from all the world by +two armies watching each other with a deadly hatred.</p> +<p>The quiet voice of Sor Teresa broke the silence, softly taking +its place in his thoughts. It seemed that the Sarrion brain had +the power--the secret of so much success in this world--of +thrusting forth a sure and steady hand to grasp the heart of a +question and tear it from the tangle of side-issues among which +the majority of men and women are condemned to flounder.</p> +<p>"Where is Evasio Mon?" she asked.</p> +<p>Marcos answered with a low, contented laugh.</p> +<p>"He is trapped in the valley," he said in French. "I have seen +to that."</p> +<p>The firing had ceased as suddenly as it had commenced, and a +silence only broken by the voice of the river, now hung over the +valley.</p> +<p>"Are you ready?" Sor Teresa asked her driver.</p> +<p>"Yes, Excellency."</p> +<p>"Then go."</p> +<p>She may have nodded a farewell to Marcos and Juanita. But that +they could not see in the blackness of the night. She certainly +gave them no spoken salutation. The carriage moved away at a +sharp trot, leaving Marcos and Juanita alone.</p> +<p>"We can ride some distance and must ford the river higher up," +said Marcos at once. He did not seem to want any explanation. The +excitement of the moment seemed to have wiped out the events of +the last few months like writing off a slate. Juanita was young +again, ready to throw herself headlong into an adventure in the +mountains with Marcos such as they had had together many times +during the holidays. But this was better than the dangers of mere +snow and ice. For Juanita had tasted that highest of emotions, +the excitement of battle. She had heard that which some men +having once heard cannot live without, the siren song of a +bullet.</p> +<p>"Are we going nearer to the Carlists?" she asked hurriedly. +There was fighting blood in her veins, and the tones of her voice +told clearly enough that it was astir at this moment.</p> +<p>"Yes," answered Marcos. "We must pass underneath them; for the +ford is there. We must be quite noiseless. We must not even +whisper."</p> +<p>He edged his horse towards one of the rough stones laid on the +outer edge of the road to mark its limit at night.</p> +<p>"I can only give you one hand," he said. "Can you get up from +this stone?"</p> +<p>"Behind you?" asked Juanita; "as we used to ride when I +was--little?"</p> +<p>For Marcos had, like most Spaniards, grown from boyhood to +manhood in the saddle, and Juanita had no fear of horses. She +clambered to the broad back of the Moor and settled herself +there, sitting pillion fashion and holding herself in position +with both hands round Marcos.</p> +<p>"If he trots, I fall off," she said, with an eager laugh.</p> +<p>They soon quitted the road and began to descend the steep +slope towards the river by a narrow path only made visible by the +open space in the high brushwood. It was the way down to a ford +leading to a cottage by courtesy called a farm, though the +cultivated land was scarcely an acre in extent, reclaimed from +the river-bed.</p> +<p>The ground was soft and mossy and the roar of the river +covered the tread of the careful horse. In a few minutes they +reached the water's edge, and after a moment's hesitation the +Moor stepped boldly in. On the other bank Marcos whispered to +Juanita to drop to the ground.</p> +<p>"The cottage is here," he said. "I shall leave the horse in +their shed."</p> +<p>He descended from the saddle and they stood for a moment side +by side.</p> +<p>"Let us wait a few moments, the moon is rising," said Marcos. +"Perhaps the Carlists have been here."</p> +<p>As he spoke the sky grew lighter. In a minute or two a waning +moon looked out over the sharp outline of hill and flooded the +valley with a reddish light.</p> +<p>"It is all right," he said; nothing is disturbed here. They +are asleep in the cottage; the noise of the river must have +drowned the firing. They are friends of mine; they will give us +some food for to-morrow morning and another dress for you. You +cannot go in that."</p> +<p>"Oh!" laughed Juanita, "I have taken the veil. It is done now +and cannot be undone."</p> +<p>She raised her hands to the wings of her spreading cap as if +to defend it against all comers. And Marcos, turning, suddenly +threw his uninjured arm round her, imprisoning her struggling +arms. He held her thus a prisoner while with his injured hand he +found the strings of the cap. In a moment the starched linen +fluttered out, fell into the river, and was carried swirling +away.</p> +<p>Juanita was still laughing, but Marcos did not answer to her +gaiety. She recollected at that instant having once threatened to +dress as a nun in order to alarm Marcos, and Sarrion's grave +remark that it would of a certainty frighten him.</p> +<p>They were silent for a moment. Then Juanita spoke with a sort +of forced lightness.</p> +<p>"You may have only one arm," she said, "but it is an +astonishingly strong one!"</p> +<p>And she looked at him surreptitiously beneath her lashes as +she stood with her hands on her hair.</p> +<h1><a name="chap27"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXVII</a></h1> +<h2><br> +IN THE CLOUDS</h2> +<p>Marcos tied his horse to a tree and led the way towards the +cottage. It seemed to be innocent of bars and bolts. The ford, +known to so few, and the evil name of the Wolf, served instead. +The door opened at a push, and Marcos went in. A wood-fire +smouldered on an open hearth, while the acrid smoke half-filled +the room, blackened by the fumes of peat and charcoal.</p> +<p>Marcos stood on the threshold and called the owner by name. +There was a shuffling sound in an inner room and the scraping of +a match. A minute later a door was opened and an old woman stood +in the aperture, fully dressed and carrying a lamp above her +head.</p> +<p>"Ah!" she said. "It is you. I thought it was the voice of a +friend. And you have your pretty wife there. What are you doing +abroad at this hour ... the Carlists?"</p> +<p>"Yes," answered Marcos, rather quickly, "the Carlists. We +cannot pass by the road, so have sent the carriage back and are +going across the mountains."</p> +<p>The woman held up her hands and shook them from side to side +in a gesture of horror.</p> +<p>"Ah! but there!" she cried, "I know what you are. There is no +turning your back on your road. If you say you will go--you will +go though it rain rocks. But this child--ah, dear, dear! You do +not know what you have married--with your bright eyes. Sit down, +my child. I will get you what I can. Some coffee. I am alone in +the house. All my men have gone to the high valley, now that the +snow is gone, to collect wood and to see what the winter has done +for our hut up in the mountain."</p> +<p>Marcos thanked her, and explained that they wanted nothing but +a roof under which to leave his horse.</p> +<p>"We are going up to the higher valley to-night," he said, +"where we shall find your husband and sons. And at daylight we +must hurry on to Torre Garda. But I want to borrow a dress and +handkerchief belonging to one of your daughters. See, the +Señora cannot walk in that one, which is too fine and too +long."</p> +<p>"Oh, but my daughters ..." exclaimed the old woman, with +deprecating hands.</p> +<p>"They are very pretty girls," answered Marcos, with a laugh. +"All the valley knows that."</p> +<p>"They are not bad," admitted the mother, "but it is a flower +compared to a cabbage. Still, we can hide the flower in the +cabbage leaves if you like."</p> +<p>And she laughed heartily at her own conceit.</p> +<p>"Then see to it while I put my horse away," said Marcos. He +quitted the hut and overheard the woman pointing out to Juanita +that she had lost her mantilla coming through the trees in the +dark. While he attended to his horse he could hear their laughter +and gay conversation over the change of clothes; for Juanita +understood these people as well as he did, and had grown through +childhood to the age of thought in their midst. The peasant was +still pressing a simple hospitality upon Juanita when Marcos +returned to the cottage and found her ready for the journey.</p> +<p>"I was telling the Señora," explained the woman +volubly, "that she must not so much as look inside the cottage in +the mountains. I have not been there for six months and the +men--you know what they are. They are no better than dogs I tell +them. There is plenty of clean hay and dry bracken in the sheds +up there and you can well make a soft bed for her to get some +sleep for a few hours. And here I have unfolded a new blanket for +the lady. See, it is white as I bought it. She can use it. It has +never been worn--by us others," she added with perfect +simplicity.</p> +<p>Marcos took the blanket while Juanita explained that having +slept soundly every night of her life without exception, she +could well now accommodate herself with a rest of two hours in +the hay. The woman pressed upon them some of her small store of +coffee and some new bread.</p> +<p>"He can well prepare your breakfast for you," she said, +confidentially to Juanita. "He is like one of us. All the valley +will tell you that. A great gentleman who can yet cook his own +breakfast--as the good God meant them to be."</p> +<p>They set forth at once in the yellow light of the waning moon, +Marcos leading the way up a pathway hardly discernible amid the +rocks and undergrowth. Once or twice he turned to help Juanita +over a hard or a dangerous place. But they did not talk, as +conversation was not only difficult but inexpedient. They had +climbed for two hours, slowly and steadily, when the barking of a +dog on the mountainside above them notified them that they were +nearing their destination.</p> +<p>"Who is it?" asked a voice presently.</p> +<p>"Marcos de Sarrion," replied Marcos. "Strike no lights."</p> +<p>"We have no candles up here," answered the man with a laugh. +He only spoke Basque and it was in this language that Marcos gave +a brief explanation. Juanita sat on a rock. She was tired out. +There were three men--short, thick-set and silent, a father and +two sons. They stood in front of Marcos and spoke in +monosyllables after the manner of old friends. Under his +directions they brought a heap of dried bracken and hay. In a +shed, little more than a roof and four uprights, they made a +rough couch for Juanita which they hedged round with heaps of +bracken to protect her from the wind.</p> +<p>"You will see the stars," said the old man shaking out the +blanket which Marcos had carried up from the cottage at the ford. +"It is good to see the stars when you awake in the night. One +remembers that the saints are watching."</p> +<p>In a few minutes Juanita was sleeping, like a child, curled up +beneath her blanket, and heard through her dreams the low voices +of Marcos and the peasants talking hurriedly in the half-ruined +cottage. For Marcos and these three were the only men who knew +the way over the mountains to Torre Garda.</p> +<p>The dawn was just breaking when Marcos awoke Juanita.</p> +<p>"Oh," she said plaintively. "I have only been asleep ten +minutes."</p> +<p>"You have slept three hours," replied Marcos in that hushed +voice in which it seems natural to speak before the dawn. "I am +making coffee--come when you are ready."</p> +<p>Juanita found a pail of water and a piece of last year's +yellow soap which had been carefully scraped clean with a knife. +A clean towel had also been provided. Juanita noted the manly +simplicity of these attentions with a little tender and wise +smile.</p> +<p>"I know what it is that makes men gipsies," she said, when she +joined Marcos who was attending to a fire of sticks on the ground +at the cottage door. "I shall always have a kindly feeling for +them now. They get something straight from heaven which is never +known to people who sleep in stuffy houses and get up to wash in +warm water."</p> +<p>She gave a little shiver at the recollection of her ablutions, +and laughed a clear, low laugh, as fresh as the morning +itself.</p> +<p>"Where are the men?" she asked.</p> +<p>"One has gone to Pampeluna, one has taken a note to the +officer commanding the reinforcements sent for by Zeneta. The +third has gone down to fetch his mother up here to bake bread all +day. There will be a little army here to-night."</p> +<p>Juanita stood watching Marcos who seemed entirely absorbed in +blowing up the fire with a pair of dilapidated bellows.</p> +<p>"I suppose," she said lightly, "that it was of these things +that you were thinking when you were so silent as we climbed up +here last night."</p> +<p>"I suppose so," answered Marcos.</p> +<p>Juanita looked at him with a little frown as if she did not +quite believe him. The day had now come and a pink light suffused +the topmost peaks. A faint warmth spread itself like a caress +across the valley and turned the cold air into a pearly mist.</p> +<p>"Of what are you thinking?" asked Marcos suddenly; for +Juanita had stood motionless, watching him.</p> +<p>"I was thinking what a comfort it is that you are not an +indoor man," she replied with a careless laugh.</p> +<p>The peasants had brought their cows to the high pastures. So +there was plenty of milk in the cottage which was little more +than a dairy; for it had no furniture beyond a few straw +mattresses thrown on the floor in one corner. Marcos served +breakfast.</p> +<p>"Pedro particularly told me to see that you had the cup which +has a handle," he said, pouring the coffee from a battered +coffee-pot. During their simple breakfast they were silent. There +was a subtle constraint. Juanita who had a quick and direct mind, +decided that the moment had come for that explanation for which +Marcos did not ask. An explanation does not improve by keeping. +They were alone here--alone in the world it seemed--for the cows +had strayed away. The dogs had gone to the valley with their +masters. She and Marcos had always known each other. She knew his +every thought; she was not afraid of him; she never had been. Why +should she be now?</p> +<p>"Marcos," she said.</p> +<p>"Yes."</p> +<p>"I want you to give me the letter I wrote to you at Torre +Garda."</p> +<p>He felt in his pocket and handed her the first paper he found +without particularly looking at it. Juanita unfolded it. It was +the note, all crumpled, which she had thrust through the wall of +the convent school at Saragossa. She had forgotten it, but Marcos +had kept it all this time.</p> +<p>"That is the wrong one," she said gravely, and handed it back +to Marcos, who took it with a little jerk of the head as of +annoyance at his own stupidity. He was usually very accurate in +details. He gave her in exchange the right paper, which had been +torn in two. The other half is in the military despatch office in +Madrid to-day. Juanita had arranged in her own mind what to say. +She was quite mistress of the situation, and was ready to move +serenely and surely in her own sphere, taking the lead in such +subtle matters with the capability and mastery which +characterised Marcos' lead in affairs of action. But Marcos' +mistake seemed to have put out her prearranged scheme.</p> +<p>She slowly tore the letter into pieces and threw it on the +fire.</p> +<p>"Do you know why I came back?" she asked, which question can +hardly have formed part of the plan of action.</p> +<p>"No."</p> +<p>"Because you never pretended that you cared. If you had +pretended that you cared for me, I should never have forgiven +you."</p> +<p>Marcos did not answer. He looked up slowly, expecting perhaps +to find her looking elsewhere. But her eyes met his and she +shrank back with an involuntary movement that seemed to be of +fear. Her face flushed all over and then the colour faded from +it, leaving her white and motionless as she sat staring into the +flickering wood-fire.</p> +<p>Presently she rose and walked to the edge of the plateau upon +which the hut was built. She stood there looking across to the +mountains.</p> +<p>Marcos busied himself with the simple possessions of his host, +setting them in order where he had found them and treading out +the smouldering embers of the fire. Juanita turned and watched +him over her shoulder with a mystic persistency. Beneath her +lashes lurked a smile--triumphant and tender.</p> +<h1><a name="chap28"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXVIII</a></h1> +<h2><br> +LE GANT DE VELOURS</h2> +<p>They accomplished the rest of the journey without accident. +The old spirit of adventure which had led them to these mountains +while they were yet children seemed to awaken again, and they +were as comrades. But Juanita was absent-minded. She was not +climbing skilfully. At one place far above trees or other +vegetation she made a false step and sent a great rock rolling +down the slope.</p> +<p>"You must be careful," said Marcos, almost sharply. "You are +not thinking what you are doing."</p> +<p>And Juanita suffered the reproof with an unwonted meekness. +She was more careful while they passed over a dangerous slope +where the snow had softened in the morning sun, and came to the +topmost valley--an oval basin of rocks and snow with no visible +outlet. Immediately below them, at the foot of a slope, which +looked quite feasible, lay huddled the body of a man.</p> +<p>"It is a Carlist," explained Marcos. "We heard some time ago +that they had been trying to find another way over to Torre +Garda. That valley is a trap. That is not the way to Torre Garda +at all; and that slope is solid ice. See, his knife lies beside +him. He tried to cut steps before he died. This is our way."</p> +<p>And he led Juanita rather hastily away. At nine o'clock they +passed the last shoulder and stood above Torre Garda, and the +valley of the Wolf lying in the sunlight below them. The road +down the valley lay like a yellow ribbon stretched across the +broad breast of Nature.</p> +<p>Half an hour later they reached the pine woods, and heard +Perro barking on the terrace. The dog soon came panting to meet +them, and not far behind him Sarrion, whose face betrayed no +surprise at perceiving Juanita.</p> +<p>"You would have been safer at Pampeluna," he said with a keen +glance into her face.</p> +<p>"I am quite safe enough here, thank you," she answered, +meeting his eyes with a steady smile.</p> +<p>He asked Marcos whether he had felt his wounded shoulder or +suffered from so much exertion. And Juanita answered more fully +than Marcos, giving details which she had certainly not learnt +from himself. A man having once been nursed in sickness by a +woman parts with some portion of his personal liberty which she +never relinquishes.</p> +<p>"It is the result of good nursing," said Sarrion, slipping his +hand inside Juanita's arm and walking by her side.</p> +<p>"It is the result of his great strength," she answered, with a +glance towards Marcos, which he did not perceive, for he was +looking straight in front of him.</p> +<p>"Uncle Ramon," said Juanita, an hour later when they were +sitting on the terrace together. She turned towards him suddenly +with her shrewd little smile. "Uncle Ramon--do you ever play +Pelota?"</p> +<p>"Every Basque plays Pelota," he replied.</p> +<p>Juanita nodded and lapsed into reflective silence. She seemed +to be arranging something in her mind. Towards Sarrion, as +towards Marcos, she assumed at times an attitude of protection, +and almost of patronage, as if she knew much that was hidden from +them and had access to some chamber of life of which the door was +closed to all men.</p> +<p>"Does it ever strike you," she said at length, "that in a +game of Pelota--supposing the ball to be endowed with a ... well +a certain lower form of intelligence, the intelligence of a mere +woman, for instance--it would be rather natural for it to wonder +what on earth the game was about? It might even think that it had +a certain right to know what was happening to it."</p> +<p>"Yes," admitted Sarrion, who having a quick and eager mind, +understood that Juanita was preparing to speak plainly. And at +such times women always speak more plainly than men. He lighted a +cigarette, threw away the match with a little gesture which +seemed to indicate that he was ready for her--would meet her on +her own ground.</p> +<p>"Why did Evasio Mon want me to go into religion?" she asked +bluntly.</p> +<p>"My child--you have three million pesetas."</p> +<p>"And if I had gone into religion--and I nearly did--the Church +would have had them?"</p> +<p>"Pardon me," said Sarrion. "The Jesuits--not the Church. It is +not the same thing--though the world does not yet understand +that. The Jesuits would have had the money and they would have +spent it in throwing Spain into another civil war which would +have been a worse war than we have seen. The Church--our +Church--has enemies. It has Bismarck, and the English; but it has +no worse enemy than the Jesuits. For they play their own +game."</p> +<p>"At Pelota! and you and Marcos?"</p> +<p>"We were on the other side," said Sarrion, with a shrug of the +shoulders.</p> +<p>"And I have been the ball."</p> +<p>Sarrion glanced at her sideways. This was the moment that +Marcos had always anticipated. Sarrion wondered why he should +have to meet it and not Marcos. Juanita sat motionless with +steady eyes fixed on the distant mountains. He looked at her lips +and saw there a faint smile not devoid of pity--as if she knew +something of which he was ignorant. He pulled himself together; +for he was a bold man who faced his fences with a smile.</p> +<p>"Well," he said, "... since we have won."</p> +<p>"Have you won?"</p> +<p>Sarrion glanced at her again. Why did she not speak plainly, +he was wondering. In the subtler matters of life, women have a +clearer comprehension and a plainer speech than men. When they +are tongue-tied--the reason is a strong one.</p> +<p>"At all events Señor Mon does not know when he is +beaten," said Juanita, and the silence that followed was broken +by the distant sound of firing. They were fighting at the mouth +of the valley.</p> +<p>"That is true," admitted Sarrion.</p> +<p>"They say he is trapped in the valley--as we are."</p> +<p>"So I believe."</p> +<p>"Will he come to Torre Garda?"</p> +<p>"As likely as not," answered Sarrion. "He has never lacked +audacity."</p> +<p>"If he comes I should like to speak to him," said Juanita.</p> +<p>Sarrion wondered whether she intended to make Evasio Mon +understand that he was beaten. It was Mon himself who had said +that the woman always holds the casting vote.</p> +<p>"At all events," said Juanita, who seemed to have returned in +her thoughts to the question of winning or losing. "At all +events, you played a bold game."</p> +<p>"That is why we won," said Sarrion, stoutly.</p> +<p>"And you did not heed the risks."</p> +<p>"What risks?"</p> +<p>Juanita turned and looked at him with a little laugh of +scorn.</p> +<p>"Oh, you do not understand. Neither does Marcos. I suppose men +don't. You might have ruined several lives."</p> +<p>"So might Evasio Mon," returned Sarrion sharply. And Juanita +rather drew back as a fencer may flinch who has been touched.</p> +<p>Sarrion leant back in his chair and threw away the cigarette +which he had not smoked. Juanita had chosen her own ground and he +had met her on it. He had answered the question which she was too +proud to ask.</p> +<p>And as he had anticipated, Evasio Mon came to Torre Garda. It +was almost dusk when he arrived. Whether he knew that Marcos was +not in his room, remained an open question. He did not ask after +him. He was brought by the servant to the terrace where he found +Cousin Peligros and Juanita. Sarrion was in his study and came +out when Mon passed the open window.</p> +<p>"So we are all besieged," said the visitor, with his tolerant +smile as he took a chair offered to him in the grand manner by +Cousin Peligros, who belonged to the school of etiquette that +holds it wrong for any lady to be natural in the presence of men +other than of her own family.</p> +<p>Cousin Peligros smiled in rather a pinched way, and with a +gesture of her outspread hands morally wiped the besiegers out. +No female Sarrion, she seemed to imply, need ever fear +inconvenience from a person in uniform.</p> +<p>"You and I, Señorita," said Mon, with his bland and +easy sympathy of manner, "have no business here. We are persons +of peace."</p> +<p>Cousin Peligros made a condescending and yet decisive gesture, +patting the empty air.</p> +<p>"I have my charge. I shall fulfil it," she said--determined, +and not without a suggestion of coyness withal.</p> +<p>Juanita was lying in wait for a glance from Sarrion and when +she received it she made a little movement of the eyelids, +telling him to take Cousin Peligros away.</p> +<p>"You will stay the night," said Sarrion to Evasio Mon.</p> +<p>"No, my friend. Thank you very much. I cherish a hope of +getting through the lines to-night to Pampeluna. I came indeed to +offer my poor services as escort to these ladies who will surely +be safer at Pampeluna."</p> +<p>"Then you think that they will besiege Torre Garda," asked +Sarrion, innocently. "One never knows, my friend--one never +knows. It seems to me that the firing is nearer this +afternoon."</p> +<p>Sarrion laughed.</p> +<p>"You are always hearing guns."</p> +<p>Mon turned and looked at him and there was a suggestion of +melancholy in his smile.</p> +<p>"Ah! Ramon," he said. "You and I have heard them all our +lives."</p> +<p>And there was perhaps a second meaning in his words, known +only to Sarrion, whose face softened for an instant.</p> +<p>"Let us have some coffee," he said, turning to Cousin +Peligros. "Will you see to it, Peligros--in the library?"</p> +<p>So Peligros walked across the broad terrace with the mincing +steps taught in the thirties, leaving Mon hatless with a bowed +head according to the etiquette of those leisurely days. He was +all things, to all men.</p> +<p>"By the way ..." said Sarrion, and followed her without +completing his sentence.</p> +<p>So Juanita and Evasio Mon were left alone on the terrace. +Juanita was sitting rather upright in a garden chair. The only +seat near to her was the easy chair just vacated by Cousin +Peligros. Mon looked at it. He glanced at Juanita and then drew +it forward. She turned, and with a smile and gesture invited him +to be seated. A watchful look came into Evasio Mon's quick eyes +behind the glasses that reflected the last rays of the setting +sun. For the young and the guilty, silence has a special terror. +Mon had dealt with the young and the guilty all his life. He sat +down without speaking. He was waiting for Juanita. Juanita moved +her toe within her neat black slipper, looking at it critically. +She was waiting for Evasio Mon. He paused as a duellist may pause +with his best weapons laid out on the table before him, wondering +which one to select. Perhaps he suspected that Juanita held the +keenest; that deadly plain-speaking.</p> +<p>His subtle training had taught him to sink self so completely +that it was easy to him to insinuate his mind into the thoughts +of another; to understand them, almost to sympathise with them. +But Juanita puzzled him. There is no face so baffling as that +which a woman shows the world when she is hiding her heart.</p> +<p>"I spoke as a friend," said Mon, "when I recommended you to +allow me to escort you to Pampeluna."</p> +<p>"I know that you always speak as a friend," answered Juanita +quietly" ... of mine. Not of Marcos, perhaps."</p> +<p>"Ah, but your friends are Marcos'," said Mon, with a +suggestion of raillery in his voice.</p> +<p>"And his enemies are mine," she retorted, looking straight in +front of her.</p> +<p>"Of course--is it not written in the marriage service?" Mon +laughingly turned in his chair and cast a glance up at the +windows as he spoke. They were beyond earshot of the house. "But +why should I be an enemy of Marcos de Sarrion?"</p> +<p>Then Juanita unmasked her guns.</p> +<p>"Because he outwitted you and married me," she answered.</p> +<p>"For your money--"</p> +<p>"Yes, for my money. He was quite honest about it, I assure +you. He told me that it was a matter of business--of politics. +That was the word he used."</p> +<p>"He told you that?" asked Mon in real surprise.</p> +<p>Juanita nodded her head. She was looking at her own slipper +again and the moving foot within it. There was a mystic little +smile at the corner of her lips which tilted upwards there, as +humorous and tender lips nearly always do. It suggested that she +knew something which even Evasio Mon, the all-wise, did not +know.</p> +<p>"And you believed him?" inquired Mon, dimly groping at the +meaning of the smile.</p> +<p>"He told me that it was the only way of escaping you ... and +the rest of them ... and Religion," answered Juanita--without +answering the question.</p> +<p>"And you believed him?" repeated Mon, which was a mistake; for +she turned on him at once and answered,</p> +<p>"Yes."</p> +<p>Mon shrugged his shoulders with the tolerant air of one who +has met defeat time after time; who expected naught else +perhaps.</p> +<p>"Then there is nothing more to be said," he observed +carelessly. "You elect to remain at Torre Garda. I bow to your +decision, my child. I have warned you."</p> +<p>"Against Marcos?"</p> +<p>Mon shrugged his shoulders a second time.</p> +<p>"And in reply to your warning," said Juanita slowly. "I will +tell you that Marcos has never done or said anything unworthy of +a Spanish gentleman--and there is no better gentleman in the +world."</p> +<p>Which statement all men will assuredly be ready to admit.</p> +<p>Mon turned and looked at her with an odd smile.</p> +<p>"Ah!" he said. "You have fallen in love with Marcos."</p> +<p>Juanita changed colour and her eyes suddenly lighted with +anger.</p> +<p>"I am not afraid of anything you may say or do," she said. "I +have Marcos. Marcos has always outwitted you when you have come +in contact with him. Marcos is cleverer than you. He is +stronger."</p> +<p>She paused. Mon was slowly drawing his gloves through his +hands which were white and smooth.</p> +<p>"That is the difference between you," she continued. "You wear +gloves. Marcos takes hold of life with his bare hand. You may be +more cunning, but Marcos outwits you. The mind seeks but the +heart finds. Your mind may be subtle--but Marcos has a better +heart."</p> +<p>Mon had risen. He stood with his face half turned away from +her so that she could only see his profile. And for a moment she +was sorry for him; that one moment which always mars an earthly +victory.</p> +<p>He turned away from her and walked slowly towards the library +window which stood open and gave passage to the sound of moving +cups and saucers. We all carry with us through life the +remembrance of certain words probably forgotten by the speaker. A +few bear the keener, sharper memory of words unspoken. Juanita +never forgot the silence of Evasio Mon as he walked away from +her.</p> +<p>A moment later she heard him laughing and talking in the +library.</p> +<p>He had come on horseback and Sarrion accompanied him to the +stables on his departure. They were both young for their years. +The Spaniards of the north are thin and lithe and long-lived. +Sarrion offered his hand for Mon's knee, who with this aid sprang +into the saddle.</p> +<p>He turned and looked towards the terrace.</p> +<p>"Juanita," he said, and paused. "She is no longer a child. One +hopes that she may have a happy life ... seeing that so many do +not."</p> +<p>Sarrion made no answer.</p> +<p>"We are not weaklings," continued Mon lightly. "You, and +Marcos and I. We may sweat and toil as we will--but believe me, +there is more power in Juanita's little finger. It is the casting +vote--amigo--the casting vote."</p> +<p>He waved a salutation as he rode away.</p> +<h1><a name="chap29"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXIX</a></h1> +<h2><br> +LA MAIN DE FER</h2> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>"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."</p> +<p>"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.</p> +<p>"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?"</p> +<p>"Not at all," answered Marcos, glancing no higher than her +waist.</p> +<p>"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?"</p> +<p>"Yes," answered he with a laugh. "Do not tell it to the wrong +people as Joseph did."</p> +<p>"No, your reverence," she said. She stood looking at him with +grave eyes.</p> +<p>"Is there going to be a battle?" she asked, curtly.</p> +<p>"Yes."</p> +<p>"Where?"</p> +<p>He pointed down into the valley with his pen.</p> +<p>"Just above the bridge if it all comes off as they have +planned."</p> +<p>She went out on to the terrace and looked down into the +valley, which was peaceful enough in the morning light. The thin +smoke of the pine wood-fires rose from the chimneys in columns of +brilliant blue. The sheep on the slopes across the valley were +calling to their lambs. Then Juanita returned to the library +window and stood on the threshold, with brooding eyes and a +bright patch of colour in her cheeks.</p> +<p>"Will you do me a favour?" she asked.</p> +<p>"Of course."</p> +<p>He lifted his pen from the paper, but did not look up.</p> +<p>"If there is a battle--if there is any fighting, will you take +great care of yourself? It would be so terrible if anything +happened to you ... for Uncle Ramon I mean."</p> +<p>"Yes," answered Marcos, gravely. "I understand. I promise to +take care."</p> +<p>Juanita still lingered at the window.</p> +<p>"And you always keep your promises, don't you? To the +letter?"</p> +<p>"Why shouldn't I?"</p> +<p>"No, of course not. It is characteristic of you, that is all. +Your promise is a sort of rock that nothing can move. Women, you +know, make a promise and then ask to be let off; you would not do +that?"</p> +<p>"No," answered Marcos, quite simply.</p> +<p>In Navarre the hours of meals are much the same as those that +rule in England to-day. At one o'clock luncheon both Marcos and +Sarrion were at home. The valley seemed quiet enough. The +soldiers of Juanita's dream seemed to have vanished like the +shadows to which she compared them.</p> +<p>"I am sure," said Cousin Peligros, while they were still at +the table, "that the sound of firing approaches. I have a very +delicate hearing. All my senses are very highly developed. The +sound of the firing is nearer, Marcos."</p> +<p>"Zeneta is retreating slowly before the enemy, with his small +force," explained Marcos.</p> +<p>"But why is he doing that? He must surely know that there are +ladies at Torre Garda."</p> +<p>"Ladies are not articles of war," said Juanita with a +frivolous disregard of Cousin Peligros' reproving face. "And this +is war."</p> +<p>As she spoke Marcos rose and quitted the room after glancing +at his watch. Juanita followed him.</p> +<p>"Marcos," she said, in the hall, having closed the dining-room +door behind her. "Will you tell me what time it will begin?"</p> +<p>"Zeneta is timed to retreat across the bridge at three +o'clock. The enemy will, it is hoped, follow him."</p> +<p>"And where will you be?"</p> +<p>"I shall be with Pacheco and his staff on the hill behind +Pedro's mill. You will see a little flag wherever Pacheco +is."</p> +<p>Cousin Peligros' delicate hearing had not been deceived. The +firing was now close at hand. The valley takes a turn to the left +below the ridge and upon the hillside above this corner the white +irregular line of smoke now became visible.</p> +<p>In a few minutes the dark mass of Zeneta's men appeared on the +road at the corner. He was before his time. The men were running. +They raised the dust like a troop of sheep and moved in a halo of +it. Every hundred yards they stopped and fired a volley. They +were acting with perfect regularity and from a distance looked +like toy soldiers. They were retreating in good order and the +sound of their volleys came at regular intervals. On the bridge +they halted. They were going to make a stand here, as would seem +natural. Had they had artillery they could have effectually held +this strong and narrow place.</p> +<p>It now became apparent that they were a woefully small +detachment. They could not spare men to take up positions on the +rocky hillside behind them.</p> +<p>There was a pause. The Carlists were waiting for their +skirmishers to come in from heights above the road.</p> +<p>Sarrion and Juanita stood at the edge of the terrace. Sarrion +was watching with a quick and comprehensive glance.</p> +<p>"Is General Pacheco a good general?" asked Juanita.</p> +<p>"Excellent."</p> +<p>Sarrion did not comment further on this successful +soldier.</p> +<p>"They played me false," the General had told him indignantly a +few hours earlier. "They promised me a good sum--yes a sufficient +sum. But when the time came the money was not forthcoming. An +awkward position; but I found a way out of it."</p> +<p>"By being loyal," suggested Sarrion with a short laugh and +there the conversation ceased.</p> +<p>Juanita looked across the valley towards Pedro's mill. There +was no flag there. All the valley was peaceful enough, giving in +the brilliant sunshine no glint of sword or bayonet.</p> +<p>On the bridge, the little knot of men awaited the advent of +the Carlists forming up round the corner. In a moment these came, +swarming over the road and the hillside. The roadway was packed +with them, the rocks and the bushes above the river seemed alive +with them. They fired independently, and the hillside was white +in a moment. The royalist troops on the bridge fired one volley +and then turned. They ran straight along the road. Some threw +down their knapsacks. One or two stopped, seemed to hesitate and +then laid them down on the road like a tired child. Others limped +to the side and sat there.</p> +<p>All the while the Carlists came on. The rear ranks were still +coming round the corner. The skirmishers were already across the +bridge. There was only one place for Zeneta's men to run to +now--the castle of Torre Garda. They were already at the foot of +the slope. Juanita and Sarrion could distinguish the slim form of +their commander walking along the road behind his men, sword in +hand. Sometimes he ran a few steps, but for the most part he +walked with long, steady strides, shepherding his men.</p> +<p>They began to climb the slope, and Zeneta took up his position +on a rock jutting out of the hillside. He stood on tiptoe and +watched the bridge. The last of the Carlists were on it now. +Juanita could see his eager face, with intrepid eyes alert, and +lips apart, drawn back over his teeth. She glanced at Sarrion, +whose lips were the same. His eyes glittered. He was biting his +lower lip.</p> +<p>As the last man ran across the bridge on the heels of his +comrades, Zeneta looked across the valley towards the water mill. +He waved his handkerchief high above his head. A little flag +fluttered above the trees growing round the mill-wheel.</p> +<p>Cousin Peligros being only human now came to the terrace to +see what was happening. She had taken the precaution of putting +on her mittens and opening her parasol.</p> +<p>"What is the meaning of this noise?" she asked; but neither +Sarrion nor Juanita seemed to hear her. They were watching the +little flag, which seemed to be descending the hill.</p> +<p>So close beneath the house were Zeneta's men now, that those +on the terrace could hear his voice.</p> +<p>"The bridge," said Sarrion, under his breath. "Look at the +bridge!"</p> +<p>It was half hidden in the smoke that still hovered in the air, +but something was taking place there. Men were running hither and +thither. The sunlight glittered on uniform and bayonet.</p> +<p>"Guns!" said Sarrion curtly, and as he spoke the whole valley +shook beneath their feet. A roar seemed to arise from the river +and spread all up the hills, and simultaneously a cloak of white +smoke was laid over the green slopes.</p> +<p>Juanita saw Zeneta stand for a moment, with sword upheld, +while his men gathered round him. Then with a wild shout of +exultation he led them down the hill again. Before he had run ten +paces he fell--his feet seemed to slip from under him, and he lay +at full length for a moment--then he was up again and at the head +of his men.</p> +<p>A bullet came singing up over the low brushwood and a distant +tinkle of falling glass told that it had found its billet in a +window. The bushes in the garden seemed suddenly alive with +rustling life and Sarrion dragged Juanita back from the +balustrade.</p> +<p>"No--no!" she said angrily.</p> +<p>"Yes--I promised Marcos," answered Sarrion with his arm round +her waist.</p> +<p>In a moment they were in the library where they found Cousin +Peligros in an easy chair with folded hands and the face of a +very early Christian martyr.</p> +<p>"I have never been treated like this before," she said +severely.</p> +<p>Sarrion stood at the window, keeping Juanita in.</p> +<p>"It will be all over in a few minutes," he said. "Holy Virgin! +What a lesson for them."</p> +<p>The din was terrible. The lady of delicate hearing placed her +hands over her ears not forgetting to curl her little finger in +the manner deemed irresistible by her generation. Quite suddenly +the firing ceased as if by the turning of a tap.</p> +<p>"There," said Sarrion, "it is over. Marcos said they were to +be taught a lesson. They have learnt it."</p> +<p>He quitted the room taking his hat which he had thrown +aside.</p> +<p>Juanita went to the terrace. She could see nothing. The whole +valley was hidden in smoke which rolled upward in yellow clouds. +The air choked her. She came back to the library, coughing, and +went towards the door.</p> +<p>"Juanita," said Cousin Peligros, "I forbid you to leave the +room. I absolutely refuse to be left alone."</p> +<p>"Then call your maid," said Juanita, patiently.</p> +<p>"Where are you going?"</p> +<p>"I am going to follow Uncle Ramon down to the valley. There +must be hundreds of wounded. I can do something----"</p> +<p>"Then I forbid you to go. It is permissible for Marcos to +identify himself with such proceedings--in protection of those +whom Providence has placed under his care. Indeed I should expect +it of him. It is his duty to defend Torre Garda."</p> +<p>Juanita looked at the supine form in the easy chair.</p> +<p>"Yes," she answered. "And I am mistress of Torre Garda."</p> +<p>Which, perhaps, had a double meaning, for when she closed the +door--not without emphasis--Cousin Peligros sat upright with a +start.</p> +<p>Juanita hurried out of the house and ran down the road winding +on the slope to the village. The smoke choked her; the air was +impregnated with sulphur. It seemed impossible that anybody could +have lived through these hellish minutes that were passed. In +front of her she saw Sarrion hurrying in the same direction. A +moment later she gave a little cry of joy. Marcos was riding up +the slope at a gallop. He pulled up when he saw his father and by +the time he had quitted the saddle, Juanita was with him.</p> +<p>Marcos' face was gray beneath the sunburn. His eyes were +bloodshot and his lips were pressed upward in a line of deadly +resolution. It was the face of a man who had seen something that +he would never forget. He looked at his father.</p> +<p>"Evasio Mon," he said.</p> +<p>"Killed?"</p> +<p>Marcos nodded his head.</p> +<p>"You did not do it?" said Sarrion sharply.</p> +<p>"No. They found him among the Carlists, There were five or six +priests. It was Zeneta--wounded himself--who recognised him and +told me. He was not dead when Zeneta found him--and he spoke. +'Always the losing game,' he said. Then he smiled--and died."</p> +<p>Sarrion turned and led the way slowly back again towards the +house. Juanita seemed to have forgotten her intention of going to +the valley to offer help to the nursing-sisters who lived in the +village.</p> +<p>Marcos' horse, the Moor, was shaking and dragged on the bridle +which he had slipped over his arm. He jerked angrily at the +reins, looking back with a little exclamation of impatience. +Juanita took the bridle from his arm and led the horse which +followed her quietly enough. She said nothing and asked no +questions. But she was watching Marcos' face--wondering, perhaps, +if it would ever soften again.</p> +<p>Sarrion was the first to speak.</p> +<p>"Poor Mon," he said, half addressing Juanita. "He was never a +fortunate man. He took the wrong turning years ago. He abandoned +the Church in order to ask a woman to marry him. But she had +scruples. She thought, or she was made to think, that her duty +lay in another direction. And Mon's life ... well ...!"</p> +<p>He shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>"I know," said Juanita quietly ... "all about it."</p> +<h1><a name="chap30"><br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXX</a></h1> +<h2><br> +THE CASTING VOTE</h2> +<p>There is in one corner of the little churchyard of Torre Garda +a square mound which marks the burial-place, in one grave, of +four hundred Carlists. The Wolf, it is said, carried as many more +to the sea.</p> +<p>General Pacheco completed his teaching at the mouth of the +valley where the Carlists had left in a position (impregnable +from the front) a strong detachment to withstand the advance of +any reinforcements that might be sent from Pampeluna to the +relief of Captain Zeneta and his handful of men. These were taken +in the rear by the force under General Pacheco himself and +annihilated. This is, however, a matter of history as is also the +reputation of Pacheco. "A great general--a brute," they say of +him in Spain to this day.</p> +<p>By sunset all was quiet again at Torre Garda. The troops +quitted the village as unobtrusively as they had come. They had +lost but few men and half a dozen wounded were left behind in the +village. The remainder were moved to Pampeluna. The Carlist list +of wounded was astonishingly small. General Pacheco had the +reputation of moving quickly. He was rarely hampered by his +ambulance and never by the enemy's wounded. He was a great +general.</p> +<p>Cousin Peligros did not appear at dinner. She had an attack of +nerves instead.</p> +<p>"I understand nerves," said Juanita lightly when she announced +that Cousin Peligros' chair would remain vacant. "Was I not +educated in a convent? You need not be anxious. Yes--she will +take a little soup--a little more than that. And all the other +courses."</p> +<p>After dinner Cousin Peligros notified through her maid that +she felt well enough to see Marcos. When he returned from this +interview he joined Sarrion and Juanita in the drawing-room, and +he looked grave.</p> +<p>"You have seen for yourself that there is not much the matter +with her," said Juanita, watching his face.</p> +<p>"Yes," he answered rather absent-mindedly. "There is not much +the matter with her."</p> +<p>He did not sit down but stood with a preoccupied air and +looked at the wood-fire which was still grateful in the evening +at such an altitude as that of Torre Garda.</p> +<p>"She will not stay," he said at last. "She says she is going +to-morrow."</p> +<p>Sarrion gave a short laugh and turned over the newspaper that +he was reading. Juanita was reading an English book, with a +dictionary which she never consulted when Marcos was near. She +looked over its pages into the fire.</p> +<p>"Then let her go," she said slowly and distinctly. And in a +silence which followed, the colour slowly mounted to her face. +Marcos glanced at her and spoke at once.</p> +<p>"There is no question of doing anything else," he said, with a +laugh that sounded uneasy. "She will have nerves until she sees a +lamp-post again. She is going to Madrid."</p> +<p>"Ah!"</p> +<p>"And she wants you to go with her and stay," said Marcos, +bluntly.</p> +<p>"It is very kind of her," answered Juanita in a cool and even +voice. "You know, I am afraid Cousin Peligros and I should not +get on very well--not if we sat indoors for long together, and +kept our hands white."</p> +<p>"Then you do not care to go to Madrid with her?" inquired +Marcos.</p> +<p>Juanita seemed to weigh the pros and cons of the matter with +her head at a measuring angle while she looked into the fire.</p> +<p>"No ... No," she answered. "I think not, thank you."</p> +<p>"You know," Marcos explained with an odd ring of excitement in +his voice. "I am afraid we shall have a bad name all over Spain +after this. They always did think that we were only brigands. It +will be difficult to get anybody to come here."</p> +<p>Juanita made no answer to this. Sarrion was reading the paper +very attentively. But it was he who spoke first.</p> +<p>"I must go to Saragossa," he said, without looking up from his +paper. "Perhaps Juanita will take compassion on my solitude +there."</p> +<p>"I always feel that it is a pity to go away from Torre Garda +just as the spring is coming," said she, conversationally. "Don't +you think so?"</p> +<p>She glanced at Marcos as she spoke, but the remark must have +been addressed to Sarrion, whose reply was inaudible. For some +reason the two men seemed ill at ease and tongue-tied. There was +a dull glow in Marcos' eyes. Juanita was quite cool and collected +and mistress of the situation.</p> +<p>"You know," said Marcos at length in his direct way, "that it +is only of your happiness that I am thinking--you must do what +you like best."</p> +<p>"And you know that I subscribe to Marcos' polite desire," said +Sarrion with a light laugh.</p> +<p>"I know you are an old dear," answered Juanita, jumping up and +throwing aside her book. "And now I am going to bed."</p> +<p>She kissed Sarrion and smoothed back his gray hair with a +quick and light touch.</p> +<p>"Good-night, Marcos," she said as she passed the door which he +held open. She gave him the friendly little nod of a comrade--but +she did not look at him.</p> +<p>The next morning Cousin Peligros took her departure from Torre +Garda.</p> +<p>"I wash my hands," she said, with the usual gesture, "of the +whole affair."</p> +<p>As her maid was seated in the carriage beside her she said no +more. It remained uncertain whether she washed her hands of the +Carlist war or of Juanita. She gave a sharp sigh and made no +answer to Sarrion's hope that she would have a pleasant +journey.</p> +<p>"I have arranged," said Marcos, "that two troopers accompany +you as far as Pampeluna, though the country will be quiet enough +to-day. Pacheco has pacified it."</p> +<p>"I thank you," replied Cousin Peligros, who included domestic +servants in her category of persons in whose presence it is +unladylike to be natural.</p> +<p>She bowed to them and the carriage moved away. She was one of +those fortunate persons who never see themselves as others see +them, but move through existence surrounded by a halo, or a haze, +of self-complacency, through which their perception cannot +penetrate. The charitable were ready to testify that there was no +harm in her. Hers was merely one of a million lives in which man +can find no fault and God no fruit.</p> +<p>Soon after her departure Sarrion and Marcos set out on +horseback towards the village. There was another traveler there +awaiting their Godspeed on a longer journey, towards a peace +which he had never known. It was in the house of the old cura of +Torre Garda that Sarrion looked his last on the man with whom he +had played in childhood's days--with whom he had never +quarrelled, though he had tried to do so often enough. The memory +he retained of Evasio Mon was not unpleasant; for he was smiling +as he lay in the darkened room of the priest's humble house. He +was bland even in death.</p> +<p>"I shall go and place some flowers on his grave," said +Juanita, as they sat on the terrace after luncheon and Sarrion +smoked his cigarettes. "Now that I have forgiven him."</p> +<p>Marcos was sitting sideways on the broad balustrade, swinging +one foot in its dusty riding-boot. He could see Juanita from +where he sat. He usually could see her from where he elected to +sit. But when she turned he was never looking at her. She had +only found this out lately.</p> +<p>"Have you forgiven him already?" asked he, with his dark eyes +fixed on her half averted face. "I knew that it was easy to +forget the dead, but to forgive ..."</p> +<p>"Oh--it was not when he was killed that I forgave him."</p> +<p>"Then when was it?"</p> +<p>Juanita laughed lightly and shook her head.</p> +<p>"I am not going to tell you that," she answered. "It is a +secret between Evasio Mon and myself. He will understand when I +place the flowers on his grave ... as much as men ever do +understand."</p> +<p>She vouchsafed no explanation of this ambiguous speech, but +sat in silence looking with contemplative eyes across the valley. +Sarrion was seated a few yards away. At times he glanced through +the cigarette smoke at Juanita and Marcos. Suddenly he drew in +his feet and sat upright.</p> +<p>"Dinner at seven to-night," he said, briskly. "If you have no +objection."</p> +<p>"Why?" asked Juanita.</p> +<p>"I am going to Saragossa."</p> +<p>"To-night?" she asked hastily and stopped short. Marcos sat +motionless. Sarrion lighted another cigarette and forgot to +answer her question. Juanita flushed and held her lips between +her teeth. Then she turned her head and looked at Sarrion from +the corner of her eyes. She searched him from his keen, brown +face--said by some to be the handsomest face in Spain--to his +neat and firmly planted feet. But there was nothing written for +her to read. He had forced her hand and she did not know whether +he had done it on purpose or not. She knew her own mind, however. +She was called upon to decide her whole life then and there. And +she knew her own mind.</p> +<p>"Seven o'clock," said the mistress of Torre Garda, rising and +going towards the house. "I will go at once and see to it."</p> +<p>She, presumably, carried out her intention of visiting Evasio +Mon's grave, and perhaps said a prayer in the little chapel near +to it for the repose of the soul of the man whom she had forgiven +so suddenly and completely. She did not return to the terrace at +all events, and the Sarrions went about their own affairs during +the afternoon without seeing her again.</p> +<p>At dinner Sarrion was unusually light-hearted and Juanita +accommodated herself to his humour with that ease which men so +rarely understand in women and seldom acquire for themselves. +Sarrion spoke of Saragossa as if it were across the road and +intimated that he would be coming and going between the two +houses during the spring, and until the great heats made the +plains of Aragon uninhabitable.</p> +<p>"But," he said, "you see how it is with Marcos. The Valley of +the Wolf is his care and he dare not leave it for many days +together."</p> +<p>When the parting came Juanita made light of it, herself +turning Sarrion's fur collar up about his ears and buttoning his +coat. For despite his sixty years he was a hardy man, and never +made use of a closed carriage. It was a dark night with no +moon.</p> +<p>"It is all the better," said Marcos. "If the horses can see +nothing, they cannot shy."</p> +<p>Marcos accompanied his father down the slope to the great gate +where the drawbridge had once been, sitting on the front seat +beside him in the four-wheeled dogcart. They left Juanita +standing in the open doorway, waving her hand gaily, her slim +form outlined against the warm lamplight within the house.</p> +<p>At the drawbridge Marcos bade his father farewell. They had +parted at the same spot a hundred times before. There was but the +one train from Pampeluna to Saragossa and both had made the +journey many times. There was no question of a long absence from +each other; but this parting was not quite like the others. +Neither said anything except those conventional words of farewell +which from constant use have lost any meaning they ever had.</p> +<p>Sarrion gathered the reins in his gloved hands, glanced back +over the collar which Juanita had vigorously pulled up about his +ears, and with a nod, drove away into the night.</p> +<p>When Marcos, who walked slowly up the slope, returned to the +house he found it in darkness. The servants had gone to bed. It +was past ten o'clock. The window of his own study had been left +open and the lamp burnt there. He went in, extinguished the lamp, +and taking a candle went up-stairs to his own room. He did not +stay in the room, however, but went out to the balcony which ran +the whole length of the house.</p> +<p>In a few minutes his father's carriage must cross the bridge +with that hollow sound of wheels which Evasio Mon had mistaken +for guns.</p> +<p>A breeze was springing up and the candle which Marcos had set +on a table near the open window guttered. He blew it out and went +out in the darkness. He knew where to find the chair that stood +on the balcony just outside his window and sat down to listen for +the rumble of the carriage across the bridge.</p> +<p>He turned his head at the sound of a window being opened and +Perro who lay at his feet lifted his nose and sniffed gently. A +shaft of light lay across the balcony at the far end of the +house. Juanita had opened her shutters. She knew that Sarrion +must pass the bridge in a few minutes and was going to listen for +him.</p> +<p>Marcos leant forward and touched Perro who understood and was +still. For a moment Juanita appeared on the balcony, stepping to +the railing and back again. The shaft of light then remained half +obscured by her shadow as she stood in the window. She was not +going to bed until she had heard Sarrion cross the bridge.</p> +<p>Thus they waited and in a few minutes the low growling voice +of the river was dominated by the hollow echo of the bridge. +Sarrion had gone.</p> +<p>Juanita went within her room and extinguished the lamp. It was +a warm night and the pine trees gave out a strong and subtle +scent such as they only emit in spring. The bracken added its +discreet breath hardly amounting to a tangible odour. There were +violets, also, not far away.</p> +<p>Perro at Marcos' feet, stirred uneasily and looked up into his +master's face. Instinctively Marcos turned to look over his +shoulder. Juanita was standing close behind him.</p> +<p>"Marcos," she said, quietly, "you remember--long, long ago--in +the cloisters at Pampeluna, when I was only a child--you made a +promise. You promised that you would never interfere in my +life."</p> +<p>"Yes."</p> +<p>"I have come ..." she paused and passing in front of him, +stood there with her back to the balustrade and her hands behind +her in an attitude which was habitual to her. "I have come," she +began again deliberately, "to let you off that promise--Not that +you have kept it very well, you know--"</p> +<p>She broke off and gave a short laugh, such as a man may hear +perhaps once in his whole life, and hearing it, must know that he +has not lived in vain.</p> +<p>"But I don't mind," she said.</p> +<p>She moved uneasily. For her eyes, growing accustomed to the +darkness, could discern his face. She returned to the spot where +Marcos had first discovered her, behind his chair.</p> +<p>"And, Marcos--you made another promise. You said that we were +only going to play at being married--a sort of game."</p> +<p>"Yes," he answered steadily. He did not turn. He never saw her +hands stretched out towards him. Then suddenly he gave a start +and sat still as stone. Her hands were on his hair, soft as the +touch of a bird. Her fingers crept down his forehead and closed +over his eyes firmly and tenderly--a precaution which was +unnecessary in the darkness--for she was leaning over his chair +and her hair, dusky as the night itself, fell over his face like +a curtain.</p> +<p>"Then I think it is a stupid game--and I do not want to play +it any longer ... Marcos."</p> +<h1><br> +<br> +<br> +<b>THE END</b></h1> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Velvet Glove, by Henry Seton Merriman + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VELVET GLOVE *** + +***** This file should be named 10342-h.htm or 10342-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/3/4/10342/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Robert Prince, and +the Online Distributed Proofresding Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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