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diff --git a/10342-8.txt b/10342-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7e1f714 --- /dev/null +++ b/10342-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9396 @@ +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 + + + + + +THE VELVET GLOVE + +By + +Henry Seton Merriman +(HUGH STOWELL SCOTT) + + + +Contents: + +I. IN THE CITY OF THE WINDS +II. EVASIO MON +III. WITHIN THE HIGH WALLS +IV. THE JADE--CHANCE +V. A PILGRIMAGE +VI. PILGRIMS +VII. THE ALTERNATIVE +VIII. THE TRAIL +IX. THE QUARRY +X. THISBE +XI. THE ROYAL ADVENTURE +XII. IN A STRONG CITY +XIII. THE GRIP OF THE VELVET GLOVE +XIV. IN THE CLOISTER +XV. OUR LADY OF THE SHADOWS +XVI. THE MATTRESS BEATER +XVII. AT THE INN OF THE TWO TREES +XVIII. THE MAKERS OF HISTORY +XIX. COUSIN PELIGROS +XX. AT TORRE GARDA +XXI. JUANITA GROWS UP +XXII. AN ACCIDENT +XXIII. KIND INQUIRIES +XXIV. THE STORMY PETREL +XXV. WAR'S ALARM +XXVI. AT THE FORD +XXVII. IN THE CLOUDS +XXVIII. LE GANT DE VELOURS +XXIX. LA MAIN DE FER +XXX. THE CASTING VOTE + + + +List of Illustrations: +"'ARE YOU SURE YOU HAVE NOT HEARD FROM PAPA?'" +"A MOMENT LATER THE TRAVELER WAS LYING THERE ALONE." +"ALL TURNED AND LOOKED AT HIM IN WONDER." +"'DO YOU INTEND TO PUNISH YOUR FATHER'S ASSASSINS?'" +"MARCOS WAS ESSENTIALLY A MAN OF HIS WORD." +"THE DOOR WAS OPENED BY A STOUT MONK." +"'HE IS NOT KILLED,' SAID MARCOS, BREATHLESSLY." +"HE LEFT JUANITA ALONE WITH MARCOS." + + + + +CHAPTER I + +IN THE CITY OF THE WINDS +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +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. + +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. + +"Ah! ah!" he exclaimed in an even and quiet voice. "A calamity." + +"No," answered the wounded man with a cynicism which even the near sight +of death seemed powerless to effect. "A crime." + +"You are badly hurt, my son." + +"Yes; you had better not try to lift me, though you are a strong man." + +"I will go for help," said the monk. + +"Lay help," suggested the wounded man curtly. But the friar was already +out of earshot. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +EVASIO MON +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"They have blundered. The man is still living. You had better come," it +said; and that was all. + +"And what do you 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. + +"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." + +Mon nodded his compact head thoughtfully. + +"And the man said nothing?" + +"Nothing, Excellency." + +"You are a wise man, my brother. Go, and I will follow you." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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--" + +"No," replied Mon quickly. "He would recognise me, though he has not seen +me for twenty years. You must do it. Change your clothes." + +He spoke as with authority, and the priest fingered the silken cord +around his waist. + +"I know nothing of the law," he said hesitatingly. + +"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." + +He spoke the last sentence coldly, and followed with his narrow gaze the +movements of the old priest, who was laying aside his cassock. + +"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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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. + +"You wish to make a statement or a last testament?" said the notary. + +"A statement--no. It is useless since they have killed me. I will make a +statement ... Elsewhere." + +And his laugh was not pleasant to the ear. + +"A will--yes," he continued--and hearing the notary dip his pen-- + +"My name," he said, "is Francisco de Mogente." + +"Of?" inquired the notary, writing. + +"Of this city. You cannot be a notary of Saragossa or you would know +that." + +"I am not a notary of Saragossa--go on." + +"Of Saragossa and Santiago de Cuba. And I have a great fortune to leave." + +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. + +"Give me," he said, "some cordial, or I shall not last." + +After a pause he went on. + +"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." + +"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. + +"That he does not go into religion--that he devotes no part of it to the +benefit or advantage of the church." + +The notary sat very straight while he wrote this down. + +"My son is in Saragossa," said Mogente suddenly, with a change of manner. +"I will see him. Send for him." + +The notary glanced up at Evasio Mon, who shook his head. + +"I cannot send for him at two in the morning." + +"Then I will sign no will." + +"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." + +"There is no to-morrow, my friend. Send for my son at once." + +Mon grudgingly nodded his head. + +"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. + +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. + +"Ah!" said the elder man. "It is you. You look like a monk. Are you one?" + +"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. + +"But you wish to become one?" + +"It is my dearest desire." + +The dying man laughed. "You are like your mother," he said. "She was a +fool. You may go back to bed, my friend." + +"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. + +"Then stay and pray if you want to," answered Mogente, without even +troubling himself to show contempt. + +The notary was at his table again, and seemed to seek his cue by an +upward glance. + +"You will, perhaps, leave your fortune," he suggested at length, "to--to +some good work." + +But Evasio Mon was shaking his head. + +"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. + +"The Count Ramon de Sarrion," he asked suddenly, "is he in Saragossa?" + +"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?" + +"No, no." + +"Then to--your daughter?" + +And the question seemed to be directed, not towards the bed, but behind +it. + +"To your daughter?" he repeated more confidently. "That is right, is it +not? To your daughter?" + +Mogente nodded his head. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +WITHIN THE HIGH WALLS +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, "Ignem veni metteri in +terram, et quid volo nisi ut accendatur." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +Sarrion sat down without looking round him, in the manner of a man who +knew his surroundings, and took no interest in them. + +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. + +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--faute de mieux--upon her brother. + +"You are well?" asked Sarrion, looking at her closely. Her face, framed +by a spotless cap, was gray and drawn, but not unhappy. + +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. + +"I suppose," she said, "you are alone as usual. Is it safe, after +nightfall--you, who have so many enemies?" + +"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." + +He glanced towards the door. The quiet of this house seemed to arouse a +sense of suspicion and antagonism in his mind. + +"I wished, of course, to see you also, though I am aware that the +affections are out of place in this--holy atmosphere." + +She winced almost imperceptibly and said nothing. + +"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." + +"She is in bed. They go to bed at eight o'clock." + +"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." + +He gave a shrug of the shoulder. + +"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?" + +And he laughed quietly as he looked at his sister. + +"Yes, I suppose so." + +He nodded his thanks. + +"And, Dolores, listen!" he said. "Let me see her alone. It may save +complications in the future. You understand?" + +Sor Teresa turned in the doorway and looked at him. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"I came to see you to-night," said Sarrion, "as I may be leaving +Saragossa again to-morrow morning." + +"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." + +She spread out her hands with a gesture of despair. + +"Yesterday it was an altar-vase. I tripped over the foot of that stupid +St. Andrew. Have you heard from papa?" + +Sarrion hesitated for a moment at the sudden question. + +"No," he answered at length. + +"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." + +Sarrion laughed rather shortly. + +"Have you heard from your father?" he asked. + +"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?" + +"No," answered Sarrion, thoughtfully. "I know nothing." + +"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." + +"Yes," said Sarrion looking at her, "I expect it would. Tell me," he went +on after a pause, "Do you know this stick?" + +And he held out, under the rays of the lamp, the sword-stick he had +picked up in the Calle San Gregorio. + +She looked at it and then at him with startled eyes. + +"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?" + +In her eagerness she laid her hands on his dusty riding coat and looked +up into his face. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"I think there is something you are not telling me," she said, with the +ever-ready laugh twinkling beneath her dusky lashes. "Some mystery." + +"No, no. Good-night, my child. Go back to your bed." + +She paused with her hand on the door, looking back, her face all shaded +by her tumbled hair hanging to her waist. + + +"Are you sure you have not heard from papa?" + +"Quite sure--! I wish I had," he added when the door was closed behind +her. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE JADE--CHANCE +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Go with God," said the Count, and the messenger left the room +noiselessly, for they wear no shoe-leather in this dry land. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +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. + +"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. + +"No," replied the other. "What is this house? I was just going into it." + +Mon turned and looked up at the building with a little wave of the hand, +indicating lightly the stones and mortar. + +"It is just a house, my friend, as you see--a house, like another." + +"And who lives in it?" + +"Poor people, and foolish people. As in any other. People one must pity +and cannot help despising." + +He laughed, and as he spoke he led the way, as it were, unconsciously +away from this house which was like another. + +"Because they are poor?" inquired Sarrion, who did not move a step in +response to Evasio Mon's lead. + +"Partly," admitted Mon, holding up one finger. "Because, my friend, none +but the foolish are poor in this world." + +"Then why has the good God sent so many fools into the world?" + +"Because He wants a few saints, I suppose." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"I thought they brought him in here; for before I could descend help +came, and the cutthroats ran away." + +"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." + +"I had not mentioned the hour." + +"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." + +He moved with alacrity to the house, leading the way now. + +"By an odd chance," said Sarrion, following him more slowly, "I have +conceived the idea that this man is an old friend of mine." + +"Then, my good Ramon, he must be an old friend of mine, too." + +"Francisco de Mogente." + +Mon stopped with a movement of genuine surprise, followed instantly by a +quick sidelong glance beneath his lashes. + +"Our poor, wrong-headed Francisco," he said, "what made you think of him +after all these years? Have you heard from him?" + +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. + +"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!" + +And with the gloves which a Spanish gentleman still carries in his hand +whenever he is out of doors, he brushed the dust aside. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"There is Leon--by a lucky chance," said Mon almost immediately. + +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. + +"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." + +"And died in that house," added Sarrion, indicating with his stick the +building they had just quitted. + +"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." + +"Yes," said Sarrion rather coldly, "you naturally would." + + + + +CHAPTER V + +A PILGRIMAGE +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +And Evasio Mon was a notable listener. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +PILGRIMS +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. + +"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. + +On first perceiving the sudden, uncouth height of Montserrat the traveler +must assuredly ask in his own mind, "Why?" + +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 medićval men dimly groping for their God. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 Patrie, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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--" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Mon smiled at the implied reproach. + +"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." + +He spoke with the gaiety and lightness of a Frenchman; for this was that +Frenchman of the North, a Pole. + +Mon lighted a cigarette, with a gay jerk of the match towards the last +speaker, indicative of his recognition of a jest. + +"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." + +"I will arrange," answered Mon in his quiet, neat enunciation, "to give +you a kingdom." + +And he inclined his head forward to look at the Pole through the upper +half of his gold-rimmed glasses. + +"And not a vague republic in the region of the North Pole," said the +stout man with a laugh. "Well, who lives shall see." + +"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. + +"Yes," replied the Spaniard. + +"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." + +"And now is the moment to play on those nerves," said Mon. + +"With your clumsy Don Carlos?" + +"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." + +"It is a pity you cannot buy a new Don Carlos with our money," put in the +Pole. + +"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." + +"But what does Spain want?" inquired the leader. + +"Spain doesn't know." + +"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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +The quick, colourless eyes rested on Mon's face for a moment, and--who +knows?--perhaps they picked up Mon's secret in passing. + +"Something dishonest, in a word," put in the Pole. + +But nobody heeded him; for the word was with the leader. + +"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." + +He paused, and no one suggested that his memory had ever made slip or +lapse in all his long career. + +"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?" + +"Yes," answered Mon. + +"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." + +"I said that I would not ask for any sum that I could not double," said +Mon. + +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. + +"I will give you any sum that you can double," he said, at length. + +"Then I will ask you for three million pesetas." + + +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. + +"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?" + +"You must give me time," answered Mon, reflectively. "Say six months +hence." + +The little man rose in response to the chapel bell, which was slowly +tolling for the last service of the day. + +"Come," he said, "let us say a prayer before we go to bed." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE ALTERNATIVE +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Marcos handed his rod to the messenger, whose face, wrinkled like a +walnut by the sun of Aragon, lighted up suddenly with pleasure. + +"There," he said, pointing to a swirling pool beneath some alders. "There +is a big one there, I have risen him once." + +He waded slowly back to the bank where a second crop of hay was already +showing its new green, and sat down. + +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. + +"After all," it read, "I want you, and await you in Saragossa." + +And that was all. "Marcos will come," the Count had reflected, "without +persuasion. And explanations are dangerous." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +And it was said that they only repeated what the Sarrions had told them. +At all events, no Carlists came that way. + +"Torre Garda is not worth holding," they said. + +"And you cannot hold Pampeluna unless you take Torre Garda first," +thought those who knew the art of guerilla warfare. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +In Spain one addresses a man by the plain term: Man. And after all, it is +something--deja quelque chose--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. + +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. + +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 beau sabreur, of those (of all men, +most miserable) who owe their success in life to a woman's favour. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +The Count de Sarrion had passed through both and had emerged half +cynical, half indifferent from the slough of an evil woman's downfall. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Francisco was attacked in the street down there, at the corner of the +Calle San Gregorio, and was killed," he concluded. + +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. + +"Does Juanita know?" asked Marcos. + +"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." + +Marcos sat down again in silence. + +"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." + +"Why did he not let us know that he was coming to Europe?" asked Marcos. + +"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?" + +"Has he left a will?" asked Marcos. + +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. + +"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." + +"Then he left his money--?" + +"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: + +"Three million pesetas in the English Funds." + +"That is the millstone that he has tied round Juanita's neck," said +Sarrion, folding the paper and returning it to his pocket. + +"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." + +"No," said Marcos, gently. + +"There is only one way--I have thought of it night and day. There is only +one way, my friend." + +Marcos looked at his father thoughtfully, and waited to hear what that +way might be. + +"You must marry her," said the Count. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII +THE TRAIL +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"It is not that," said Marcos, curtly, with a flush on his brown face. + +"Then what is it?" + +Marcos made no answer. The Count lighted another cigarette, to gain time, +perhaps. + +"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." + +Marcos was leaning his arms on the table and looked across the room +towards his father with a slow smile. + +"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?" + +"Yes," was the answer. + +"And I reply to that; a convent education--the only education open to +Spanish girls--does not fit her to make her own choice." + +"It is not a question of education. + +"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." + +"We can give her the choice. We have certain rights." + +"No rights," replied Sarrion, "that the Church will recognise, and the +Church holds her now within its grip." + +"She is only a child. She does not know what life means." + +"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." + +Marcos turned and glanced at his father with a smile. + +"That is not so easy," he said. "That is what I have been trying to do." + +"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." + +"I was not thinking of my happiness," said Marcos, quite simply and +curtly. + +"Of Juanita's happiness?" ... suggested the Count. + +"Yes." + +"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." + +Marcos made no answer. And oddly enough Sarrion seemed to expect none. + +"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." + +"I am content to do that." + +"Always?" asked Sarrion, gravely. + +"Always." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I can say a prayer myself," he said humbly. + +"And here is something to put in the poor-box," answered Sarrion with his +twisted smile. + +"By my soul," he exclaimed, when they were left alone, "this place reeks +of hypocrisy." + +He looked round the walls with a raised eyebrow. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"We will ask Leon," suggested Marcos, "what reason his father gave for +making a new will." + +"And he will lie to you," said Sarrion. + +"But he will lie badly," murmured Marcos, with his leisurely reflective +smile. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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... " + +"I shall be there," said Sarrion, rather shortly. + +"And Marcos?" + +"I, also," replied Marcos. + +"One must do what one can," said Leon, with a resigned sigh. + +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. + +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. + + +"Do you intend," he asked in his matter-of-fact way, "to make any effort +to discover and punish your father's assassins?" + +"I have been advised not to." + +"By whom?" + +Leon looked distressed. He was pained, it would seem, that the friend of +his childhood should step so bluntly on to delicate ground. + +"It is a secret of the confession." + +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. + +"Have you advised Juanita of the terms of her father's will?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Marcos made no reply, but walked on, wrapt in thought. + +"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. + +"Remember," he said, "that Juanita is a child. She cannot be expected to +know her own mind for at least three years." + +Marcos nodded his head, as if he knew what was coming. + +"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." + +"I know," answered Marcos. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE QUARRY +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. + +"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. + +"Then do an extra penance, my sister," returned Sarrion, "and answer +another question. Tell me if the Sor Teresa is within?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Which means, my sister?" + +"That neither you nor any other in the world may see or speak to her--but +I must close the grille." + +And the little shutter was sharply shut in Sarrion's face. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Ah!" said Sarrion, looking his son up and down with a speculative eye. +"Well?" + +"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." + +"Yes," answered Sarrion. "I have no doubt that we can arrange it." + +And they sat far into the night, after the manner of conspirators, +discussing Marcos' plans, which were, like himself, quite simple and +direct. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Then followed the choir--a living study in evil countenances-- +perfunctory, careless, snuff-blown and ill-shaven, with cold hard faces +like Inquisitors. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Come," he said, "I want to speak to you. It is all right. My father is +beside Sor Teresa." + +"What fun!" she answered in a whisper. "Let us be quick." + +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. + +It was Juanita who stopped suddenly. + +"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." + +"It will not come," replied Marcos. "The driver is waiting to tell Sor +Teresa that his horses are lame and he cannot come." + +"And why have you done this?" asked Juanita, looking at him with bright +eyes beneath her mantilla flying in the wind. + +"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." + +"What, all the way?" she asked in a delighted voice. + +"Yes." + +"And can we go through the streets and see the shops?" + +"Yes, if you like; if you keep your mantilla close." + +"Marcos, you are a dear! But I have no money; you must lend me some." + +"Yes, if you like. What do you want to buy?" + +"Oh, chocolates," she answered. "Those brown ones, all soft inside. How +much money have you?" + +And she held out her hand in the dim light of the street lamps. + +"I will give you the chocolates," he answered. "As many as you like." + +"How kind of you. You are 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." + +She laughed gaily, and turned to look up at him. And in a moment her +manner changed. + +"Oh, Marcos," she said, "I am so miserable. And I have no one to talk to. +You know--papa is dead." + +"Yes," he answered, "know." + +"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." + +"Thank you," said Marcos. + +"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." + +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. + +"I will bring you more," he said, "if you will tell me how to get them to +you." + +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. + +"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?" + +"I will kiss your hand when it comes through," answered Marcos. + +"Yes," she said, rather slowly. "What a joke." + +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. + +Juanita slipped in among her schoolmates, and Sor Teresa, looking +straight in front of her, saw nothing. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THISBE +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + + +"Marcos," she said, "the packets must be small or they will not come +through." + +"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. + +"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." + +And her fingers came through the flowers again, feeling the empty air. + +"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." + +"All--what?" inquired Marcos, the matter-of-fact, at the other side of +the wall. + +"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?" + +"No, he is no good," replied Marcos. + +"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?" + +"Yes, I do." + +"Does Uncle Ramon think so?" + +"Yes," replied Marcos. + +"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." + +"Why?" asked Marcos, who was a patient searcher after remedies, and never +discussed matters which could not be ameliorated by immediate action. + +"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." + +"And you do not want to do that?" + +"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." + +He did not answer at once, and she thrust her hand through the woodbine +again. + +"Where are you?" she asked. "Why do you not answer?" + +He took her hand and held it for a moment. + +"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?" + +"About you." + +"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?" + +By way of reply he handed the little neat packets, tied with ribbon. + +"Thank you," she said. "You are kind, Marcos. Somehow you never say +things, but you do them--which is better, is it not?" + +"I will get you out of here," he answered, "if you want it." + +"How?" she asked, with a startled ring in her voice. "Can you really do +it? Tell me how." + +"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." + +"How?" she asked again, with a deeper note in her voice. + +"I will not tell you," he answered, "until the necessity arises. It is a +secret, and you might have to tell it... in confession." + +"Yes," she admitted. "Perhaps you are right. But you will come again next +Thursday, Marcos?" + +"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?" + +"Yes." + +And Marcos tried to get his hand through the hole in the wall, but he +failed. + +"Aha?" laughed Juanita. "You see I have the advantage of you." + +"Yes," he answered gravely. "You have the advantage of me." + +And on the other side of the wall, he smiled slowly to himself. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"That way is unfrequented," answered Sor Teresa. "It is scarcely +considered desirable at night." + +"Oh! no one will touch me--a poor man," said Mon, with his pleasant +smile. "Have you the key with you?" + +Sor Teresa looked on the bunch hanging at her girdle. + +"No," she admitted rather reluctantly, "I will send for it." + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +At last a second bunch of keys was placed in Sor Teresa's hands, and she +examined them carefully. + +"I am not quite sure," she said, "which is the right one. It is so seldom +used." + +And she fingered them, one by one. + +Mon glanced at her sharply, though his lips still smiled. + +"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." + +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. + +"This, I think, will be the key," said Mon, affably, as he stooped to +examine the lock. And he was right. + +He opened the door, passed out and turned to salute Sor Teresa before he +closed it gently, in her face. + +"Go with God, my sister," he said, bowing with a raised hat and +ceremonious smile. + +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. + +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. + +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 + +Juanita had written to him. It was scribbled in pencil on a half sheet +torn from an exercise book. + +"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." + +There was a mistake in the spelling. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE ROYAL ADVENTURE +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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!" + +Prim was better. He was a man at all events, and not a word-spinner. He +was from Cataluńa, where they make hard men with clear heads. And he knew +his own mind. And he also said: "Let us have a king." + +One cried for Don Carlos, and another for Espartero. Cataluńa said there +was no living with Andalusia. Aragon wanted her own king and wished +Valencia would go hang. Navarre was all for Don Carlos. + +And when Marcos de Sarrion rode into Saragossa they were calling in the +streets that only a republic was possible now. + +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. + +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. + +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 naďve and simple way of notifying this +condition by wearing the peak of his cap behind. + +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 +medićval. 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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +"Sor Teresa is not here," was the reply through the grating. + +"Then where is she?" + +But there was no reply to this plain question. + +"Has she gone to Pampeluna?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"Give us money and we will give you Don Carlos," returned the cassocked +canvassers of that monarch in a whisper. + +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. + +Marcos was surprised to see his father on the platform among those +waiting for the train from the capitals of the North. + +"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." + +"Whom?" asked Marcos. + +"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." + +Marcos followed his father through the crowd without replying. + +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. + +"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." + +"And the king?" + +"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." + +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. + +"Viva el Rey! viva Don Carlos!" a loafer shouted, and waved his hat in +Sarrion's grim and smiling face. + +"I do not understand," he said to Marcos, as they passed on, "why the +good God gives the Bourbons so many chances." + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"And Juanita?" inquired Sarrion at length. + +"Is at Pampeluna. They cannot get her away from there without my knowing +it. She is well ... and happy." + +"You have not written to her?" + +"No," answered Marcos. + +"We must remember," said Sarrion, with a nod of approval, "that we are +dealing with the cleverest men in the world, and the greediest----" + +"And the hardest pressed," added Marcos. + +"But you have not written to her?" + +"No." + +"Nor heard from her?" + +"I had a note from her at Saragossa, before they moved her to Pampeluna," +answered Marcos with a smile. "It was rather badly spelt." + +"And...?" asked Sarrion. + +Marcos did not reply to this comprehensive interrogation. + +"You have come to some decision?" Sarrion suggested. + +"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." + +Then Sarrion went back to his original question. + +"And...?" + +"As soon as we see signs of their being likely to succeed I propose to +see Juanita again." + +"You can do it despite them?" + +"Yes, I can do it." + +"And...?" + +"I shall explain the position to her--that her bad fortune has given her +choice of two evils." + +"That is one way of putting it." + +"It is the only honest way." + +Sarrion shrugged his shoulders. + +"My friend," he said, "I do not think that love and honesty are much in +sympathy." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +IN A STRONG CITY +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"I am not," replied Mon; "but I am here to see whether I am too old to +learn." + +He turned towards Marcos with his pleasant smile, but did not attempt the +extended hand here. + +"I shall take a lesson from Marcos," he said. + +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. + +"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. + +"Or promises in his mouth. Was that General Pacheco who turned away as we +came?" + +"Yes," answered Sarrion. "Why do you ask?" + +"I have heard that he is to receive a command in the army of the North." + +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. + +"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. + +"I make of it--that they only want a little money to make Don Carlos +king," said Deulin. + +"What is Evasio Mon doing in Madrid?" asked Sarrion. + +"Raising the money, or spending it," replied the Frenchman, with a shrug +of the shoulders, as if it were no business of his. + +They passed up-stairs together, but had not gone far when Marcos said the +Englishman's name without raising his voice. + +"Cartoner." + +He turned, and Marcos ran up three steps to meet him. + +"Who is the prelate with the face of a fox-terrier?" he asked. + +"He represents the Vatican. Is he with Mon?" + +Marcos nodded an affirmative, and, turning, descended the stairs. + +"I had better get back to Pampeluna," he said to his father. + +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. + +"Are you looking for some one?" asked Sarrion. + +"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." + +"But his feet are on the ground," commented Sarrion, who was rolling +himself a cigarette. "Shall we invite him to come with us?" + +"Yes." + +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. + +"You will travel with us," said Sarrion. And the General accepted, +looking round to see that his attendants were duly impressed. + +"I find," he said, seating himself and accepting a cigarette from +Sarrion, "that each new success in life brings me new friends." + +"Making it necessary to abandon the old ones," suggested Sarrion. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Ah," said Sarrion, "you speak from a happy experience." + +"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." + +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. + +"Speak for yourself," said Sarrion, with a laugh. + +"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." + +"Does it?" + +"Yes--and you must take comfort. I think you are on the right road now." + +"I hope we are." + +"I am sure of it. Money. That is the only way. To go to the right people +with money in both hands." + +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. + +"The thing," he said slowly, "is to strike while the iron is hot." + +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. + +"That is what I say. Give me a couple of months, I want no more." + +"No?" said Sarrion, looking at him with much admiration. "Is that so?" + +"Two months--and the sum of money I named." + +"Ah! In two months," reflected Sarrion. "Rome, you know, was not built in +a day." + +The General gave his cackling laugh. + +"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!" + +And the great soldier-statesman leant back in his seat again, well +pleased with himself. + +"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 convince my whole army corps, and my +humble self. And the Vatican will, of course, consent. I fancy that is +how it stands." + +He tapped his pocket as if the golden "piecčs de conviction" were +already there, and closed his eye like any common person; like, for +instance, his own father, who was an Andalusian innkeeper. + +"I fancy that is how it is," said Sarrion, turning gravely to Marcos. "Is +it not so?" + +"That is how it is," replied Marcos. + +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. + +The General was going to Saragossa, so they parted from him in the cold, +early morning at Castčjon, where an icy wind swept over the plain, and +the snow lay thick on the ground. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +They went there now and took their morning coffee. + +"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." + +"Yes--" + +"So that Juanita must make her choice at once." + +"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." + +"Yes," said Sarrion, "but how?" + +"Sor Teresa must do it," said Marcos. "You must see her. They cannot +prevent you from seeing your own sister." + +"But will she do it?" + +"Yes," answered Marcos without any hesitation at all. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Yes," said the Count at length, "it is from Juanita de Mogente." + +He folded the paper and placed it in his pocket. + +"Did you know the contents of this letter, my father?" he asked. + +"No, my son. Why should I?" + +"Why, indeed?" + +And Sarrion passed out, while Father Muro held the door open rather +obsequiously. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE GRIP OF THE VELVET GLOVE +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. + +"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." + +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. + +He laid the two letters side by side and compared them. + +"The writing is the writing of Juanita," he said; "but the words are not. +They are spelt correctly!" + +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. + +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. + +"I think," said Marcos at length, "that we must see Leon. He is her +guardian. We will give him a last chance." + +"Will you warn him?" inquired Sarrion. + +"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." + +"Then let us go and find out," said Sarrion. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 guardias civiles 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. + +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. + +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 al fresco 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. + +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. + +"It is a pity there are not more like you, Seńor 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." + +"For it is the land that feeds the children," added another, who carried +a pair of small espradrillas in her apron pocket. + +Marcos went back to his father with such information as he had been able +to gather. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Will you come this afternoon to the old monastery on the Villaba road +and see Leon?" asked Marcos. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + + +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. + +"The Marquis de Mogente is here?" said Marcos, and the monk spread out +his hands in a gesture of denial. + +"Whoever is here," he said, "is in Retreat. One does not disturb the +devout." + +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. + +"No, my friend," he said, "we will not ring the bell." + +"You have no business here," said the holy man, looking from one to the +other with sullen eyes. + +"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." + +He turned and glanced at his father. + +"Yes," said Sarrion, with his grim smile, "I will watch him." + +"Where shall I find Leon de Mogente?" said Marcos to the monk. "I do not +wish to disturb other persons." + +The monk reflected for a moment. + +"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. + +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 ŕ 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. + +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. + +"I have come to see you about Juanita," he said. "Have you given your +consent to her taking the veil?" + +Leon reflected. He had the air of a man who having been carefully taught +a part, loses his place at the first cue. + +"What business is it of yours?" he asked, rather hesitatingly at length. + +"None." + +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. + +"Will you answer me?" he asked. + +And Leon shook his head. + +"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." + +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. + +"Are you a Jesuit?" he asked bluntly. + +But Leon only drew in a gasping breath and made no answer. + +Then Marcos went out and closed the door behind him. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +IN THE CLOISTER +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +It was the political Jesuit who had earned Sarrion's deadly hatred. + +The political Jesuit has, moreover, a record in history which has only in +part been made manifest. + +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. + +The Jesuits were concerned in the Gunpowder Plot of England and two of +the fathers were among the executed. + +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. + +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 "acqua tofana of Perugia," a slow and +torturing poison. + +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. + +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. + +"Los mismos perros, con nuevos cuellos"--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. + +"It is allowable to take an oath without intending to keep it when one +has good grounds for so acting." + +"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." + +"In order to cut short calumny most quickly, one may cause the death of +the calumniator, but as secretly as possible to avoid observation." + +"It is absolutely allowable to kill a man whenever the general welfare or +proper security demands it." + +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. + +"Pray," said the founder of the society, "as if everything depended on +prayer, and act as if everything depended on action." + +"Of what are you thinking?" Sarrion asked suddenly, when they had ridden +almost to the city gates in silence. + +"I was wondering what Juanita will say, some day, when she knows and +understands everything." + +"I was not wondering what Juanita will say," confessed Sarrion with a +laugh, "but what Evasio Mon will do." + +For Sarrion persisted in taking an optimistic view of Juanita and that +which must supervene when she had grown into understanding and knowledge. + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +Almost immediately Juanita came hurrying back and instinctively drew her +mantilla closer at the sight of his shadowy form. Then she recognised +him. + +"Oh, Marcos," she whispered. "At last. I thought you had forgotten all +about me." + +"Quick," he answered. "This way. We have only ten minutes." + +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. + +"What do you mean?" she asked, "Only ten minutes." + +"It has all been arranged," he answered. "I met you here on purpose. You +have only ten minutes in which to settle." + +"To settle what?" she asked with a laugh. + +"Your whole life." + +"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. + +"Did you mean that letter which you wrote to my father about going into +religion?" + +"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." + +"Am I so very worldly?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +She turned to him suddenly and laid her two hands on his arm. + +"Oh, Marcos," she whispered, with a sort of sob of apprehension. "Can you +not do something for me?" + +"Yes," he answered. "That is why I am here. But it must be done at once." + +"Why?" she asked. And she was grave enough now. + +"Because they have sent to Rome for a dispensation of your novitiate. +They wish to hurry you into religion at once." + +"Yes," she said. "I know. But why?" + +"Because they want your money." + +"But I have none, or very little. They have told me so." + +"That is a lie," said Marcos, bluntly. + +"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." + +"He does it badly," said Marcos, quietly. + +Juanita reflected for a moment. Then suddenly she stamped her foot on the +pavement worn by the feet of generations of holy men. + +"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." + +"We can take you away," answered Marcos slowly, "if you like." + +She turned and looked at him, her attention caught by some tense note in +his voice. + +"What do you mean?" she asked. "Your face is so odd and white. What do +you mean, Marcos?" + +"We can take you away, but you must marry me." + +She gave a short laugh and stopped suddenly. + +"Oh--you must not joke," she said. "You must not laugh. It is my whole +life, remember." + +"I am not laughing. It is no joke," said Marcos steadily. + +"What...?" + +For a moment they sat in silence. The low chanting of vespers came to +their ears through the curtained doors of the Cathedral. + +"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." + +"It is necessary." + +"But they can have all the money; every real,'" suggested Juanita +hopefully. + +"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." + +"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. + +"Well, I will marry you if there is no help for it. But..." + +"But..." echoed Marcos. + +"But of course it is only a sort of game, is it not?" + +"Yes," he answered. "A sort of game." + +"Promise?" + +"I promise." + +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. + +"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." + +"Yes," said Marcos. + +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. + +"Touch it," she said with a gay laugh, as she had heard them say. + +And they shook hands in the dark cloisters. + +"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." + +"What for?" she asked. + +"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." + +"Married?" asked Juanita. + +"Yes." + +He had risen and was standing in front of her. + +"And now you must go back to the Cathedral." + +"But Sor Teresa's breviary?" + +"She has it in her pocket," said Marcos. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +OUR LADY OF THE SHADOWS +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Oh, Marcos!" whispered Juanita in his ear, through the open window. + +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. + +"There," he said, "you can get through that." + +"Yes," she answered. She was shivering and yet half laughing. + +"Listen," she whispered, drawing him towards her. "Sor Teresa's door is +open. You can hear her snoring. Listen!" + +She gave a half hysterical laugh. + +"Quick," said Marcos--dropping to the ground. + +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. + +"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. + +"What cloak is this?" she asked. "It smells of tobacco." + +"It is my old military cloak." + +"And this is my wedding dress!" she said, with a breathless laugh. "And +Perro is my bridesmaid." + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +Juanita stopped short. + +"Oh, I wish I had not come!" she exclaimed. + +"You can go back," said Marcos slowly; "it is not too late. You can still +go back if you want to." + +But Juanita only laughed at him. + +"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." + +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. + +"What is the matter?" said Juanita suddenly. "Your face looks white; +there is something I do not understand in it." + +"Nothing," answered Marcos. "Nothing. We must be quick." + +"You are sure you are keeping nothing back from me?" she asked, glancing +shrewdly at him as she walked by his side. + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Oh, yes I do," answered Sarrion bitterly. + +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. + +"This is an old school friend of mine," said Sarrion by way of +introduction. "He is a bishop," he added. + +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. + +"This is your own carriage," she said when they were all seated. + +"Yes--from Torre Garda," answered Sarrion. "And it is Pietro who is +driving. So you are among friends." + +"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. + +"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!" + +And Juanita stooped down to warm her hands. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Half of Spain is taking trouble about you, my child," was the answer. + +"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." + +"Yes, I understand," answered the great man humbly, as if he were trying +to, but was not quite sure of success. + +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. + +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. + +"I see no church and no houses," said Juanita to Marcos. "Where are we?" + +"The chapel is above us in the darkness," replied Marcos. And he led the +way up a winding path. + +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. + +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. + +But he only had time to bow rather formally to her; for a bishop was +behind. + +"I have only lighted one candle," he said to Marcos. "If we make an +illumination they can see it from Pampeluna." + +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. + +Suddenly Juanita gave a start and clutched at Marcos' arm. + +"Look," she said, pointing to the right. + +A kneeling figure was there with something that gleamed dully at the +shoulders. + +"Yes," explained Marcos. "It is a friend of mine, an officer of the +garrison who has ridden over. We require two witnesses, you know." + +"He is saying his own prayers," said Juanita, looking at him. + +"He has not much opportunity," explained Marcos. "He is in command of an +outpost at the outlet of the valley of the Wolf." + +As they looked at him he rose and came towards them, his spurs clanking +and his great sword swinging against the prie-dieu chairs of the devout. +He bowed formally to Juanita, and stood, upright and stiff, looking at +Marcos. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"What shall I do with it?" she asked. + +"Give it to Marcos," was the answer. + +And Marcos put the paper in his pocket. + +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. + +"What are those lights?" asked Juanita, breaking the silence before it +grew irksome. + +"That is Pampeluna," replied Marcos. + +"And the light in the mountains?" she asked, pointing to the north. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"To-morrow," she said, "I shall think this has all been a dream." + +"So shall I," said Marcos gravely. + +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. + +"It is of no use to me," she said; "I cannot wear it at school." + +She laughed, and held up one finger to command his attention. + +"Listen!" she whispered. "Sor Teresa is still snoring." + +She watched him bend the bars back again to their proper place. + +"By the way," she asked him. "What was the name of the chapel where we +were married--I should like to know?" + +Marcos hesitated a moment before replying. + +"It is called Our Lady of the Shadows." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE MATTRESS BEATER +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Hombre," she said, "do you know Marcos de Sarrion?" + +"I know the chapel of Our Lady of the Shadows," he answered, glancing at +her through a mist of wool. + +"Will you give him a letter?" + +"Fold it small and throw it in the wool," he said, and immediately the +sticks beat loudly again. + +Juanita's hand was already in her pocket seeking her purse. + +"No, no," he said; "I am too much caballero to take money from a lady." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"We can do nothing," said Sarrion, "but try to keep order in our own +small corner of this bear-garden." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"It was about the Seńor Mon," he said. "You wished to hear of him. He +returned to Pampeluna two days ago." + +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. + +And he took it with a fine wave of the arm, signifying that he drank to +the health of his host. + +"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. + +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. + +From the envelope Marcos took a twisted paper, not innocent of carded +wool. + +"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?" + +Marcos passed the note across to his father. + +"I wish this was Barcelona," he said, with a sudden gleam in his grave +eyes. + +"Why?" + +"Because then we could pull the school down about their ears and take +Juanita away." + +Sarrion smiled. + +"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." + +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. + +"She has not dated her letter," said Sarrion, at length. + +"No, but it was written on Thursday. That is the day that the colchonero +goes to the Calle de la Dormitaleria." + +He drew a strand of wool from the envelope and showed it to Sarrion. + +"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." + +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. + +"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 +diligencias will be in before daylight. If there is any news of +importance I will wake you when I come in." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +From another he heard the rumour that the Carlists had torn up the line +between Pampeluna and Castéjon. + +"Go to the station," this informant added. "They will tell you there, +because you are a rich man. To me they will tell nothing." + +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. + +"He thinks I am at Torre Garda," reflected Marcos, as he returned to the +city, fighting the wind on the bridge. + +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. + +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. + +The Carlists again. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +AT THE INN OF THE TWO TREES +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"Yes." + +"How did you know that I should be here?" + +"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." + +He led the way towards the inn. + +"What did you say?" he asked, turning on the threshold; for he had heard +her mutter something. + +"I said, 'Thank God'!" + +"What for?" + +"For your brains, my dear," she answered. "And your strong heart." + +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. + +"There is the coffee," said Marcos, "on the table. We have no time to +spare." + +"Marcos means," explained Sarrion significantly, "that we have no time to +waste." + +"I think he is right," said Sor Teresa. + +"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." + +"You need not think of that so far as Juanita is concerned," said Sor +Teresa. "It is I who have chosen her confessor." + +"Where is she?" asked Marcos. + +"She is here, in Saragossa!" + +"Why?" asked the man of few words. + +"I don't know." + +"Where is she in Saragossa?" + +"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." + +"But Juanita is not a postulant," said Sarrion, with a laugh. + +"She may have been told to consider herself one." + +"But no one has a right to do that," said Sarrion pleasantly. + +"No." + +"And even if she were a novice she could draw back." + +"There are some Orders," replied Sor Teresa, slowly stirring her coffee, +"which make it a matter of pride never to lose a novice." + +"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?" + +"As much ..." She paused. + +"Or as little," suggested Marcos, who was looking out of the window. + +"As many who have entered that life." Sor Teresa completed the sentence +without noticing Marcos' interruption. + +"And these periods of probation," said Sarrion, reverting to those +generalities which form the language of the cloister. "May they be +dispensed with?" + +"Anything can be dispensed with--by a dispensation," was the reply. + +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. + +"Have you seen our friend, Evasio Mon, lately?" he asked. + +"Yes--he is on the road behind me." + +"Behind you? I understood that he left Pampeluna yesterday for +Saragossa," said Sarrion. + +"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." + +"Ah!" said Sarrion sympathetically. He glanced at Marcos who was looking +out of the window with a thoughtful smile. + +"You yourself have had a hurried journey from Pampeluna," said Sarrion to +his sister. "I hear the railway line is broken by the Carlists." + +"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." + +"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. + +"I came to prevent, if I could, a great mistake." + +"You mean that Juanita is quite unfitted for the life into which, for the +sake of his money, she is being forced or tricked." + +"Force has failed," replied Sor Teresa. "Juanita has spirit. She laughed +in the face of force and refused absolutely." + +"And?" muttered Sarrion. + +"One may presume that subtler means were used," answered the nun. + +"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." + +"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. + +Marcos made no answer, but turned away and looked out of the window +again. + +"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 ..." + +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. + +"I can hear nothing," she said. "I can hear nothing." + +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. + +"What did you intend to do on your arrival in Saragossa if you had not +met us?" he asked. + +"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." + +"And then?" inquired Marcos. + +"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." + +"The ceremony in which Juanita has been ordered to take part as a +spectator only?" + +Sor Toresa nodded her head. + +"It cannot well take place without you?" + +"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." + +"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." + +Sor Teresa said nothing, but glanced towards Marcos who was watching the +road. + +"You need not be anxious, Dolores," said Sarrion, cheerfully. "Between +politicians these matters settle themselves quietly enough in Spain." + +"I ceased to be anxious," replied Sor Teresa, "from the moment that I saw +Marcos in the inn yard." + +It was Marcos who spoke next, after a short silence. + +"Your horses are ready, if you are rested," he said. "We shall return to +Saragossa by a shorter route." + +"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." + +He made a gesture of the hand, presumably symbolic of Marcos' plans, for +it was short and sharp. + +"There will be nothing for you to do," said Marcos from the window. +"Waste no time. I see a carriage some miles away." + +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. + +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: + +"It is at number five, Calle de la Merced, but they will await, E. M." + +"And the other carriage that is on the road?" Marcos asked the man. "The +carriage which brings the caballero--has it arrived in Saragossa?" + +"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." + +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. + +As the man withdrew in obedience to Marcos' salutation, "Go with God," +the clock struck twelve. + +"Come," said Marcos to his father, "we must go to number five, Calle de +la Merced. Do you know the house?" + +"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." + +He walked to the window as he spoke and looked out. + +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. + +"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. + +"Yes," answered Marcos in an odd and restrained voice. "To bring Juanita +back." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE MAKERS OF HISTORY +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Sarrion thanked her and walked on. Marcos was examining the dust on the +road out of the corners of his eyes. + +"Two carriages have stopped here," he said, "at this small door which +looks as if it belonged to the next house." + +"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." + +"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." + +"But we must not wait for him. The risk would be too great. They may +dispense with his presence." + +"No," answered Marcos thoughtfully, looking at the smaller door which +seemed to belong to the next house. "We must not wait." + +As he spoke a carriage appeared at the farther end of the Calle de la +Merced, which is a straight and narrow street. + +"Here they come," he added, and drew his father into a doorway across the +street. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +He turned and illustrated the knock on the balustrade of the stairs up +which they had hastened. + +"We will try it," he added grimly, "on that door when Evasio has had time +to go away from it." + +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. + +"Listen," said Marcos in a whisper. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +"He is not killed," said Marcos breathlessly. + +"For which we may thank Heaven," added Sarrion with a short laugh. "Come, +let us find the chapel." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"It is the way to the organ loft," whispered Marcos. + +"It is probably the only entrance to the chapel." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Evasio Mon reflected for a moment; then he turned to Sarrion with his +ready smile. + +"Do you come here to see me?" he whispered. + +"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." + +"But, my friend," protested Mon, still smiling, "by what right?" + +"That you must ask of Marcos." + +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. + +Mon shook his head still smiling, more in sorrow than in anger, at the +misfortune which his duty compelled him to point out. + +"It is not legal, my dear Marcos; it is not legal." + +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. + +Juanita glanced back again and saw Mon kneeling between the two +motionless upright men, who were grave while he smiled ... and smiled. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +They passed out through the dark passage behind the organ into the old +cloister. + +There Mon turned to look at Juanita and from her to Marcos. He was +distressed for them. + +"It is illegal," he repeated, gently. "Without a dispensation." + +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. + +"I am glad," said Mon, and he tried to look it. + +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. + +"He is hurt," explained Marcos, simply. "He tried to stop us." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX +COUSIN PELIGROS +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. + +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. + +"How kind of you to come," she said. "I knew I could trust you. I was +never afraid." + +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. + +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. + +"There," she cried, with a laugh. "Now I am safe from all the world--from +all the world! Is it not so?" + +"Yes," answered Marcos, turning to look at her as she moved, her feet +hardly touching the ground, between them. + +"Why do you look at me like that?" she asked. + +"I think you have grown." + +"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." + +"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. + +"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?" + +"No," answered Marcos, to whom the question had been addressed. + +"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...." + +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." + +"It is all over now, without being dead," Marcos assured her, with his +slow smile. + +"Quite sure?" + +"Quite sure," answered Marcos. + +"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?" + +"Yes," answered Marcos. + +"Then I am glad I married you," said Juanita, with conviction. + +"And I need not be afraid of Seńor Mon, with his gentle smile?" asked +Juanita, turning on Marcos with a sudden shrewd gravity. + +"No." + +She gave a great sigh of relief and shook back her mantilla. Then she +laughed and turned to Sarrion. + +"He always says 'yes' or 'no'--and only that," she remarked +confidentially to him. "But somehow it seems enough." + +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. + +"It is one of the grand carriages," said Juanita. + +"Yes." + +"Why?" she asked. + +"To take you home," replied Sarrion. + +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. + +"Where are we going?" she asked after a pause. + +"To the Casa Sarrion," was the reply. + +"Is it open, after all these years?" + +"Yes," answered Sarrion. + +"But why?" + +"For you," answered Sarrion. + +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. + +There they found Cousin Peligros awaiting them. + +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. + +"The old families," she was in the habit of saying with a sigh, "are +dying out." + +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. + +Cousin Peligros lived in a little apartment in Madrid, which she fondly +imagined to be the hub of the social universe. + +"They all come," she said, "to consult the Senorita de Sarrion upon +points of etiquette." + +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. + +"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." + +"Like a scarecrow," added Marcos, the taciturn. + +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. + +She did not come down to the door to meet them when the carriage +clattered over the cobble-stones of the echoing patio. + +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. + +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 Seńorita Peligros de Sarrion. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"I dare say he did," answered the Count. + +"I wish I was a Sarrion," said Juanita, looking up at the armour with a +light in her eyes. + +"You are one," replied Sarrion, gravely. + +She stopped and glanced back over her shoulder at him. Marcos was some +way behind, and took no part in the conversation. + +"So I am," she said. "I forgot." + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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?" + +"No," was the grave answer. "Such things are not expected of ladies." + +"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." + +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. + +"There--I am grown-up! I am more grown-up than you, you know; for +I am..." + +She broke off, and turning to Sarrion, asked, + +"Does she know ... does she know the joke?" + +"No," said Sarrion. + +"We are married," she said, standing squarely in front of Cousin +Peligros. + +"Married ..." echoed the disciple of etiquette, faintly. "Married--to +whom?" + +"Marcos and I." + +But Cousin Peligros only gasped and covered her face with her hands. + +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. + +"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." + +"Oh ..." groaned Cousin Peligros. + +"What is it?" inquired Marcos practically. "What is the matter with her?" + +"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." + +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. + +Cousin Peligros rose rigidly and walked towards the door. + +"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." + +"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." + +And the door closed behind them, shutting off Juanita's voluble +explanations. + +"You see," said Sarrion, after a pause. "She is happy enough." + +"Now," answered Marcos. "But she may find out some day that she is not." + +Juanita came back before long and found Sarrion alone. + +"Where is Marcos?" she asked. + +"He is taking a siesta," answered Sarrion. + +"Like a poor man." + +"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." + +Juanita's face fell. She went to the window and stood there looking out. + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +AT TORRE GARDA + +The 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Leon," said Juanita gaily to Cousin Peligros, "will assuredly be a saint +some day: he has so little sense of humour." + +For Leon it seemed could not be brought to understand Juanita's sunny +view of life. + +"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." + +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. + +There were lawyers to be consulted and moreover paid, and Juanita gaily +splashed down her name in a bold schoolgirl hand on countless documents. + +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. + +"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." + +"Not now; but some day you will." + +Juanita looked at him, pen in hand, momentarily grave. + +"You are always thinking of what I shall do ... some day," she said. + +And Marcos did not deny it. + +"You seem to hedge me around with precautions against that time," she +continued, thoughtfully, and looked at him with bright and searching +eyes. + +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. + +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. + +"No one," said she, "will molest me," and she folded her hands in +complacent serenity on her lap. + +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. + +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. + +"You do not recognise me, Senorita," he said. "You remember the chapel of +Our Lady of the Shadows?" + +"Yes. I remember," she answered, shaking hands. "We caught you saying +your prayers when we arrived." + +He blushed as he laughed; for he was a simple man leading a hard and +lonely life. + +"Yes, Senorita; why not?" + +"I have no doubt," said Juanita, looking at him shrewdly, "that the +saints heard you." + +"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, Seńorita, at the gate of your valley. +You are safe enough once you are within the valley of the Wolf." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Oh, how pretty!" she exclaimed, and Marcos lingering in the long passage +perhaps heard the remark. + +Later, when they were all in the drawing-room awaiting dinner, Juanita +clasped Sarrion's arm with her wonted little gesture of affection. + +"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?" + +"Yes," answered Marcos. + +"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 ..." + +"Why?" he asked. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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? + +Marcos rose at once and threw his cigarette away. He looked towards the +lighted windows of the drawing-room. + +"No good saying anything about it," he said. "I shall be back by +breakfast time. They will probably not notice my absence." + +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. + +"Where is Marcos?" she asked, taking the empty chair. + +"He has been sent for to the valley. He has gone." + +"Gone!" echoed Juanita, standing up again. She went to the stone +balustrade of the terrace and looked over into the darkness. + +"I heard him cross the bridge a few minutes ago," Sarrion said quietly. + +"He might have said good-bye." + +Sarrion turned slowly in his chair and looked at her. + +"He probably did not wish his comings and goings to be talked of by +Cousin Peligros," he suggested. + +"Still, he might have said good-bye ... to me." + +She turned again and leaning her arms on the gray stone she stood in +silence looking down into the valley. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +JUANITA GROWS UP +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"Uncle Ramon," she said, "Perro has come back ... alone." + +"That is nothing," he replied, reassuringly, at once. "Marcos, no doubt, +sent him home. Go back to bed." + +She obeyed him, going slowly back to the open window. But she paused +there. + +"Listen," she said, with an uneasy laugh. "He has something on his mind. +He is whimpering. That is why I woke you." + +"He often whimpers when Marcos is away. Tell him to be quiet, and then go +back to bed," said Sarrion. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +She came forward to the carriage and held up the lantern. + +"Is he dead?" she asked quietly. + +Sarrion did not answer at once. He was sitting in one corner of the +carriage, with Marcos' head and shoulders resting on his knees. + +"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--" + +"If the Seńorita will hold the horses," interrupted the coachman, pushing +Juanita gently aside, "we will carry him up-stairs." + +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. + +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. + +Sarrion looked up at her and was about to speak when she forestalled him. + +"It is no good telling me to go away," she said, "because I won't." + +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. + +"Undo his collar," he said. "I will go down-stairs and get some warm +water." + + +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. + +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. + +When Sarrion returned to the room a minute later she was carefully and +slowly cutting the sleeve of the injured arm. + +"Do you know, Uncle Ramon," she said cheerfully, "I am sure--I am +positively certain he will recover, poor old Marcos." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +AN ACCIDENT +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. + +"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. + +"Do not try to lift your head," she said. "I will do that for you." + +She did it with skill and laid him back again with a gay laugh. + +"There," she said. "There is one thing, and one only, that they teach in +covents." + +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. + +"Will that drug make me sleep?" asked Marcos, alertly. + +"Yes." + +"How soon?" + +"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." + +She busied herself as she spoke, with some duties of a sick-nurse which +had been postponed during his unconsciousness. + +"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." + +She came and sat down at the bedside again. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"I must see my father," he said, stirring the bedclothes, "before I go to +sleep again." + +Juanita turned on her heel, but did not approach him or seek to rearrange +the sheets. + +"Lie still," she said. "Why do you want to see him? Is it about the war?" + +"Yes." + +Juanita reflected for a moment. + +"Then you had better see him," she said conclusively. "I will go and +fetch him." + +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. + +"Of what are you thinking as you sit there watching the new light in the +mountains?" she asked gaily. + +He looked at her with a softness in the eyes which usually expressed a +tolerant cynicism. + +"Of you," he answered. "I heard the murmur of your voices. You need not +tell me that he has recovered consciousness." + +"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." + +There was the faintest suspicion of resentment in her voice. + +"But I thought that the apothecary said that he was to be kept absolutely +quiet," said Sarrion, rising. + +"So he did. But he is only a man, you know, just like you and Marcos--and +he doesn't understand." + +"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. + +"Here he is," she said. "He was not asleep. Is it a secret? I suppose it +is--you have so many, you two." + +She laughed, and looked from one to the other. But neither answered her. + +"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. + +"Yes," he said. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"That horse didn't fall," said Marcos to his father. "He was thrown. +There was a wire across the road." + +"There was none when I got there," replied Sarrion. + +"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." + +Sarrion reflected a moment. + +"Let me look at the note that Zeneta wrote you," he said. + +"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." + +"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. + +"What does it mean?" he asked at length, folding the letter and replacing +it in the pocket from which he had taken it. + +Marcos roused himself with an effort. He was sleepy. + +"I think it means that Evasio Mon is about," he answered. + +"No man in the valley would have done it," suggested Sarrion. + +"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." + +He gave a short laugh and was silent. + +"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." + +"And of Juanita." + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"And some Jesuit coming along the road might have found you there," she +said, "and pushed you over. It would have been so easy." + +Marcos and Sarrion glanced at each other, and possibly Juanita saw the +glance as she held Perro back from his master. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"Except Marcos," she threw back over her shoulder towards the bed, with +some far-off suggestion of anger still in her voice. + +"And now he must be allowed to sleep until the doctor comes from +Pampeluna," she concluded. + +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. + +"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." + +But Juanita only shook her head and laughed. + +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. + +"The doctor, Excellency," he announced briefly. + +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. + +Sarrion shook hands with him and passed into the room. + +"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!" + +"Yes," said Juanita. + +"So you are nursing your husband," he murmured abstractedly, as he bent +over the bed. + +And Juanita made no answer. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"One sees," he said, "that he has a nun to care for him." + +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. + +Then he turned to Sarrion. + +"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." + +"Ah!" said Sarrion, who was listening with rather marked attention. + +Juanita had moved away, but she was standing now, listening also, looking +back over her shoulder with waiting eyes. + +"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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +KIND INQUIRIES +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Say it was Pedro from the mill." + +"Tell him that Three Fingered Thomas passed by," muttered another, +grudgingly. + +"It is I, so-called Short Knife, who came to ask," explained a third, +tapping the sheath of his baptismal weapon. + +"How far have you come?" asked Juanita, who found these gentlemen +entertaining. + +"Seventeen miles from the mountain," was the reply. + +"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." + +"They are honest enough, though their appearance may be disquieting." + +"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?" + +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. + +"If they come again," he said, "I should like to see them." + +But Juanita had already put into the apothecary's lips a command that no +visitors should be admitted. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"I understand it, at all events, though I cannot speak it as well as +Marcos." + +"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." + +Then, having observed the conventionalities, he turned eagerly to Marcos. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"It keeps Marcos quiet," she explained airily to Sarrion, and vouchsafed +nothing further on the subject. + +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. + +"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." + +"Yes." + +"And your endless watch over the Carlists?" + +"They are making good use of their time, I hear," replied Marcos, with +the grave appreciation of a good fighter for a worthy foe. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"There is another visitor coming to make inquiry into your welfare--it is +Senor Mon." + +And she looked for the gleam that immediately lighted Marcos' dark eyes. + +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. + +"He is not coming into this room," said Juanita, coolly. "I will go down +and see him." + +Evasio Mon greeted her with a gay smile. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"That is kind of you," replied Juanita. "But why watch him if it gives +you pain?" + +Mon laughed. He was quick to see a joke and Juanita, he knew, was a gay +soul. + +"One cannot help taking an interest in one's friends and is naturally +sorry to see them drifting..." + +"Into what...?" asked Juanita turning to the table where a servant had +placed coffee for the visitor. + +"Politics." + +"Are politics a crime?" + +"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. + +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? + +Marcos was talking politics in the room overhead, forgetting her perhaps +by now. Evasio Mon's suggestion had come at an opportune moment. + +"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. + +"Why?" she asked. + +"He naturally dislikes the idea of your being dragged into politics," +answered Mon, gently. + +"I? Why should I be dragged into politics?" + +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. + +"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." + +"It is very kind of Leon to exercise his mind on my account," said +Juanita steadily. "But I can manage my own affairs." + +"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.'" + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"But," she said, "if the fortune is my own; if I prefer that Marcos +should have it--to the church?" + +Evasio Mon smiled gently. + +"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." + +"How could I have it myself?" asked Juanita, whose curiosity was aroused. + +Mon shrugged his shoulders. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE STORMY PETREL +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Where are you going?" asked Juanita, of the man who took off his hat to +her, almost as if he had expected her. + +"I am returning to Pampeluna, empty, Excellency," he answered. "I have +brought the baggage of Seńor 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." + +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? + +She was thinking these thoughts as she drove through the little mountain +village. + +"What is that--it sounds like thunder or guns?" inquired Evasio Mon, +pausing in his late and simple luncheon in the dining-room. + +"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." + +Mon nodded his head and continued to give his attention to his plate. + +"Juanita looks well--and happy," he said, after a pause. + +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. + +"Do you not think so?" + +"I am sure of it, Evasio." + +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. + +"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. + +After he had finished luncheon he spoke of taking his leave, and asked if +he might be allowed to congratulate Marcos on his escape. + +"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." + +"Yes," said Sarrion, slowly. + +"Will his nurse allow me to see him?" asked the visitor. + +"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. + +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. + +"Juanita has gone," he said, in French. "Read that note. It is his doing, +of course." + +"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." + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"An hour ago and more." + +Marcos nodded and glanced at the clock. + +"He will no doubt have made arrangements for her to get safely through to +Pampeluna." + +"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. + +"After her," was the reply. + +"To bring her back?" + +"No." + +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. + +"No. Not unless it is her own wish," he said. + +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. + +"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." + +Sarrion gave a curt laugh. + +"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." + +"He will soon find out." + +"Of course--but in the meantime..." + +"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. + +Sarrion went down to the verandah to entertain the unsought guest. + +"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?" + +"And what has Juanita decreed?" asked Mon, when they were seated and +Sarrion had lighted his cigarette. + +"The verdict has gone against you," replied Sarrion. "Juanita has decreed +most emphatically that you are not to be allowed to see Marcos." + +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. + +"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--ces dames--and we can only bow to the inevitable. +And Juanita is grown up. One sees it. She is beginning to record her +vote." + +"Yes," answered Sarrion with a narrow smile. "She is beginning to record +her vote." + +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. + +"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----" + +He broke off and looked towards the open window, listening. + +Sarrion had also been listening. He had heard the thud of Marcos' horse +as it passed across the wooden bridge below the village. + +"Guns again?" he suggested, with a short laugh. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +WAR'S ALARM +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. + +At last he pulled up and, turning on his box, held up one finger. + +"Listen, Seńorita," he said, and his dark eyes were alight with +excitement. + +Juanita stood up and listened, looking westward as he did. The sound was +like the sound of thunder, but shorter and sharper. + +"What is it?" + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +"The Seńorita 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--Seńora de +Sarrion." + +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. + +Nothing had changed in this gloomy house. + +"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. + +"Then I will wait," she said, "but not very long." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +The door of the waiting-room opened and Sor Teresa stood on the +threshold. + +"I have come back," said Juanita. "I think I shall go into religion. I +have left Torre Garda." + +She gave a short laugh and looked curiously at Sor Teresa--impassive in +her straight-hanging robes. + +"So you have got me back," she said. "Back to the convent." + +"Not to this convent," replied Sor Teresa, quietly. + +"But I have come back. I shall come back--the Mother Superior..." + +"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. + +Juanita stood looking at her with flashing eyes, with her head thrown +back, with clenched hands, + +"Then I will go somewhere else. But I do not understand you. You always +wanted me to go into religion." + +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. + +"Think--" said Sor Teresa. "Think before you say that." + +"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." + +"Think!" urged Sor Teresa. "Think again. Do not include me in such +generalities without thinking." + +Juanita paused. She ran back in her mind over a hundred incidents of +school life, remembered, as such are, with photographic accuracy. + +"Well," she admitted at length. "You did your best to make me hate it--at +all events." + +"Ah!" said Sor Teresa, with a slow smile. + +"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. + +"Answer me," she said impatiently. + +"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." + +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. + +"Were you suited to the religious life?" asked the girl suddenly. + +But Sor Teresa made no answer. + +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. + +"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. + +She rose and impulsively kissed Sor Teresa. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"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 ..." + +"Oh! are there?" cried Juanita, passionately. "Who--I should like to +know?" + +"I am only speaking in generalities, my child." + +Juanita looked at her suspiciously, her April eyes glittering with a new +light. + +"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." + +She dropped her tired head upon her folded arms--a schoolgirl attitude +which returned naturally to her amid the old surroundings. + +"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." + +Sor Teresa did not deny this sisterly truth; but stood motionless, +waiting for Juanita's decision. + +"I am so hungry and tired," she said at length. "I suppose I can have +something to eat ... if I pay for it." + +"Yes; you can have something to eat." + +"And I may be allowed to stay here to-night, at all events." + +"No, you cannot do that," answered the Sister Superior. + +Juanita looked up in surprise. + +"Then what am I to do? Where am I to go?" + +"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." + +Juanita laughed scornfully and shook her head. She had plenty of that +spirit which will fight to the end and overcome fatigue and hunger. + +"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." + +"Under exceptional circumstances I can do both." + +"Ah!" muttered Juanita, incredulously. + +"And those circumstances have arisen. There, you can satisfy yourself." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Well," asked Sor Teresa. "What have you decided to do?" + +Juanita listened to the alarm of war for a moment before turning from the +window. + +"It is not a false alarm?" she inquired. "The Carlists are really out?" + +For she had fallen into the habit of the Northern Provinces, of speaking +of the insurrection as if it were a recurrent flood. + +"They have been preparing all the winter," answered Sor Teresa. + +"And Pampeluna is to be invested?" + +"Yes." + +"And Torre Garda?..." + +"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." + +"Then I will go back to Torre Garda," said Juanita. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +AT THE FORD +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"I suppose," said Sor Teresa suddenly, "that Evasio Mon was at Torre +Garda to-day." + +"Yes." + +"And you left him there when you came away." + +"Yes." + +"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 clientčle +in the pious capital of Navarre. He had a confidential manner. + +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. + +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. + +"Do you see anything?" asked Sor Teresa. + +"No--I can see nothing." + +"There is a chapel up there, on the slope." + +"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. + +It told of calamity--the greatest that can happen to a woman--to be +married without love. + +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. + +"Did these sainted ladies hear anything?" he asked. + +"No," answered Sor Teresa. "Why do you ask?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +And she gave a low laugh of thrilling excitement. + +The driver was now pulling up his horses. He too laughed aloud. + +"It is the troops," he cried. "They thought we were the Carlists. But, +who is this, Seńoras? It is that man again." + +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. + +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. + +"It is Marcos," she cried, clutching Sor Teresa's arm. "And he came +through that--he came through that!" + +"No one hurt?" asked Marcos' deep voice. + +"No one hurt, Seńor," answered the driver who had recognised him. + +"And the horses?" + +"The horses are safe. A malediction upon them; they nearly had us over +the cliff. Those are the troops. They took us for Carlists." + +"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." + +The driver scratched his head and made known his views as to the +ancestory of the Carlists. + +"There is no getting into the valley to-night," said Marcos to Sor Teresa +and Juanita. "You must return to Pampeluna." + +"And what will you do?" asked Juanita in a hard voice. + +"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." + +"Uncle Ramon is at Torre Garda?" asked Juanita in the same curt, quick +way. + +"Yes." + +"Then I will go with you," she said with her hand already on the door. + +"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." + +Juanita had opened the door. She stood on the step looking up at him as +he sat on the tall black horse, + +"If you will take me," she said in French, "I will come with you." + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +The man protested that nothing short of death would prevent his carrying +out the instructions. + +"It will be worth your while," said Marcos. "It will be remembered +afterwards." + +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. + +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. + +"Where is Evasio Mon?" she asked. + +Marcos answered with a low, contented laugh. + +"He is trapped in the valley," he said in French. "I have seen to that." + +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. + +"Are you ready?" Sor Teresa asked her driver. + +"Yes, Excellency." + +"Then go." + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"Yes," answered Marcos. "We must pass underneath them; for the ford is +there. We must be quite noiseless. We must not even whisper." + +He edged his horse towards one of the rough stones laid on the outer edge +of the road to mark its limit at night. + +"I can only give you one hand," he said. "Can you get up from this +stone?" + +"Behind you?" asked Juanita; "as we used to ride when I was--little?" + +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. + +"If he trots, I fall off," she said, with an eager laugh. + +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. + +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. + +"The cottage is here," he said. "I shall leave the horse in their shed." + +He descended from the saddle and they stood for a moment side by side. + +"Let us wait a few moments, the moon is rising," said Marcos. "Perhaps +the Carlists have been here." + +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. + +"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." + +"Oh!" laughed Juanita, "I have taken the veil. It is done now and cannot +be undone." + +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. + +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. + +They were silent for a moment. Then Juanita spoke with a sort of forced +lightness. + +"You may have only one arm," she said, "but it is an astonishingly strong +one!" + +And she looked at him surreptitiously beneath her lashes as she stood +with her hands on her hair. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +IN THE CLOUDS +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +The woman held up her hands and shook them from side to side in a gesture +of horror. + +"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." + +Marcos thanked her, and explained that they wanted nothing but a roof +under which to leave his horse. + +"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 Seńora cannot walk in that one, which is too +fine and too long." + +"Oh, but my daughters ..." exclaimed the old woman, with deprecating +hands. + +"They are very pretty girls," answered Marcos, with a laugh. "All the +valley knows that." + +"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." + +And she laughed heartily at her own conceit. + +"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. + +"I was telling the Seńora," 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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Who is it?" asked a voice presently. + +"Marcos de Sarrion," replied Marcos. "Strike no lights." + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +The dawn was just breaking when Marcos awoke Juanita. + +"Oh," she said plaintively. "I have only been asleep ten minutes." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +She gave a little shiver at the recollection of her ablutions, and +laughed a clear, low laugh, as fresh as the morning itself. + +"Where are the men?" she asked. + +"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." + +Juanita stood watching Marcos who seemed entirely absorbed in blowing up +the fire with a pair of dilapidated bellows. + +"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." + +"I suppose so," answered Marcos. + +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. + +"Of what are you thinking?" asked Marcos suddenly; for Juanita had stood +motionless, watching him. + +"I was thinking what a comfort it is that you are not an indoor man," she +replied with a careless laugh. + +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. + +"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? + +"Marcos," she said. + +"Yes." + +"I want you to give me the letter I wrote to you at Torre Garda." + +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. + +"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. + +She slowly tore the letter into pieces and threw it on the fire. + +"Do you know why I came back?" she asked, which question can hardly have +formed part of the plan of action. + +"No." + +"Because you never pretended that you cared. If you had pretended that +you cared for me, I should never have forgiven you." + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +LE GANT DE VELOURS +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. + +"You must be careful," said Marcos, almost sharply. "You are not thinking +what you are doing." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"You would have been safer at Pampeluna," he said with a keen glance into +her face. + +"I am quite safe enough here, thank you," she answered, meeting his eyes +with a steady smile. + +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. + +"It is the result of good nursing," said Sarrion, slipping his hand +inside Juanita's arm and walking by her side. + +"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. + +"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?" + +"Every Basque plays Pelota," he replied. + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"Why did Evasio Mon want me to go into religion?" she asked bluntly. + +"My child--you have three million pesetas." + +"And if I had gone into religion--and I nearly did--the Church would have +had them?" + +"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." + +"At Pelota! and you and Marcos?" + +"We were on the other side," said Sarrion, with a shrug of the shoulders. + +"And I have been the ball." + +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. + +"Well," he said, "... since we have won." + +"Have you won?" + +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. + +"At all events Seńor 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. + +"That is true," admitted Sarrion. + +"They say he is trapped in the valley--as we are." + +"So I believe." + +"Will he come to Torre Garda?" + +"As likely as not," answered Sarrion. "He has never lacked audacity." + +"If he comes I should like to speak to him," said Juanita. + +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. + +"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." + +"That is why we won," said Sarrion, stoutly. + +"And you did not heed the risks." + +"What risks?" + +Juanita turned and looked at him with a little laugh of scorn. + +"Oh, you do not understand. Neither does Marcos. I suppose men don't. You +might have ruined several lives." + +"So might Evasio Mon," returned Sarrion sharply. And Juanita rather drew +back as a fencer may flinch who has been touched. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"You and I, Seńorita," said Mon, with his bland and easy sympathy of +manner, "have no business here. We are persons of peace." + +Cousin Peligros made a condescending and yet decisive gesture, patting +the empty air. + +"I have my charge. I shall fulfil it," she said--determined, and not +without a suggestion of coyness withal. + +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. + +"You will stay the night," said Sarrion to Evasio Mon. + +"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." + +"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." + +Sarrion laughed. + +"You are always hearing guns." + +Mon turned and looked at him and there was a suggestion of melancholy in +his smile. + +"Ah! Ramon," he said. "You and I have heard them all our lives." + +And there was perhaps a second meaning in his words, known only to +Sarrion, whose face softened for an instant. + +"Let us have some coffee," he said, turning to Cousin Peligros. "Will you +see to it, Peligros--in the library?" + +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. + +"By the way ..." said Sarrion, and followed her without completing his +sentence. + +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. + +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. + +"I spoke as a friend," said Mon, "when I recommended you to allow me to +escort you to Pampeluna." + +"I know that you always speak as a friend," answered Juanita quietly, +"... of mine. Not of Marcos, perhaps." + +"Ah, but your friends are Marcos'," said Mon, with a suggestion of +raillery in his voice. + +"And his enemies are mine," she retorted, looking straight in front of +her. + +"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?" + +Then Juanita unmasked her guns. + +"Because he outwitted you and married me," she answered. + +"For your money--" + +"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." + +"He told you that?" asked Mon in real surprise. + +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. + +"And you believed him?" inquired Mon, dimly groping at the meaning of the +smile. + +"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. + +"And you believed him?" repeated Mon, which was a mistake; for she turned +on him at once and answered, + +"Yes." + +Mon shrugged his shoulders with the tolerant air of one who has met +defeat time after time; who expected naught else perhaps. + +"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." + +"Against Marcos?" + +Mon shrugged his shoulders a second time. + +"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." + +Which statement all men will assuredly be ready to admit. + +Mon turned and looked at her with an odd smile. + +"Ah!" he said. "You have fallen in love with Marcos." + +Juanita changed colour and her eyes suddenly lighted with anger. + +"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." + +She paused. Mon was slowly drawing his gloves through his hands which +were white and smooth. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +A moment later she heard him laughing and talking in the library. + +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. + +He turned and looked towards the terrace. + +"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." + +Sarrion made no answer. + +"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." + +He waved a salutation as he rode away. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +LA MAIN DE FER +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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?" + +"Not at all," answered Marcos, glancing no higher than her waist. + +"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?" + +"Yes," answered he with a laugh. "Do not tell it to the wrong people as +Joseph did." + +"No, your reverence," she said. She stood looking at him with grave eyes. + +"Is there going to be a battle?" she asked, curtly. + +"Yes." + +"Where?" + +He pointed down into the valley with his pen. + +"Just above the bridge if it all comes off as they have planned." + +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. + +"Will you do me a favour?" she asked. + +"Of course." + +He lifted his pen from the paper, but did not look up. + +"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." + +"Yes," answered Marcos, gravely. "I understand. I promise to take care." + +Juanita still lingered at the window. + +"And you always keep your promises, don't you? To the letter?" + +"Why shouldn't I?" + +"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?" + +"No," answered Marcos, quite simply. + +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. + +"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." + +"Zeneta is retreating slowly before the enemy, with his small force," +explained Marcos. + +"But why is he doing that? He must surely know that there are ladies at +Torre Garda." + +"Ladies are not articles of war," said Juanita with a frivolous disregard +of Cousin Peligros' reproving face. "And this is war." + +As she spoke Marcos rose and quitted the room after glancing at his +watch. Juanita followed him. + +"Marcos," she said, in the hall, having closed the dining-room door +behind her. "Will you tell me what time it will begin?" + +"Zeneta is timed to retreat across the bridge at three o'clock. The enemy +will, it is hoped, follow him." + +"And where will you be?" + +"I shall be with Pacheco and his staff on the hill behind Pedro's mill. +You will see a little flag wherever Pacheco is." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +There was a pause. The Carlists were waiting for their skirmishers to +come in from heights above the road. + +Sarrion and Juanita stood at the edge of the terrace. Sarrion was +watching with a quick and comprehensive glance. + +"Is General Pacheco a good general?" asked Juanita. + +"Excellent." + +Sarrion did not comment further on this successful soldier. + +"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." + +"By being loyal," suggested Sarrion with a short laugh and there the +conversation ceased. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +So close beneath the house were Zeneta's men now, that those on the +terrace could hear his voice. + +"The bridge," said Sarrion, under his breath. "Look at the bridge!" + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"No--no!" she said angrily. + +"Yes--I promised Marcos," answered Sarrion with his arm round her waist. + +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. + +"I have never been treated like this before," she said severely. + +Sarrion stood at the window, keeping Juanita in. + +"It will be all over in a few minutes," he said. "Holy Virgin! What a +lesson for them." + +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. + +"There," said Sarrion, "it is over. Marcos said they were to be taught a +lesson. They have learnt it." + +He quitted the room taking his hat which he had thrown aside. + +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. + +"Juanita," said Cousin Peligros, "I forbid you to leave the room. I +absolutely refuse to be left alone." + +"Then call your maid," said Juanita, patiently. + +"Where are you going?" + +"I am going to follow Uncle Ramon down to the valley. There must be +hundreds of wounded. I can do something----" + +"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." + +Juanita looked at the supine form in the easy chair. + +"Yes," she answered. "And I am mistress of Torre Garda." + +Which, perhaps, had a double meaning, for when she closed the door--not +without emphasis--Cousin Peligros sat upright with a start. + +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. + +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. + +"Evasio Mon," he said. + +"Killed?" + +Marcos nodded his head. + +"You did not do it?" said Sarrion sharply. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +Sarrion was the first to speak. + +"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 ...!" + +He shrugged his shoulders. + +"I know," said Juanita quietly ... "all about it." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +THE CASTING VOTE +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. + +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. + +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. + +Cousin Peligros did not appear at dinner. She had an attack of nerves +instead. + +"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." + +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. + +"You have seen for yourself that there is not much the matter with her," +said Juanita, watching his face. + +"Yes," he answered rather absent-mindedly. "There is not much the matter +with her." + +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. + +"She will not stay," he said at last. "She says she is going to-morrow." + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Ah!" + +"And she wants you to go with her and stay," said Marcos, bluntly. + +"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." + +"Then you do not care to go to Madrid with her?" inquired Marcos. + +Juanita seemed to weigh the pros and cons of the matter with her head at +a measuring angle while she looked into the fire. + +"No ... No," she answered. "I think not, thank you." + +"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." + +Juanita made no answer to this. Sarrion was reading the paper very +attentively. But it was he who spoke first. + +"I must go to Saragossa," he said, without looking up from his paper. +"Perhaps Juanita will take compassion on my solitude there." + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +"And you know that I subscribe to Marcos' polite desire," said Sarrion +with a light laugh. + +"I know you are an old dear," answered Juanita, jumping up and throwing +aside her book. "And now I am going to bed." + +She kissed Sarrion and smoothed back his gray hair with a quick and light +touch. + +"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. + +The next morning Cousin Peligros took her departure from Torre Garda. + +"I wash my hands," she said, with the usual gesture, "of the whole +affair." + +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. + +"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." + +"I thank you," replied Cousin Peligros, who included domestic servants in +her category of persons in whose presence it is unladylike to be natural. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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 ..." + +"Oh--it was not when he was killed that I forgave him." + +"Then when was it?" + +Juanita laughed lightly and shook her head. + +"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." + +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. + +"Dinner at seven to-night," he said, briskly. "If you have no objection." + +"Why?" asked Juanita. + +"I am going to Saragossa." + +"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. + +"Seven o'clock," said the mistress of Torre Garda, rising and going +towards the house. "I will go at once and see to it." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"It is all the better," said Marcos. "If the horses can see nothing, they +cannot shy." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Yes." + +"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--" + +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. + +"But I don't mind," she said. + +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. + +"And, Marcos--you made another promise. You said that we were only going +to play at being married--a sort of game." + +"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. + +"Then I think it is a stupid game--and I do not want to play it any +longer ... Marcos." + + + + + + +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 10342-8.txt or 10342-8.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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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