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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, In Kedar's Tents, by Henry Seton Merriman
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
+other parts of the world 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.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
+to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
+
+
+
+
+Title: In Kedar's Tents
+
+
+Author: Henry Seton Merriman
+
+
+
+Release Date: January 27, 2015  [eBook #5987]
+[This file was first posted on October 8, 2002]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN KEDAR'S TENTS***
+
+
+Transcribed from the 1909 Smith, Elder and Co. edition by Les Bowler.
+
+                          [Picture: Book cover]
+
+
+
+
+
+                                    IN
+                              KEDAR’S TENTS
+
+
+                      [Picture: Decorative graphic]
+
+                                    BY
+                           HENRY SETON MERRIMAN
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                                  LONDON
+                           SMITH, ELDER, & CO.
+                            15 WATERLOO PLACE
+                                   1909
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                   Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
+                    At the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+    CHAPTER                                  PAGE
+         I.  ONE SOWETH                         1
+        II.  ANOTHER REAPETH                   11
+       III.  LIKE SHIPS UPON THE SEA           23
+        IV.  LE PREMIER PAS                    34
+         V.  CONTRABAND                        48
+        VI.  AT RONDA                          59
+       VII.  IN A MOORISH GARDEN               70
+      VIII.  THE LOVE LETTER                   82
+        IX.  A WAR OF WIT                      94
+         X.  THE CITY OF DISCONTENT           105
+        XI.  A TANGLED WEB                    117
+       XII.  ON THE TOLEDO ROAD               129
+      XIII.  A WISE IGNORAMUS                 140
+       XIV.  A WEIGHT OF EVIDENCE             151
+        XV.  AN ULTIMATUM                     163
+       XVI.  IN HONOUR                        174
+      XVII.  IN MADRID                        185
+     XVIII.  IN TOLEDO                        197
+       XIX.  CONCEPÇION TAKES THE ROAD        208
+        XX.  ON THE TALAVERA ROAD             220
+       XXI.  A CROSS-EXAMINATION              231
+      XXII.  REPARATION                       242
+     XXIII.  LARRALDE’S PRICE                 254
+      XXIV.  PRIESTCRAFT                      265
+       XXV.  SWORDCRAFT                       276
+      XXVI.  WOMANCRAFT                       287
+     XXVII.  A NIGHT JOURNEY                  298
+    XXVIII.  THE CITY OF STRIFE               309
+      XXIX.  MIDNIGHT AND DAWN                320
+       XXX.  THE DAWN OF PEACE                331
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+ONE SOWETH
+
+
+    ‘If it be a duty to respect other men’s claims, so also is it a duty
+    to maintain our own.’
+
+IT is in the staging of her comedies that fate shows herself superior to
+mere human invention.  While we, with careful regard to scenery, place
+our conventional puppets on the stage and bid them play their old old
+parts in a manner as ancient, she rings up the curtain and starts a
+tragedy on a scene that has obviously been set by the carpenter for a
+farce.  She deals out the parts with a fine inconsistency, and the
+jolly-faced little man is cast to play Romeo, while the poetic youth with
+lantern jaw and an impaired digestion finds no Juliet to match his love.
+
+Fate, with that playfulness which some take too seriously or quite amiss,
+set her queer stage as long ago as 1838 for the comedy of certain lives,
+and rang up the curtain one dark evening on no fitter scene than the high
+road from Gateshead to Durham.  It was raining hard, and a fresh breeze
+from the south-east swept a salt rime from the North Sea across a tract
+of land as bare and bleak as the waters of that grim ocean.  A hard, cold
+land this, where the iron that has filled men’s purses has also entered
+their souls.
+
+There had been a great meeting at Chester-le-Street of those who were at
+this time beginning to be known as Chartists, and, the Act having been
+lately passed that torchlight meetings were illegal, this assembly had
+gathered by the light of a waning moon long since hidden by the clouds.
+Amid the storm of wind and rain, orators had expounded views as wild as
+the night itself, to which the hard-visaged sons of Northumbria had
+listened with grunts of approval or muttered words of discontent.  A
+dangerous game to play—this stirring up of the people’s heart, and one
+that may at any moment turn to the deepest earnest.
+
+Few thought at this time that the movement awakening in the working
+centres of the North and Midlands was destined to spread with the strange
+rapidity of popular passion—to spread and live for a decade.  Few of the
+Chartists expected to see the fulfilment of half of their desires.  Yet,
+to-day, a moiety of the People’s Charter has been granted.  These voices
+crying in the night demanded an extended suffrage, vote by ballot, and
+freedom for rich and poor alike to sit in Parliament.  Within the scope
+of one reign these demands have been granted.
+
+The meeting at Chester-le-Street was no different from a hundred others
+held in England at the same time.  It was illegal, and yet the
+authorities dared not to pronounce it so.  It might prove dangerous to
+those taking part in it.  Lawyers said that the leaders laid themselves
+open to the charge of high treason.  In this assembly as in others there
+were wirepullers—men playing their own game, and from the safety of the
+rear pushing on those in front.  With one of these we have to do.  With
+his mistake Fate raised the curtain, and on the horizon of several lives
+arose a cloud no bigger than a man’s hand.
+
+Geoffrey Horner lived before his time, insomuch as he was a
+gentleman-Radical.  He was clever, and the world heeded not.  He was
+brilliant, well educated, capable of great achievements, and the world
+refused to be astonished.  Here were the makings of a malcontent.  A
+well-born Radical is one whom the world has refused to accept at his own
+valuation.  A wise man is ready to strike a bargain with Fate.  The
+wisest are those who ask much and then take half.  It is the coward who
+asks too little, and the fool who imagines that he will receive without
+demanding.
+
+Horner had thrown in his lot with the Chartists in that spirit of pique
+which makes a man marry the wrong woman because the right one will have
+none of him.  At the Chester-le-Street meeting he had declared himself an
+upholder of moral persuasion, while in his heart he pandered to those who
+knew only of physical force and placed their reliance thereon.  He had
+come from Durham with a contingent of malcontents, and was now returning
+thither on foot in company with the local leaders.  These were
+intelligent mechanics seeking clumsily and blindly enough what they knew
+to be the good of their fellows.  At their heels tramped the rank and
+file of the great movement.  The assembly was a subtle foreshadowing of
+things to come—of Newport and the march of twenty thousand men, of
+violence and bloodshed, of strife between brethren, and of justice
+nonplussed and hesitating.
+
+The toil-worn miners were mostly silent, their dimly enlightened
+intellects uneasily stirred by the words they had lately heard—their
+stubborn hearts full of a great hope with a minute misgiving at the back
+of it.  With this dangerous material Geoffrey Horner proposed to play his
+game.
+
+Suddenly a voice was raised.
+
+‘Mates,’ it cried, at the cross-roads, ‘let’s go and smash Pleydell’s
+windows!’
+
+And a muttered acquiescence to the proposal swept through the moving mass
+like a sullen breeze through reeds.
+
+The desire for action rustled among these men of few words and mighty
+arms.
+
+Horner hurriedly consulted his colleagues.  Was it wise to attempt to
+exert an authority which was merely nominal?  The principles of Chartism
+were at this time to keep within the limits of the law, and yet to hint,
+when such a course was safe, that stronger measures lay behind mere
+words.  Their fatal habit was to strike softly.
+
+In peace and war, at home and abroad, there is but one humane and safe
+rule: Hesitate to strike—strike hard.
+
+Sir John Pleydell was a member of that Parliament which had treated the
+Charter with contempt.  He was one of those who had voted with the
+majority against the measures it embodied.
+
+In addition to these damnatory facts, he was a local Tory of some
+renown—an ambitious man, the neighbours said, who wished to leave his son
+a peerage.
+
+To the minds of the rabble this magnate represented the tyranny against
+which their protest was raised.  Geoffrey Horner looked on him as a
+political opponent and a dangerous member of the winning party.  The blow
+was easy to strike.  Horner hesitated—at the cross roads of other lives
+than his own—and held his tongue.
+
+The suggestion of the unknown humorist in the crowd commended itself to
+the more energetic of the party, who immediately turned towards the
+by-road leading to Dene Hall.  The others—the minority—followed as
+minorities do, because they distrusted themselves.  Some one struck up a
+song with words lately published in the ‘Northern Liberator’ and set to a
+well-known local air.
+
+The shooting party assembled at Dene Hall was still at the dinner table
+when the malcontents entered the park, and the talk of coverts and guns
+ceased suddenly at the sound of their rough voices.  Sir John Pleydell,
+an alert man still, despite his grey hair and drawn, careworn face,
+looked up sharply.  He had been sitting silently fingering the stem of
+his wineglass—a habit of his when the ladies quitted the room—and,
+although he had shot as well as, perhaps better than, any present, had
+taken but little part in the conversation.  He had, in fact, only half
+listened, and when a rare smile passed across his grey face it invariably
+owed its existence to some sally made by his son, Alfred Pleydell, gay,
+light-hearted, _débonnaire_, at the far end of the table.  When Sir
+John’s thoughtful eyes rested on his motherless son, a dull and
+suppressed light gleamed momentarily beneath his heavy lids.  Superficial
+observers said that John Pleydell was an ambitious man; ‘not for
+himself,’ added the few who saw deeper.
+
+When his quick mind now took in the import of the sound that broke the
+outer silence of the night, Sir John’s glance sought his son’s face.  In
+moments of alarm the glance flies to where the heart is.
+
+‘What is that?’ asked Alfred Pleydell, standing up.
+
+‘The Chartists,’ said Sir John.
+
+Alfred looked round.  He was a soldier, though the ink had hardly dried
+upon the parchment that made him one—the only soldier in the room.
+
+‘We are eleven here,’ he said, ‘and two men downstairs—some of you
+fellows have your valets too—say fifteen in all.  We cannot stand this,
+you know.’
+
+As he spoke the first volley of stones crashed through the windows, and
+the broken glass rattled to the floor behind the shutters.  The cries of
+the ladies in the drawing-room could be heard, and all the men sprang to
+their feet.  With blazing eyes Alfred Pleydell ran to the door, but his
+father was there before him.
+
+‘Not you,’ said the elder man, quiet but a little paler than usual; ‘I
+will go and speak to them.  They will not dare to touch me.  They are
+probably running away by this time.’
+
+‘Then we’ll run after ’em,’ answered Alfred with a fine spirit, and
+something in his attitude, in the ring of his voice, awoke that demon of
+combativeness which lies dormant in men of the Anglo-Saxon race.
+
+‘Come on, you fellows!’ cried the boy with a queer glad laugh, and
+without knowing that he did it Sir John stood aside, his heart warm with
+a sudden pride, his blood stirred by something that had not moved it
+these thirty years.  The guests crowded out of the room—old men who
+should have known better—laughing as they threw aside their dinner
+napkins.  What a strange thing is man, peaceful through long years, and
+at a moment’s notice a mere fighting devil.
+
+‘Come on, we’ll teach them to break windows!’ repeated Alfred Pleydell,
+running to the stick rack.  The rain rattled on the skylight of the
+square hall, and the wind roared down the open chimney.  Among the men
+hastily arming themselves with heavy sticks and cramming caps upon their
+heads were some who had tasted of rheumatism, but they never thought of
+an overcoat.
+
+‘We’ll know each other by our shirt fronts,’ said a quiet man who was
+standing on a chair in order to reach an Indian club suspended on the
+wall.
+
+Alfred was at the door leading through to the servants’ quarters, and his
+summons brought several men from the pantry and kitchens.
+
+‘Come on!’ he cried, ‘take anything you can find—stick or poker—yes, and
+those old guns, use ’em like a club, hit very hard and very often.  We’ll
+charge the devils—there’s nothing like a charge—come on!’
+
+And he was already out of the door with a dozen at his heels.
+
+The change from the lighted rooms to the outer darkness made them pause a
+moment, during which time the defenders had leisure to group themselves
+around Alfred Pleydell.  A hoarse shout, which indeed drowned Geoffrey
+Horner’s voice, showed where the assailants stood.  Horner had found his
+tongue after the first volley of stones.  It was the policy of the
+Chartist leaders and wirepullers to suggest rather than demonstrate
+physical force.  Enough had been done to call attention to the
+Chester-le-Street meeting, and give it the desired prominence in the eyes
+of the nation.
+
+‘Get back, go to your homes!’ he was shouting, with upraised arms, when
+the hoarse cry of his adherents and the flood of light from the opened
+door made him turn hastily.  In a moment he saw the meaning of this
+development, but it was too late.
+
+With a cheer, Alfred Pleydell, little more than a boy, led the charge,
+and seeing Horner in front, ran at him with upraised stick.  Horner half
+warded the blow, which came whistling down his own stick and paralysed
+his thumb.  He returned the stroke with a sudden fury, striking Pleydell
+full on the head.  Then, because he had a young wife and child at home,
+he pushed his way through the struggling crowd, and ran away in the
+darkness.  As he ran he could hear his late adherents dispersing in all
+directions, like sheep before a dog.  He heard a voice calling:
+
+‘Alfred!  Alfred!’
+
+And Horner, who an hour—nay, ten minutes—earlier had had no thought of
+violence, ran his fastest along the road by which he had lately come.
+His heart was as water within his breast, and his staring eyes played
+their part mechanically.  He did not fall, but he noted nothing, and had
+no knowledge whither he was running.
+
+Alfred Pleydell lay quite still on the lawn in front of his father’s
+house.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+ANOTHER REAPETH
+
+
+                 ‘Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt.’
+
+DURING the course of a harum-scarum youth in the city of Dublin certain
+persons had been known to predict that Mr. Frederick Conyngham had a
+future before him.  Mostly pleasant-spoken Irish persons these, who had
+the racial habit of saying that which is likely to be welcome.  Many of
+them added, ‘the young divil,’ under their breath, in a pious hope of
+thereby cleansing their souls from guilt.
+
+‘I suppose I’m idle, and what is worse, I know I’m a fool,’ said
+Conyngham himself to his tutor when that gentleman, with a toleration
+which was undeserved, took him severely to task before sending him up for
+the Bar examination.  The tutor said nothing, but he suspected that this,
+his wildest pupil, was no fool.  Truth to tell, Frederick Conyngham had
+devoted little thought to the matter of which he spoke, namely, himself,
+and was perhaps none the worse for that.  A young man who thinks too
+often usually falls into the error of also thinking too much, of himself.
+
+The examination was, however, safely passed, and in due course Frederick
+was called to the Irish Bar, where a Queen’s Counsel, with an accent like
+rich wine, told him that he was now a gintleman, and entitled so to call
+himself.
+
+All these events were left behind, and Conyngham, sitting alone in his
+rooms in Norfolk Street, Strand, three days after the breaking of Sir
+John Pleydell’s windows, was engaged in realising that the predicted
+future was still in every sense before him, and in nowise nearer than it
+had been in his mother’s lifetime.
+
+This realisation of an unpleasant fact appeared in no way to disturb his
+equanimity, for, as he knocked his pipe against the bars of the fire, he
+murmured a popular air in a careless voice.  The firelight showed his
+face to be pleasant enough in a way that left the land of his birth
+undoubted.  Blue eyes, quick and kind; a square chin, closely curling
+hair, and square shoulders bespoke an Irishman.  Something, however, in
+the cut of his lips—something close and firm—suggested an admixture of
+Anglo-Saxon blood.  The man looked as if he might have had an English
+mother.  It was perhaps this formation of the mouth that had led those
+pleasant-spoken persons to name to his relatives their conviction that
+Conyngham had a future before him.  The best liars are those who base
+their fancy upon fact.  They knew that the ordinary thoroughbred Irishman
+has usually a cheerful enough life before him, but not that which is
+vaguely called a future.  Fred Conyngham looked like a man who could hold
+to his purpose, but at this moment he also had the unfortunate appearance
+of not possessing one to hold to.
+
+He knocked the ashes from his pipe, and held the hot briar bowl against
+the ear of a sleeping fox terrier, which animal growled, without moving,
+in a manner that suggested its possession of a sense of humour and a full
+comprehension of the harmless practical joke.
+
+A moment later the dog sat up and listened with an interest that
+gradually increased until the door opened and Geoffrey Horner came into
+the room.
+
+‘Faith, it’s Horner!’ said Conyngham.  ‘Where are you from?’
+
+‘The North.’
+
+‘Ah—sit down.  What have you been doing up there—tub-thumping?’
+
+Horner came forward and sat down in the chair indicated.  He looked five
+years older than when he had last been there.  Conyngham glanced at his
+friend, who was staring into the fire.
+
+‘Edith all right?’ he asked carelessly.
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘And—the little chap?’
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+Conyngham glanced at his companion again.  Horner’s eyes had the hard
+look that comes from hopelessness; his lips were dry and white.  He wore
+the air of one whose stake in the game of life was heavy, who played that
+game nervously.  For this was an ambitious man with wife and child whom
+he loved.  Conyngham’s attitude towards Fate was in strong contrast.  He
+held his head up and faced the world without encumbrance, without a
+settled ambition, without any sense of responsibility at all.  The
+sharp-eyed dog on the hearthrug looked from one to the other.  A moment
+before, the atmosphere of the room had been one of ease and comfortable
+assurance—an atmosphere that some men, without any warrant or the
+justification of personal success or distinction, seem to carry with them
+through life.  Since Horner had crossed the threshold the ceaseless hum
+of the streets seemed to be nearer, the sound of it louder in the room;
+the restlessness of that great strife stirred the air.  The fox terrier
+laid himself on the hearthrug again, but instead of sleeping watched his
+two human companions.
+
+Conyngham filled his pipe.  He turned to the table where the matchbox
+stood at his elbow, took it up, rattled it, and laid it down.  He pressed
+the tobacco hard with his thumb, and, turning to Horner, said sharply:
+
+‘What is it?’
+
+‘I don’t know yet; ruin, I think.’
+
+‘Nonsense, man!’ said Conyngham cheerily.  ‘There is no such thing in
+this world.  At least, the jolliest fellows I know are bankrupts, or no
+better.  Look at me: never a brief; literary contributions returned with
+thanks; balance at the bank, seventeen pounds ten shillings; balance in
+hand, none; debts, the Lord only knows!  Look at me!  I’m happy enough.’
+
+‘Yes, you’re a lonely devil.’
+
+Conyngham looked at his friend with inquiry in his gay eyes.
+
+‘Ah! perhaps so.  I live alone, if that is what you mean.  But as for
+being lonely—no, hang it!  I have plenty of friends, especially at
+dividend time.’
+
+‘You have nobody depending on you,’ said Horner with the irritability of
+sorrow.
+
+‘Because nobody is such a fool.  On the other hand, I have nobody to care
+a twopenny curse what becomes of me.  Same thing, you see, in the end.
+Come, man, cheer up.  Tell me what is wrong.  Seventeen pounds ten
+shillings is not exactly wealth, but if you want it you know it is there,
+eh?’
+
+‘I do not want it, thanks,’ replied the other.  ‘Seventeen hundred would
+be no good to me.’
+
+He paused, biting his under lip and staring with hard eyes into the fire.
+
+‘Read that,’ he said at length, and handed Conyngham a cutting from a
+daily newspaper.
+
+The younger man read, without apparent interest, an account of the
+Chester-le-Street meeting, and the subsequent attack on Sir John
+Pleydell’s house.
+
+‘Yes,’ he commented, ‘the usual thing.  Brave words followed by a
+cowardly deed.  What in the name of fortune you were doing in that
+_galère_ you yourself know best.  If these are politics, Horner, I say
+drop them.  Politics are a stick, clean enough at the top, but you’ve got
+hold of the wrong end.  Young Pleydell was hurt, I see—“seriously, it is
+feared.”’
+
+‘Yes,’ said Horner significantly; and his companion, after a quick look
+of surprise, read the slip of paper carefully a second time.  Then he
+looked up and met Horner’s eyes.
+
+‘Gad!’ he exclaimed in a whisper.
+
+Horner said nothing.  The dog moved restlessly, and for a moment the
+whole world—that sleepless world of the streets—seemed to hold its
+breath.
+
+‘And if he dies,’ said Conyngham at length.
+
+‘Exactly so,’ answered the other with a laugh—of scaffold mirth.
+
+Conyngham turned in his chair and sat with his elbows on his knees, his
+face resting on his closed fists, staring at the worn old hearthrug.
+Thus they remained for some minutes.
+
+‘What are you thinking about?’ asked Horner at length.
+
+‘Nothing—got nothing to think with.  You know that, Geoffrey.  Wish I
+had—never wanted it as I do at this moment.  I’m no good, you know that.
+You must go to some one with brains—some clever devil.’
+
+As he spoke he turned and took up the paper again, reading the paragraph
+slowly and carefully.  Horner looked at him with a breathless hunger in
+his eyes.  At some moments it is a crime to think, for we never know but
+that thought may be transmitted without so much as a whisper.
+
+‘“The miners were accompanied by a gentleman from London,”’ Conyngham
+read aloud, ‘“a barrister, it is supposed, whose speech was a feature of
+the Chester le-Street meeting.  This gentleman’s name is quite unknown,
+nor has his whereabouts yet been discovered.  His sudden disappearance
+lends likelihood to the report that this unknown agitator actually struck
+the blow which injured Mr. Alfred Pleydell.  Every exertion is being put
+forth by the authorities to trace the man who is possibly a felon and
+certainly a coward.”’
+
+Conyngham laid aside the paper and again looked at Horner, who did not
+meet his glance nor ask now of what he was thinking.  Horner, indeed, had
+his own thoughts, perhaps of the fireside—modest enough, but happy as
+love and health could make it—upon which his own ambition had brought
+down the ruins of a hundred castles in the air—thoughts he scarce could
+face, no doubt, and yet had no power to drive away, of the young wife
+whose world was that same fireside; of the child, perhaps, whose coming
+had opened for a time the door of Paradise.
+
+Conyngham broke in upon these meditations with a laugh.
+
+‘I have it!’ he cried.  ‘It’s as simple as the alphabet.  This paper says
+it was a barrister—a man from London—a malcontent, a felon, a coward.
+Dammy, Geoff—that’s me!’
+
+He leapt to his feet.  ‘Get out of the way, Tim!’ he cried to the dog,
+pushing the animal aside and standing on the hearthrug.
+
+‘Listen to this,’ he went on.  ‘This thing, like the others, will blow
+over.  It will be forgotten in a week.  Another meeting will be held—say
+in South Wales, more windows will be broken, another young man’s head
+cracked, and Chester-le-Street (God-forsaken place, never heard of it!)
+will be forgotten.’
+
+Horner sat looking with hollow eyes at the young Irishman, his lips
+twitching, his fingers interlocked—there is nothing makes so complete a
+coward of a man as a woman’s love.  Conyngham laughed as the notion
+unfolded itself in his mind.  He might, as he himself had said, be of no
+great brain power, but he was at all events a man and a brave one.  He
+stood a full six foot, and looked down at his companion, who sat
+whitefaced and shrinking.
+
+‘It is quite easy,’ he said, ‘for me to disappear in such a manner as to
+arouse suspicion.  I have nothing to keep me here; my briefs—well, the
+Solicitor-General can have ’em!  I have no ties—nothing to keep me in any
+part of the world.  When young Pleydell is on his feet again, and a few
+more windows have been broken, and nine days have elapsed, the wonder
+will give place to another, and I can return to my—practice.’
+
+‘I couldn’t let you do it.’
+
+‘Oh yes, you could,’ said Conyngham with the quickness of his race to spy
+out his neighbour’s vulnerable point.  ‘For the sake of Edith and the
+little devil.’
+
+Horner sat silent, and after a moment Conyngham went on.
+
+‘All we want to do is to divert suspicion from you now—to put them on a
+false scent, for they must have one of some sort.  When they find that
+they cannot catch me they will forget all about it.’
+
+Horner shuffled in his seat.  This was nothing but detection of the
+thoughts that had passed through his own mind.
+
+‘It is easily enough done,’ went on the Irishman.  ‘A paragraph here and
+there in some of the newspapers; a few incriminating papers left in these
+rooms, which are certain to be searched.  I have a bad name—an Irish dog
+goes about the world with a rope round his neck.  If I am caught it will
+not be for some time, and then I can get out of it somehow—an alibi or
+something.  I’ll get a brief at all events.  By that time the scent will
+be lost, and it will be all right.  Come, Geoff, cheer up!  A man of your
+sort ought not to be thrown by a mischance like this.’
+
+He stood with his legs apart, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, a
+gay laugh on his lips, and much discernment in his eyes.
+
+‘Oh, d—n Edith!’ he added after a pause, seeing that his efforts met with
+no response.  ‘D—n that child!  You used to have some pluck, Horner.’
+Horner shook his head and made no answer, but his very silence was a
+point gained.  He no longer protested nor raised any objection to his
+companion’s hare-brained scheme.  The thing was feasible, and he knew it.
+
+Conyngham went on to set forth his plans, which with characteristic
+rapidity of thought he evolved as he spoke.
+
+‘Above all,’ he said, ‘we must be prompt.  I must disappear to-night, the
+paragraphs must be in to-morrow’s papers.  I think I’ll go to Spain.  The
+Carlists seem to be making things lively there.  You know, Horner, I was
+never meant for a wig and gown—there’s no doubt about that.  I shall have
+a splendid time of it out there—’
+
+He stopped, meeting a queer look in Horner’s eyes, who sat leaning
+forward and searching his face with jealous glance.
+
+‘I was wondering,’ said the other, with a pale smile, ‘if you were ever
+in love with Edith.’
+
+‘No, my good soul, I was not,’ answered Conyngham, with perfect
+carelessness, ‘though I knew her long before you did.’
+
+He paused, and a quick thought flashed through his mind that some men are
+seen at their worst in adversity.  He was ready enough to find excuses
+for Horner, for men are strange in the gift of their friendship, often
+bestowing it where they know it is but ill deserved.
+
+He rattled on with unbroken gaiety, unfolding plans which in their
+perfection of detail suggested a previous experience in outrunning the
+constable.
+
+While they were still talking a mutual friend came in—a quick-spoken man
+already beginning to be known as a journalist of ability.  They talked on
+indifferent topics for some time.  Then the new-comer said jerkily:
+
+‘Heard the news?’
+
+‘No,’ answered Conyngham.
+
+‘Alfred Pleydell—young fellow who resisted the Chartist rioters at
+Durham—died yesterday morning.’  Frederick Conyngham had placed himself
+in front of Horner, who was still seated in the low chair by the fire.
+He found Horner’s toe with his heel.
+
+‘Is that so?’ he said gravely.  ‘Then I’m off.’
+
+‘What do you mean?’ asked the journalist with a quick look—the man had
+the manner of a ferret.
+
+‘Nothing, only I’m off, that’s all, old man.  And I cannot ask you to
+stay this evening, you understand, because I have to pack.’
+
+He turned slowly on Horner, who had recovered himself, but still had his
+hand over his face.
+
+‘Got any money, Geoff?’ he asked.
+
+‘Yes, I have twenty pounds if you want it,’ answered the other in a
+hoarse voice.
+
+‘I do want it—badly.’
+
+The journalist had taken up his hat and stick.  He moved slowly towards
+the door, and, there pausing, saw Horner pass the bank-notes to
+Conyngham.
+
+‘You had better go too,’ said the Irishman.  ‘You two are going in the
+same direction, I know.’
+
+Horner rose, and, half laughing, Conyngham pushed him towards the door.
+
+‘See him home, Blake,’ he said.  ‘Horner has the blues to-night.’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+LIKE SHIPS UPON THE SEA
+
+
+                   ‘No one can be more wise than destiny.’
+
+‘WHAT are we waiting for? why, two more passengers—grand ladies as they
+tell me—and the captain has gone ashore to fetch them,’ the first mate of
+the ‘Granville’ barque, of London, made answer to Frederick Conyngham,
+and he breathed on his fingers as he spoke, for the north-west wind was
+blowing across the plains of the Medoc, and the sun had just set behind
+the smoke of Bordeaux.
+
+The ‘Granville’ was lying at anchor in the middle of the Garonne river,
+having safely discharged her deck cargo of empty claret casks and landed
+a certain number of passengers.  There are few colder spots on the
+Continent than the sunny town of Bordeaux when the west wind blows from
+Atlantic wastes in winter time.  A fine powder of snow scudded across the
+flat land, which presented a bleak brown face, patched here and there
+with white.  There were two more passengers on board the ‘Granville,’
+crouching in the cabin—two French gentlemen who had taken passage from
+London to Algeciras in Spain, on their way to Algiers.
+
+Conyngham, with characteristic good-nature, had made himself so entirely
+at home on board the Mediterranean trader that his presence was equally
+welcomed in the forecastle and the captain’s cabin.  Even the first mate,
+his present interlocutor, a grim man given to muttered abuse of his
+calling and a pious pessimism in respect to human nature, gradually
+thawed under the influence of so cheerful an acceptance of heavy weather
+and a clumsy deck cargo.
+
+‘The ladies will be less trouble than the empty casks, at all events,’
+said Conyngham, ‘because they will keep below.’
+
+The sailor shook his head forebodingly and took an heroic pinch of snuff.
+
+‘One’s as capable of carrying mischief as the other,’ he muttered in the
+bigoted voice of a married teetotaller.
+
+The ship was ready for sea, and this mariner’s spirit was ever uneasy and
+restless till the anchor was on deck and the hawser stowed.
+
+‘There’s a boat leaving the quay now,’ he added.  ‘Seems she’s lumbered
+up forr’ard wi’ women’s hamper.’
+
+And indeed the black form of a skiff so laden could be seen approaching
+through the driving snow and gloom.  The mate called to the steward to
+come on deck, and this bearded servitor of dames emerged from the galley
+with uprolled sleeves and a fine contempt for cold winds.  A boy went
+forward with a coil of rope on his arm, for the tide was running hard and
+the Garonne is no ladies’ pleasure stream.  It is not an easy matter to
+board a ship in mid-current when tide and wind are at variance, and the
+fingers so cold that a rope slips through them like a log-line.  The
+‘Granville,’ having still on board her cargo of coals for Algeciras, lay
+low in the water with both her anchors out and the tide singing round her
+old-fashioned hempen hawsers.
+
+‘Now see ye throw a clear rope,’ shouted the mate to the boy who had gone
+forward.  The proximity of the land and the approach of women—a _bête
+noire_ no less dreaded—seemed to flurry the brined spirit of the
+Granville’s’ mate.
+
+Perhaps the knowledge that the end of a rope, not judged clear, would
+inevitably be applied to his own person, shook the nerve of the boy on
+the forecastle—perhaps his hands were cold and his faculties benumbed.
+He cast a line which seemed to promise well at first.  Two coils of it
+unfolded themselves gracefully against the grey sky, and then Confusion
+took the others for herself.  A British oath from the deck of the ship
+went out to meet a fine French explosion of profanity from the boat, both
+forestalling the splash of the tangled rope into the water under the bows
+of the ship, and a full ten yards out of the reach of the man who stood,
+boathook in hand, ready to catch it.  There were two ladies in the stern
+of the boat, muffled up to the eyes, and betokening by their attitude the
+hopeless despair and misery which seize the southern fair the moment they
+embark in so much as a ferry boat.  The fore part of the heavy craft was
+piled up with trunks and other impedimenta of a feminine incongruity.  A
+single boatman had rowed the boat from the shore, guiding it into
+mid-stream, and there describing a circle calculated to insure a gentle
+approach on the lee side.  This man, having laid aside his oars, now
+stood, boathook in hand, awaiting the inevitable crash.  The offending
+boy in the bows was making frantic efforts to haul in his misguided rope,
+but the possibility of making a second cast was unworthy of
+consideration.  The mate muttered such a string of foreboding expletives
+as augured ill for the delinquent.  The boatman was preparing to hold on
+and fend off at the same moment—a sudden gust of wind gave the boat a
+sharp buffet just as the man grappled the mizzen-chains—he overbalanced
+himself, fell, and recovered himself, but only to be jerked backwards
+into the water by the boathook, which struck him in the chest.
+
+‘_À moi_!’ cried the man, and disappeared in the muddy water.  He rose to
+the surface under the ship’s quarter, and the mate, quick as lightning,
+dumped the whole coil of the slack of the main sheet on to the top of
+him.  In a moment he was at the level of the rail, the mate and the
+steward hauling steadily on the rope, to which he clung with the tenacity
+and somewhat the attitude of a monkey.  At the same instant a splash made
+the rescuers turn in time to see Conyngham, whose coat lay thrown on the
+deck behind them, rise to the surface ten yards astern of the ‘Granville’
+and strike out towards the boat, now almost disappearing in the gloom of
+night.
+
+The water, which had flowed through the sunniest of the sunny plains of
+France, was surprisingly warm, and Conyngham, soon recovering from the
+shock of his dive, settled into a quick side-stroke.  The boat was close
+in front of him, and in the semi-darkness he could see one of the women
+rise from her seat and make her way forward, while her companion crouched
+lower and gave voice to her dismay in a series of wails and groans.  The
+more intrepid lady was engaged in lifting one of the heavy oars, when
+Conyngham called out in French:
+
+‘Courage, mesdames!  I will be with you in a moment.’
+
+Both turned, and the pallor of their faces shone whitely through the
+gloom.  Neither spoke, and in a few strokes Conyngham came alongside.  He
+clutched the gunwale with his right hand, and drew himself breast high.
+
+‘If these ladies,’ he said, ‘will kindly go to the opposite side of the
+boat, I shall be able to climb in without danger of upsetting.’
+
+‘If mama inclines that way I think it will be sufficient,’ answered the
+muffled form which had made its way forward.  The voice was clear and
+low, remarkably self-possessed, and not without a suggestion that its
+possessor bore a grudge against some person present.
+
+‘Perhaps mademoiselle is right,’ said Conyngham with becoming gravity,
+and the lady in the stern obeyed her daughter’s suggestion, with the
+result anticipated.  Indeed, the boat heeled over with so much goodwill
+that Conyngham was lifted right out of the water.  He clambered on board
+and immediately began shivering, for the wind cut like a knife.
+
+The younger lady made her way cautiously back to the seat which she had
+recently quitted, and began at once to speak very severely to her mother.
+This stout and emotional person was swaying backwards and forwards, and,
+in the intervals of wailing and groaning, called in Spanish upon several
+selected saints to assist her.  At times, and apparently by way of a
+change, she appealed to yet higher powers to receive her soul.
+
+‘My mother,’ said the young lady to Conyngham, who had already got the
+oars out, ‘has the heart of a rabbit, but—yes—of a very young rabbit.’
+
+‘Madame may rest assured that there is no danger,’ said Conyngham.
+
+‘Monsieur is an Englishman—’
+
+‘Yes, and a very cold one at the moment.  If madame could restrain her
+religious enthusiasm so much as to sit still, we should make better
+progress.’
+
+He spoke rather curtly, as if refusing to admit the advisability of
+manning the boat with a crew of black-letter saints.  The manner in which
+the craft leapt forward under each stroke of the oars testified to the
+strength of his arms, and madame presently subsided into whispers of
+thankfulness, having reason, it would seem, to be content with mere
+earthly aid in lieu of that heavenly intervention which ladies of her
+species summon at every turn of life.
+
+‘I wish I could help you,’ said the younger woman presently, in a voice
+and manner suggestive of an energy unusual to her countrywomen.  She
+spoke in French, but with an accent somewhat round and full, like an
+English accent, and Conyngham divined that she was Spanish.  He thought
+also that under their outer wraps the ladies wore the mantilla, and had
+that graceful carriage of the head which is only seen in the Peninsula.
+
+‘Thank you, mademoiselle, but I am making good progress now.  Can you see
+the ship?’
+
+She rose and stood peering into the darkness ahead—a graceful, swaying
+figure.  A faint scent as of some flower was wafted on the keen wind to
+Conyngham, who had already decided with characteristic haste that this
+young person was as beautiful as she was intrepid.
+
+‘Yes,’ she answered, ‘it is quite close.  They are also showing lights to
+guide us.’
+
+She stood looking apparently over his head towards the ‘Granville,’ but
+when she spoke it would seem that her thoughts had not been fixed on that
+vessel.
+
+‘Is monsieur a sailor?’
+
+‘No, but I fortunately have a little knowledge of such matters—fortunate,
+since I have been able to turn it to the use of these ladies.’
+
+‘But you are travelling in the “Granville.”’
+
+‘Yes; I am travelling in the “Granville.”’
+
+Over his oars Conyngham looked hard at his interlocutrice, but could
+discern nothing of her features.  Her voice interested him, however, and
+he wondered whether there were ever calms on the coast of Spain at this
+time of the year.
+
+‘Our sailors,’ said the young lady, ‘in Spain are brave, but they are
+very cautious.  I think none of them would have done such a thing as you
+have just done for us.  We were in danger.  I knew it.  Was it not so?’
+
+‘The boat might have drifted against some ship at anchor and been upset.
+You might also have been driven out to sea.  They had no boat on board
+the “Granville” ready to put out and follow you.’
+
+‘Yes; and you saved us.  But you English are of a great courage.  And my
+mother, instead of thanking you, is offering her gratitude to James and
+John the sons of Zebedee, as if they had done it.’
+
+‘I am no relation to Zebedee,’ said Conyngham with a gay laugh.  ‘Madame
+may rest assured of that.’
+
+‘Julia,’ said the elder lady severely, and in a voice that seemed to
+emanate from a chest as deep and hollow as an octave cask, ‘I shall tell
+Father Concha, who will assuredly reprove you.  The saints upon whom I
+called were fishermen, and therefore the more capable of understanding
+our great danger.  As for monsieur, he knows that he shall always be in
+my prayers.’
+
+‘Thank you, madame,’ said Conyngham gravely.
+
+‘And at a fitter time I hope to be able to tender him my thanks.’
+
+At this moment a voice from the ‘Granville’ hailed the boat, asking
+whether all was well and Mr. Conyngham on board.  Being reassured on this
+point, the mate apparently attended to another matter requiring his
+attention, the mingled cries and expostulations of the cabin boy
+sufficiently indicating its nature.
+
+The boat, under Conyngham’s strong and steady strokes, now came slowly
+and without mishap alongside the great black hull of the vessel, and it
+soon became manifest that, although all danger was past, there yet
+remained difficulty ahead; for when the boat was made fast and the ladder
+lowered, the elder of the two ladies firmly and emphatically denied her
+ability to make the ascent.  The French boatman, shivering in a borrowed
+great coat, and with a vociferation which flavoured the air with cognac,
+added his entreaties to those of the mate and steward.  In the small boat
+Conyngham, in French, and the lady’s daughter, in Spanish, represented
+that at least half of the heavenly host, having intervened to save her
+from so great a peril as that safely passed through, could surely
+accomplish this smaller feat with ease.  But the lady still hesitated,
+and the mate, having clambered down into the boat, grabbed Conyngham’s
+arm with a large and not unkindly hand, and pushed him forcibly towards
+the ladder.
+
+‘You hadn’t got no business, Mr. Conyngham,’ he said gruffly, ‘to leave
+the ship like that, and like as not you’ve got your death of cold.  Just
+you get aboard and leave these women to me.  You get to your bunk,
+mister, and stooard’ll bring you something hot.’
+
+There was nought but obedience in the matter, and Conyngham was soon
+between the blankets, alternately shivering and burning in the first
+stages of a severe chill.
+
+The captain having come on board, the ‘Granville’ presently weighed
+anchor, and on the bosom of an ebbing tide turned her blunt prow towards
+the winter sea.  The waves out there beat high, and before the lights of
+Pauillac, then a mere cluster of fishers’ huts, had passed away astern,
+the good ship was lifting her bow with a sense of anticipation, while her
+great wooden beams and knees began to strain and creak.
+
+During the following days, while the sense of spring and warmth slowly
+gave life to those who could breathe the air on deck, Conyngham lay in
+his little cabin and heeded nothing; for when the fever left him he was
+only conscious of a great lassitude, and scarce could raise himself to
+take such nourishment as the steward, with a rough but kindly skill,
+prepared for him.
+
+‘Why the deuce I ever came—why the deuce I ever went overboard after a
+couple of señoras—I don’t know,’ he repeated to himself during the hours
+of that long watch below.
+
+Why, indeed? except that youth must needs go forth into the world and
+play the only stake it owns there.  Nor is Frederick Conyngham the first
+who, having no knowledge of the game of life, throws all upon the board
+to wait upon the hazard of a die.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+LE PREMIER PAS
+
+
+    ‘Be as one that knoweth and yet holdeth his tongue.’
+
+THE little town of Algeciras lies, as many know, within sight of
+Gibraltar, and separated from that stronghold by a broad bay.  It is on
+the mainland of Spain, and in direct communication by road with the great
+port of Cadiz.  Another road, little better than a bridle-path, runs
+northward to Ximena and through the corkwood forests of that plain
+towards the mountain ranges that rise between Ronda and the sea.
+
+By this bridle-path, it is whispered, a vast smuggled commerce has ever
+found passage to the mainland, and scarce a boatman or passenger lands at
+Algeciras from Gibraltar but carries somewhere on his person as much
+tobacco as he may hope to conceal with safety.  Algeciras, with its fair
+white houses, its prim church, and sleepy quay, where the blue waters lap
+and sparkle in innocent sunlight, is, it is to be feared, a town of small
+virtue and the habitation of scoundrels.  For this is the stronghold of
+those contrabandistas whom song and legend have praised as the boldest,
+the merriest, and most romantic of law-breakers.  Indeed, in this country
+the man who can boast of a smuggling ancestry holds high his head and
+looks down on honest folk.
+
+The ‘Granville’ having dropped anchor to the north of the rough stone
+pier, was soon disburdened of her passengers—the ladies going ashore with
+undisguised delight, and leaving behind them many gracious messages of
+thanks to the gentleman whose gallantry had resulted so disastrously; for
+Conyngham was still in bed, though now nearly recovered.  Truth to tell,
+he did not hurry to make his appearance in the general cabin, and came on
+deck a few hours after the departure of the ladies, whose gratitude he
+desired to avoid.
+
+Two days of the peerless sunshine of these southern waters completely
+restored him to health, and he prepared to go ashore.  It was afternoon
+when his boat touched the beach, and the idlers, without whom no
+Mediterranean seaboard is complete, having passed the heat of the day in
+a philosophic apathy amounting in many cases to a siesta, now roused
+themselves sufficiently to take a dignified and indifferent interest in
+the new arrival.  A number of boys, an old soldier, several artillerymen
+from the pretty and absolutely useless fort, a priest and a female vendor
+of oranges put themselves out so much as to congregate in a little knot
+at the spot where Conyngham landed.
+
+‘Body of Bacchus!’ said the priest, with a pinch of snuff poised before
+his long nose, ‘an Englishman—see his gold watch chain.’
+
+This remark called forth several monosyllabic sounds, and the onlookers
+watched the safe discharge of Conyngham’s personal effects with a
+characteristic placidity of demeanour which was at once tolerant and
+gently surprised.  That any one should have the energy to come ashore
+when he was comfortable on board, or leave the shore when amply provided
+there with sunshine, elbowroom, and other necessaries of life, presented
+itself to them as a fact worthy of note but not of emulation.  The
+happiest man is he who has reduced the necessities of life to a minimum.
+
+No one offered to assist Conyngham.  In Spain the onlooker keeps his
+hands in his pockets.
+
+‘The English, see you, travel for pleasure,’ said the old soldier,
+nodding his head in the direction of Gibraltar, pink and shimmering
+across the bay.
+
+The priest brushed some stray grains of snuff from the front of his faded
+cassock—once black, but now of a greeny brown.  He was a singularly tall
+man, gaunt and grey, with deep lines drawn downwards from eye to chin.
+His mouth was large and tender, with a humorous corner ever awaiting a
+jest.  His eyes were sombre and deeply shaded by grey brows, but one of
+them had a twinkle lurking and waiting, as in the corner of his mouth.
+
+‘Everyone stretches his legs according to the length of his coverlet,’ he
+said, and, turning, he courteously raised his hat to Conyngham, who
+passed at that moment on his way to the hotel.  The little knot of
+onlookers broke up, and the boys wandered towards the fort, before the
+gate of which a game at bowls was in progress.
+
+‘The Padre has a hungry look,’ reflected Conyngham.  ‘Think I’ll invite
+him to dinner.’
+
+For Geoffrey Horner had succeeded in conveying more money to the man who
+had taken his sins upon himself, and while Conyngham possessed money he
+usually had the desire to spend it.
+
+Conyngham went to the Fonda de la Marina, which stands to-day—a house of
+small comfort and no great outward cleanliness; but, as in most Spanish
+inns, the performance was better than the promise, and the bedroom
+offered to the traveller was nothing worse than bare and ill furnished.
+With what Spanish he at this time possessed the Englishman made known his
+wants, and inquired of the means of prosecuting his journey to Ronda.
+
+‘You know the Captain-General Vincente of Ronda?’ he asked.
+
+‘But . . . yes—by reputation.  Who does not in Andalusia?’ replied the
+host, a stout man, who had once cooked for a military mess at Gibraltar,
+and professed himself acquainted with the requirements of English
+gentlemen.
+
+‘I have a letter to General Vincente, and must go to Ronda as soon as
+possible.  These are stirring times in Spain.’
+
+The man’s bland face suddenly assumed an air of cunning, and he glanced
+over his shoulder to see that none overheard.
+
+‘Your Excellency is right,’ he answered.  ‘But for such as myself one
+side is as good as another—is it not so?  Carlist or Christino—the money
+is the same.’
+
+‘But here in the South there are no Carlists.’
+
+‘Who knows?’ said the innkeeper with outspread hands.  ‘Anything that his
+Excellency requires shall be forthcoming,’ he added grandiosely.  ‘This
+is the dining-room, and here at the side a little saloon where the ladies
+sit.  But at present we have only gentlemen in the hotel—it being the
+winter time.’
+
+‘Then you have other guests?’ inquired Conyngham.
+
+‘But . . . yes—always.  In Algeciras there are always travellers.
+Noblemen—like his Excellency—for pleasure.  Others—for commerce, the
+Government—the politics.’
+
+‘No flies enter a shut mouth, my friend,’ said a voice at the door, and
+both turned to see standing in the doorway the priest who had witnessed
+Conyngham’s arrival.
+
+‘Pardon, señor,’ said the old man, coming forward with his shabby hat in
+his hand.  ‘Pardon my interruption.  I came at an opportune moment, for I
+heard the word politics.’
+
+He turned and shook a lean finger at the innkeeper, who was backing
+towards the door with many bows.
+
+‘Ah, bad Miguel,’ he said, ‘will you make it impossible for gentlemen to
+put up at your execrable inn?  The man’s cooking is superior to his
+discretion, señor.  I, too, am a traveller, and for the moment a guest
+here.  I have the honour.  My name is Concha—the Padre Concha—a priest,
+as you see.’
+
+Conyngham nodded, and laughed frankly.
+
+‘Glad to meet you,’ he said.  ‘I saw you as I came along.  My name is
+Conyngham, and I am an Englishman, as you hear.  I know very little
+Spanish.’
+
+‘That will come—that will come,’ said the priest, moving towards the
+window.  ‘Perhaps too soon, if you are going to stay any length of time
+in this country.  Let me advise you—do not learn our language too
+quickly.’
+
+He shook his head and moved towards the open window.
+
+‘See to your girths before you mount, eh?  Here is the verandah, where it
+is pleasant in the afternoon.  Shall we be seated?  That chair has but
+three legs—allow me! this one is better.’
+
+He spoke with the grave courtesy of his countrymen.  For every Spaniard,
+even the lowest muleteer, esteems himself a gentleman, and knows how to
+act as such.  The Padre Concha had a pleasant voice, and a habit of
+gesticulating slowly with one large and not too clean hand, that
+suggested the pulpit.  He had led the way to a spacious verandah, where
+there were small tables and chairs, and at the outer corners orange trees
+in square green boxes.
+
+‘We will have a bottle of wine—is it not so?—yes,’ he said, and gravely
+clapped his hands together to summon the waiter—an Oriental custom still
+in use in the Peninsula.
+
+The wine was brought and duly uncorked, during which ceremony the priest
+waited and watched with the preoccupied air of a host careful for the
+entertainment of his guest.  He tasted the wine critically.
+
+‘It might be worse,’ he said.  ‘I beg you to excuse it not being better.’
+
+There was something simple in the old man’s manner that won Conyngham’s
+regard.
+
+‘The wine is excellent,’ he said.  ‘It is my welcome to Spain.’
+
+‘Ah!  Then this is your first visit to this country,’ the priest said
+indifferently, his eyes wandering to the open sea, where a few feluccas
+lay becalmed.
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+Conyngham turned and looked towards the sea also.  It was late in the
+afternoon, and a certain drowsiness of the atmosphere made conversation,
+even between comparative strangers, a slower, easier matter than with us
+in the brisk North.  After a moment the Englishman turned with, perhaps,
+the intention of studying his companion’s face, only to find the deep
+grey eyes fixed on his own.
+
+‘Spain,’ said the Padre, ‘is a wonderful country, rich, beautiful, with a
+climate like none in Europe; but God and the devil come to closer
+quarters here than elsewhere.  Still for a traveller, for pleasure, I
+think this country is second to none.’
+
+‘I am not exactly a traveller for pleasure, my father.’
+
+‘Ah!’ and Concha drummed idly on the table with his fingers.
+
+‘I left England in haste,’ added Conyngham lightly.
+
+‘Ah!’
+
+‘And it will be inexpedient for me to return for some months to come.  I
+thought of taking service in the army, and have a letter to General
+Vincente, who lives at Ronda, as I understand, sixty miles from here
+across the mountains.’
+
+‘Yes,’ said the priest thoughtfully, ‘Ronda is sixty miles from
+here—across the mountains.’
+
+He was watching a boat which approached the shore from the direction of
+Gibraltar.  The wind having dropped, the boatmen had lowered the sail and
+were now rowing, giving voice to a song which floated across the smooth
+sea sleepily.  It was an ordinary Algeciras wherry built to carry a
+little cargo, and perhaps a dozen passengers, a fishing boat that smelt
+strongly of tobacco.  The shore was soon reached, and the passengers,
+numbering half a dozen, stepped over the gunwale on to a small landing
+stage.  One of them was better dressed than his companions, a smart man
+with a bright flower in the buttonhole of his jacket, carrying the
+flowing cloak brightly lined with coloured velvet without which no
+Spaniard goes abroad at sunset.  He looked towards the hotel, and was
+evidently speaking of it with a boatman whose attitude was full of
+promise and assurance.
+
+The priest rose and emptied his glass.
+
+‘I must ask you to excuse me.  Vespers wait for no man, and I hear the
+bell,’ he said with a grave bow, and went indoors.
+
+Left to himself, Conyngham lapsed into the easy reflections of a man
+whose habit it is to live for the present, leaving the future and the
+past to take care of themselves.  Perhaps he thought, as some do, that
+the past dies—which is a mistake.  The past only sleeps, and we carry it
+with us through life, slumbering.  Those are wise who bear it gently so
+that it may never be aroused.
+
+The sun had set, and Gibraltar, a huge couchant lion across the bay, was
+fading into the twilight of the East when a footstep in the dining-room
+made Conyngham turn his head, half expecting the return of Father Concha.
+But in the doorway, and with the evident intention of coming towards
+himself, Conyngham perceived a handsome dark-faced man of medium height,
+with a smart moustache brushed upward, clever eyes, and the carriage of a
+soldier.  This stranger unfolded his cloak, for in Spain it is considered
+ill-mannered to address a stranger and remain cloaked.
+
+‘Señor,’ he said, with a gesture of the hat, courteous and yet manly
+enough to savour more of the camp than the court, ‘señor, I understand
+you are journeying to Ronda.’
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘I, too, intended to go across the mountains, and hoped to arrive here in
+time to accompany friends who I learn have already started on their
+journey.  But I have received letters which necessitate my return to
+Malaga.  You have already divined that I come to ask a favour.’
+
+He brought forward a chair and sat down, drawing from his pocket a silver
+cigarette case, which he offered to the Englishman.  There was a certain
+picturesqueness in the man’s attitude and manner.  His face and movements
+possessed a suggestion of energy which seemed out of place here in the
+sleepy South, and stamped him as a native not of dreamy Andalusia, but of
+La Mancha perhaps, where the wit of Spain is concentrated, or of fiery
+Catalonia, where discontent and unrest are in the very atmosphere of the
+brown hills.  This was a Spanish gentleman in the best sense of the word,
+as scrupulous in personal cleanliness as any Englishman, polished,
+accomplished, bright and fascinating, and yet carrying with him a subtle
+air of melancholy and romance which lingers still among the men and women
+of aristocratic Spain.
+
+‘’Tis but to carry a letter,’ he explained, ‘and to deliver it into the
+hand of the person to whom it is addressed.  Ah, I would give five years
+of life to touch that hand with my lips.’
+
+He sighed, gave a little laugh which was full of meaning, and yet quite
+free from self-consciousness, and lighted a fresh cigarette.  Then, after
+a little pause, he produced the letter from an inner pocket and laid it
+on the table in front of Conyngham.  It was addressed, ‘To the Señorita
+J. B.,’ and had a subtle scent of mignonette.  The envelope was of a
+delicate pink.
+
+‘A love letter,’ said Conyngham bluntly.
+
+The Spaniard looked at him and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+‘Ah! you do not understand,’ he said, ‘in that cold country of the North.
+If you stay in Spain, perhaps some dark-eyed one will teach you.  But,’
+and his manner changed with theatrical rapidity, as he laid his slim hand
+on the letter, ‘if, when you see her you love her, I will kill you.’
+
+Conyngham laughed and held out his hand for the letter.
+
+‘It is insufficiently addressed,’ he said practically.  ‘How shall I find
+the lady?’
+
+‘Her name is Barenna, the Señorita Barenna; that is sufficient in Ronda.’
+
+Conyngham took up the letter and examined it.  ‘It is of importance?’ he
+said.
+
+‘Of the utmost.’
+
+‘And of value?’
+
+‘Of the greatest value in the world to me.’
+
+The Spaniard rose and took up his cloak, which he had thrown over the
+back of the nearest chair, not forgetting to display a picturesque corner
+of its bright lining.
+
+‘You swear you will deliver it, only with your own hand, only to the hand
+of the Señorita Barenna?  And—you will observe the strictest secrecy?’
+
+‘Oh, yes,’ answered Conyngham carelessly, ‘if you like.’
+
+The Spaniard turned, and, leaning one hand on the table, looked almost
+fiercely into his companion’s face.  ‘You are an Englishman,’ he said,
+‘and an Englishman’s word—is it not known all the world over?  In the
+North, in my country, where Wellington fought, the peasants still say
+“word of an Englishman” instead of an oath.’
+
+He threw his cloak over his shoulder, and stood looking down at his
+companion with a little smile as if he were proud of him.
+
+‘There!’ he said.  ‘Adios.  My name is Larralde, but that is of no
+consequence.  Adios!’
+
+With a courteous bow he took his leave, and Conyngham presently saw him
+walking down to the landing stage.  It seemed that this strange visitor
+was about to depart as abruptly as he had come.  Conyngham rose and
+walked to the edge of the verandah, where he stood watching the departure
+of the boat in which his new friend had taken passage.
+
+While he was standing there, the old priest came quietly out of the open
+window of the dining room.  He saw the letter lying on the table where
+Conyngham had left it.  He approached, his shabby old shoes making no
+sound on the wooden flooring, and read the address written on the pink
+and scented envelope.  When the Englishman at length turned, he was alone
+on the verandah, with the wine bottle, the empty glasses, and the letter.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+CONTRABAND
+
+
+    ‘What rights are his that dares not strike for them?’
+
+AN hour before sunrise two horses stood shuffling their feet and chewing
+their bits before the hotel of the Marina at Algeciras, while their
+owner, a short and thick-set man of an exaggeratedly villanous
+appearance, attended to such straps and buckles as he suspected of latent
+flaws.  The horses were lean and loose of ear, with a melancholy
+thoughtfulness of demeanour that seemed to suggest the deepest misgivings
+as to the future.  Their saddles and other accoutrements were frankly
+theatrical, and would have been at once the delight of an artist and the
+despair of a saddler.  Fringes and tassels of bright-coloured worsted
+depended from points where fringes and tassels were distinctly out of
+place.  Where the various straps should have been strong they looked
+weak, and scarce a buckle could boast an innocence of knotted string.
+The saddles were of wood, and calculated to inflict serious internal
+injuries to the rider in case of a fall.  They stood at least a foot
+above the horse’s backbone, raised on a thick cushion upon the ribs of
+the animal, and leaving a space in the middle for the secretion of
+tobacco and other contraband merchandise.
+
+‘I’ll take the smallest cut-throat of the crew,’ Conyngham had said on
+the occasion of an informal parade of guides the previous evening.  And
+the host of the Fonda, in whose kitchen the function had taken place,
+explained to Concepçion Vara that the English Excellency had selected him
+on his—the host’s—assurance that Algeciras contained no other so honest.
+
+‘Tell him,’ answered Concepçion with a cigarette between his lips and a
+pardonable pride in his eyes, ‘that my grandfather was a smuggler and my
+father was shot by the Guardia Civil near Algatocin.’
+
+Concepçion, having repaired one girth and shaken his head dubiously over
+another, lighted a fresh cigarette and gave a little shiver, for the
+morning air was keen.  He discreetly coughed.  He had seen Conyngham
+breakfasting by the light of a dim oil lamp of a shape and make unaltered
+since the days of Nebuchadnezzar, and, without appearing impatient,
+wished to convey to one gentleman the fact that another awaited him.
+
+Before long Conyngham appeared, having paid an iniquitous bill with the
+recklessness that is only thoroughly understood by the poor.  He appeared
+as usual to be at peace with all men, and returned his guide’s grave
+salutation with an easy nod.
+
+‘These the horses?’ he inquired.
+
+Concepçion Vara spread out his hands.  ‘They have no equal in Andalusia,’
+he said.
+
+‘Then I am sorry for Andalusia,’ answered Conyngham with a pleasant
+laugh.
+
+They mounted and rode away in the dim cool light of the morning.  The sea
+was of a deep blue, and rippled all over as in a picture.  Gibraltar,
+five miles away, loomed up like a grey cloud against the pink of sunrise.
+The whole world wore a cleanly look as if the night had been passed over
+its face like a sponge, wiping away all that was unsightly or evil.  The
+air was light and exhilarating, and scented by the breath of aromatic
+weeds growing at the roadside.
+
+Concepçion sang a song as he rode—a song almost as old as his
+trade—declaring that he was a smuggler bold.  And he looked it, every
+inch.  The road to Ronda lies through the cork woods of Ximena, leaving
+St. Roque on the right hand—such at least was the path selected by
+Conyngham’s guide; for there are many ways over the mountains, and none
+of them to be recommended.  Beguiling the journey with cigarette and
+song, calling at every venta on the road, exchanging chaff with every
+woman and a quick word with all men, Concepçion faithfully fulfilled his
+contract, and, as the moon rose over the distant snow-clad peaks of the
+Sierra Nevada, pointed forward to the lights of Gaucin, a mountain
+village with an evil reputation.
+
+The dawn of the next day saw the travellers in the saddle again, and the
+road was worse than ever.  A sharp ascent led them up from Gaucin to
+regions where foliage grew scarcer at every step, and cultivation was
+unknown.  At one spot they turned to look back, and saw Gibraltar like a
+tooth protruding from the sea.  The straits had the appearance of a
+river, and the high land behind Ceuta formed the farther bank of it.
+
+‘There is Africa,’ said Concepçion gravely, and after a moment turned his
+horse’s head uphill again.  The people of these mountain regions were as
+wild in appearance as their country.  Once or twice the travellers passed
+a shepherd herding sheep or goats on the mountain side, himself clad in
+goatskin, with a great brown cloak floating from his shoulders—a living
+picture of Ishmael or those sons of his who dwelt in the tents of Kedar.
+A few muleteers drew aside to let the horses pass, and exchanged some
+words in an undertone with Conyngham’s guide.  Fine-looking brigands were
+these, with an armoury of knives peeping from their bright-coloured
+waistbands.  The Andalusian peasant is for six days in the week
+calculated to inspire awe by his clothing and general appearance.  Of a
+dark skin and hair, he usually submits his chin to the barber’s office
+but once a week, and the timid traveller would do well to take the road
+on Sundays only.  Towards the end of the week, and notably on a Saturday,
+every passer-by is an unshorn brigand capable of the darkest deeds of
+villany, while twenty-four hours later the land will be found to be
+peopled by as clean and honest and smart, and withal as handsome, a race
+of men as any on earth.
+
+Before long all habitations were left behind, and the horses climbed from
+rock to rock like cats.  There was no suggestion of pathway or landmark,
+and Concepçion paused once or twice to take his bearings.  It was about
+two in the afternoon when, after descending the bed of a stream long
+since dried up, Concepçion called a halt, and proposed to rest the horses
+while he dined.  As on the previous day, the guide’s manner was that of a
+gentleman, conferring a high honour with becoming modesty when he sat
+down beside Conyngham and untied his small sack of provisions.  These
+consisted of dried figs and bread, which he offered to his companion
+before beginning to eat.  Conyngham shared his own stock of food with his
+guide, and subsequently smoked a cigarette which that gentleman offered
+him.  They were thus pleasantly engaged when a man appeared on the rocks
+above them in a manner and with a haste that spoke but ill of his
+honesty.  The guide looked up knife in hand, and made answer to a gesture
+of the arm with his own hand upraised.
+
+‘Who is this?’ said Conyngham.  ‘Some friend of yours?  Tell him to keep
+his distance, for I don’t care for his appearance.’
+
+‘He is no friend of mine, Excellency.  But the man is, I dare say, honest
+enough.  In these mountains it is only of the Guardia Civil that one must
+beware.  They have ever the finger on the trigger and shoot without
+warning.’
+
+‘Nevertheless,’ said the Englishman, now thoroughly on the alert, ‘let
+him state his business at a respectable distance.  Ah! he has a comrade
+and two mules.’
+
+And indeed a second man of equally unprepossessing exterior now appeared
+from behind a great rock leading a couple of heavily laden mules.
+
+Concepçion and the first traveller, who was now within a dozen yards,
+were already exchanging words in a patois not unlike the Limousin
+dialect, of which Conyngham understood nothing.
+
+‘Stop where you are,’ shouted the Englishman in Spanish, ‘or else I shoot
+you!  If there is anything wrong, Señor Vara,’ he added to the guide, ‘I
+shoot you first, understand that.’
+
+‘He says,’ answered Concepçion with dignity, ‘that they are honest
+traders on the road to Ronda, and would be glad of our company.  His
+Excellency is at liberty to shoot if he is so disposed.’
+
+Conyngham laughed.
+
+‘No,’ he answered, ‘I am not anxious to kill any man, but each must take
+care of himself in these times.’
+
+‘Not against an honest smuggler.’
+
+‘Are these smugglers?’
+
+‘They speak as such.  I know them no more than does his Excellency.’
+
+The second new-comer was now within hail, and began at once to speak in
+Spanish.  The tale he told was similar in every way to that translated by
+Concepçion from the Limousin dialect.
+
+‘Why should we not travel together to Ronda?’ he said, coming forward
+with an easy air of confidence, which was of better effect than any
+protestation of honesty.  He had a quiet eye, and the demeanour of one
+educated to loftier things than smuggling tobacco across the Sierra,
+though indeed, he was no better clad than his companion.  The two guides
+instinctively took the road together, Concepçion leading his horse, for
+the way was such that none could ride over it.  Conyngham did the same,
+and his companion led the mule by a rope, as is the custom in Andalusia.
+
+The full glare of the day shone down on them, the bare rock giving back a
+puff of heat that dried the throat.  Conyngham was tired and not too
+trustful of his companion, who, indeed, seemed to be fully occupied with
+his own thoughts.  They had thus progressed a full half-hour when a shout
+from the rocks above caused them to halt suddenly.  The white linen head
+coverings of the Guardia Civil and the glint of the sun on their
+accoutrements showed at a glance that this was not a summons to be
+disregarded.
+
+In an instant Concepçion’s companion was leaping from rock to rock with
+an agility only to be acquired in the hot fear of death.  A report rang
+out and echoed among the hills.  A bullet went ‘splat’ against a rock
+near at hand, making a frayed blue mark upon the grey stone.  The man
+dodged from side to side in the panic-stricken irresponsibility of a
+rabbit seeking covert where none exists.  There was not so much as to
+hide his head.  Conyngham looked up towards the foe in time to see a puff
+of white smoke thrown up against the steely sky.  A second report, and
+the fugitive seemed to trip over a stone.  He recovered himself, stood
+upright for a moment, gave a queer spluttering cough, and sat slowly down
+against a boulder.
+
+‘He is killed!’ said Concepçion, throwing down his cigarette.  ‘Mother of
+God! these Guardias Civiles!’
+
+The two guards came clambering down the face of the rock.  Concepçion
+glanced at his late companion writhing in the sharpness of death.
+
+‘Here or at Ronda, to-day, or to-morrow, what matters it?’ muttered the
+quiet-eyed man at Conyngham’s side.  The Englishman turned and looked at
+him.
+
+‘They will shoot me too, but not now.’
+
+Concepçion sullenly awaited the arrival of the guards.  These men ever
+hunt in couples of a widely different age, for the law has found that an
+old head and a young arm form the strongest combination.  The elder of
+the two had the face of an old grey wolf.  He muttered some order to his
+companion, and went towards the mule.  He cut away the outer covering of
+the burden suspended from the saddle, and nodded his head wisely.  These
+were boxes of cartridges to carry one thousand each.  The grey old man
+turned and looked at him who lay on the ground.
+
+‘A la longa,’ he said with a grim smile.  ‘In the long run, Antonio.’
+
+The man gave a sickly grin and opened his mouth to speak, but his jaw
+dropped instead, and he passed across that frontier which is watched by
+no earthly sentinel.
+
+‘This gentleman,’ said the quiet-eyed man, whose guide had thus paid for
+his little mistake in refusing to halt at the word of command, ‘is a
+stranger to me—an Englishman, I think.’
+
+‘Yes,’ answered Conyngham.
+
+The old soldier looked from one to the other.
+
+‘That may be,’ he said, ‘but he sleeps in Ronda prison to-night.
+To-morrow the Captain-General will see to it.’
+
+‘I have a letter to the Captain-General,’ said Conyngham, who drew from
+his pocket a packet of papers.  Among these was the pink scented envelope
+given to him by the man called Larralde at Algeciras.  He had forgotten
+its existence, and put it back in his pocket with a smile.  Having found
+that for which he sought, he gave it to the soldier, who read the address
+in silence and returned the letter.
+
+‘You I know,’ he said, turning to the man at Conyngham’s side, who merely
+shrugged his shoulders.  ‘And Concepçion Vara, we all know him.’
+
+Concepçion had lighted a cigarette, and was murmuring a popular air with
+the indifferent patience and the wandering eye of perfect innocence.  The
+old soldier turned and spoke in an undertone to his comrade, who went
+towards the dead man and quietly covered his face with the folds of his
+own faja or waistcloth.  This he weighted at the corners with stones,
+carrying out this simple office to the dead with a suggestive
+indifference.  To this day the Guardias Civiles have plenary power to
+shoot whomsoever they think fit—flight and resistance being equally
+fatal.
+
+No more heeding the dead body of the man whom he had shot than he would
+have heeded the carcase of a rat, the elder of the two soldiers now gave
+the order to march, commanding Concepçion to lead the way.
+
+‘It will not be worth your while to risk a bullet by running away,’ he
+said.  ‘This time it is probably a matter of a few pounds of tobacco
+only.’
+
+The evening had fallen ere the silent party caught sight of the town of
+Ronda, perched, as the Moorish strongholds usually are, on a height.
+Ronda, as history tells, was the last possession of the brave and gifted
+Moslems in Spain.  The people are half Moorish still, and from the barred
+windows look out deep almond eyes and patient faces that have no European
+feature.  The narrow streets were empty as the travellers entered the
+town, and the clatter of the mules slipping and stumbling on the cobble
+stones brought but few to the doors of the low-built houses.  To enter
+Ronda from the south the traveller must traverse the Moorish town, which
+is divided from the Spanish quarter by a cleft in the great rock that
+renders the town impregnable to all attack.  Having crossed the bridge
+spanning the great gorge into which the sun never penetrates even at
+midday, the party emerged into the broader streets of the more modern
+town, and, turning to the right through a high gateway, found themselves
+in a barrack yard of the Guardias Civiles.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+AT RONDA
+
+
+    ‘Le plus grand art d’un habile homme est celui de savoir cacher son
+    habileté.’
+
+WHEN Conyngham awoke after a night conscientiously spent in that profound
+slumber which waits on an excellent digestion and a careless heart, he
+found the prison attendant at his bedside.  A less easy-going mind would
+perhaps have leapt to some nervous conclusion at the sight of this
+fierce-visaged janitor, who, however, carried nothing more deadly in his
+hand than a card.
+
+‘It is the Captain-General,’ said he, ‘who calls at this early hour.  His
+Excellency’s letter has been delivered, and the Captain-General scarce
+waited to swallow his morning chocolate.’
+
+‘Very much to the Captain-General’s credit,’ returned Conyngham rising.
+‘Cold water,’ he went on, ‘soap, a towel, and my luggage—and then the
+Captain-General.’
+
+The attendant, with an odd smile, procured the necessary articles, and
+when the Englishman was ready led the way downstairs.  He was a solemn
+man from Galicia, this, where they do not smile.
+
+In the patio of the great house, once a monastery, now converted into a
+barrack for the Guardias Civiles, a small man of fifty years or more
+stood smoking a cigarette.  On perceiving Conyngham he came forward with
+outstretched hand and a smile which can only be described as angelic.  It
+was a smile at once sympathetic and humorous, veiling his dark eyes
+between lashes almost closed, parting moustached lips to disclose a row
+of pearly teeth.
+
+‘My dear sir,’ said General Vincente in very tolerable English, ‘I am at
+your feet.  That such a mistake should have been made in respect to the
+bearer of a letter of introduction from my old friend General
+Watterson—we fought together in Wellington’s day—that such a mistake
+should have occurred overwhelms me with shame.’
+
+He pressed Conyngham’s hand in both of his, which were small and
+white—looked up into his face, stepped back and broke into a soft laugh.
+Indeed his voice was admirably suited to a lady’s drawing-room, and
+suggested nought of the camp or battle field.  From the handkerchief
+which he drew from his sleeve and passed across his white moustache a
+faint scent floated on the morning air.
+
+‘Are you General Vincente?’ asked Conyngham.
+
+‘Yes—why not?’  And in truth the tone of the Englishman’s voice had
+betrayed a scepticism which warranted the question.
+
+‘It is very kind of you to come so early.  I have been quite comfortable,
+and they gave me a good supper last night,’ said Conyngham.  ‘Moreover,
+the Guardias Civiles are in no way to blame for my arrest.  I was in bad
+company, it seems.’
+
+‘Yes; your companions were engaged in conveying ammunition to the
+Carlists; we have wanted to lay our hands upon them for some weeks.  They
+have carried former journeys to a successful termination.’
+
+He laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+‘The guide, Antonio something-or-other, died, as I understand.’
+
+‘Well, yes; if you choose to put it that way,’ admitted Conyngham.
+
+The General raised his eyebrows in a gentle grimace expressive of
+deprecation, with, as it were, a small solution of sympathy, indicated by
+a moisture of the eye, for the family of Antonio something-or-other in
+their bereavement.
+
+‘And the other man?  Seemed a nice enough fellow . . .’ inquired
+Conyngham.
+
+The General raised one gloved hand as if to fend off some approaching
+calamity.
+
+‘He died this morning—at six o’clock.’
+
+Conyngham looked down at this gentle soldier with a dawning light of
+comprehension.  This might after all be the General Vincente whom he had
+been led to look upon as the fiercest of the Spanish Queen’s adherents.
+
+‘Of the same complaint?’
+
+‘Of the same complaint,’ answered the General softly.  He slipped his
+hand within Conyngham’s arm, and thus affectionately led him across the
+patio towards the doorway where sentinels stood at attention.  He
+acknowledged the attitude of his subordinates by a friendly nod; indeed,
+this rosy-faced warrior seemed to brim over with the milk of human
+kindness.
+
+‘The English,’ he said, pressing his companion’s arm, ‘have been too
+useful to us for me to allow one of them to remain a moment longer in
+confinement.  You say you were comfortable.  I hope they gave you a clean
+towel and all that.’
+
+‘Yes, thanks,’ answered Conyngham, suppressing a desire to laugh.
+
+‘That is well.  Ronda is a pleasant place, as you will find.  Most
+interesting—Moorish remains, you understand.  I will send my servant for
+your baggage, and of course my poor house is at your disposal.  You will
+stay with me until we can find some work for you to do.  You wish to take
+service with us, of course?’
+
+‘Yes,’ answered Conynghamn.  ‘Rather thought of it—if you will have me.’
+
+The General glanced up at his stalwart companion with a measuring eye.
+
+‘My house,’ he said, in a conversational way, as if only desirous of
+making matters as pleasant as possible in a life which nature had
+intended to be peaceful and sunny, and perhaps trifling, but which the
+wickedness of men had rendered otherwise, ‘my house is, as you would
+divine, only an official residence, but pleasant enough—pleasant enough.
+The garden is distinctly tolerable; there are orange trees now in
+bloom—so sweet of scent.’
+
+The street into which they had now emerged was no less martial in
+appearance than the barrack yard, and while he spoke the General never
+ceased to dispense his kindly little nod on one side or the other in
+response to military salutations.
+
+‘We have quite a number of soldiers in Ronda at present,’ he said, with
+an affectionate little pressure of Conyngham’s arm, as if to indicate his
+appreciation of such protection amid these rough men.  ‘There is a great
+talk of some rising in the South—in Andalusia—to support Señor Cabrera,
+who continually threatens Madrid.  A great soldier, they tell me, this
+Cabrera, but not—well, not perhaps quite, eh?—a caballero, a gentleman.
+A pity, is it not?’
+
+‘A great pity,’ answered Conyngham, taking the opportunity at last
+afforded him of getting a word in.
+
+‘One must be prepared,’ went on the General with a good-natured little
+sigh, ‘for such measures.  There are so many mistaken enthusiasts—is it
+not so?  Such men as your countryman, Señor Flinter.  There are so many
+who are stronger Carlists than Don Carlos himself, eh?’
+
+The secret of conversational success is to defer to one’s listener.  A
+clever man imparts information by asking questions, and obtains it
+without doing so.
+
+‘This is my poor house,’ continued the soldier, and as he spoke he beamed
+on the sentries at the door.  ‘I am a widower, but God has given me a
+daughter who is now of an age to rule my household.  Estella will
+endeavour to make you comfortable, and an Englishman—a soldier—will
+surely overlook some small defects.’
+
+He finished with a good-natured laugh.  There was no resisting the sunny
+good-humour of this little officer, or the gladness of his face.  His
+attitude towards the world was one of constant endeavour to make things
+pleasant, and acquit himself to his best in circumstances far beyond his
+merits or capabilities.  He was one who had had good fortune all his
+days.  Those who have greatness thrust upon them are never much impressed
+by their burden.  And General Vincente had the air of constantly assuring
+his subordinates that they need not mind him.
+
+The house to which he conducted Conyngham stood on the broad main street,
+immediately opposite a cluster of shops where leather bottles were
+manufactured and sold.  It was a large gloomy house with a patio devoid
+of fountain and even of the usual orange trees in green boxes.
+
+‘Through there is the garden—most pleasant and shady,’ said the General,
+indicating a doorway with the riding-whip he carried.
+
+A troop of servants awaited them at the foot of the broad Moorish
+staircase open on one side to the patio and heavily carved in balustrade
+and cornice.  These gentlemen bowed gravely—indeed, they were so numerous
+that the majority of them must have had nothing to do but cultivate this
+dignified salutation.
+
+‘The señorita?’ inquired the General.
+
+‘The señorita is in the garden, Excellency,’ answered one with the air of
+a courtier.
+
+‘Then let us go there at once,’ said General Vincente, turning to
+Conyngham, and gripping his arm affectionately.
+
+They passed through a doorway whither two men had hurried to open the
+heavy doors, and the scent of violets and mignonette, of orange in bloom,
+and of a hundred opening buds swept across their faces.  The brilliant
+sunlight almost dazzled eyes that had grown accustomed to the cool shade
+of the patio, for Ronda is one of the sunniest spots on earth, and here
+the warmth is rarely oppressive.  The garden was Moorish, and running
+water in aqueducts of marble, yellow with stupendous age, murmured in the
+shade of tropical plants.  A fountain plashed and chattered softly, like
+the whispering of children.  The pathways were paved with a fine white
+gravel of broken marble.  There was no weed amid the flowers.  It seemed
+a paradise to Conyngham, fresh from the grey and mournful northern
+winter, and no part of this weary, busy world.  For here were rest and
+silence, and that sense of eternity which is only conveyed by the
+continuous voice of running or falling water.  It was hard to believe
+that this was real and earthly.  Conyngham rubbed his eyes and
+instinctively turned to look at his companion, who was as unreal as his
+surroundings—a round-faced, chubby little man, with a tender mouth and
+moist dark eyes looking kindly out upon the world, who called himself
+General Vincente; and the name was synonymous in all Spain with
+bloodthirstiness and cruelty, with daring and an unsparing generalship.
+
+‘Come,’ said he, ‘let us look for Estella.’
+
+He led the way along a path winding among almond and peach trees in full
+bloom, in the shadow of the weird eucalyptus and the feathery pepper
+tree.  Then with a little word of pleasure he hurried forward.  Conyngham
+caught sight of a black dress and a black mantilla, of fair golden hair,
+and a fan upraised against the rays of the sun.
+
+‘Estella, here is a guest: Mr. Conyngham, one of the brave Englishmen who
+remember Spain in her time of trouble.’
+
+Conyngham bowed with a greater ceremony than we observe to-day, and stood
+upright to look upon that which was for him from that moment the fairest
+face in the world.  As, to some men, success or failure seems to come
+early and in one bound, so, for some, Love lies long in ambush, to shoot
+at length a single and certain shaft.  Conyngham looked at Estella
+Vincente, his gay blue eyes meeting her dark glance with a frankness
+which was characteristic, and knew from that instant that his world held
+no other woman.  It came to him as a flash of lightning that left his
+former life grey and neutral, and yet he was conscious of no surprise,
+but rather of a feeling of having found something which he had long
+sought.
+
+The girl acknowledged his salutation with a little inclination of the
+head and a smile which was only of the lips, for her eyes remained grave
+and deep.  She had all the dignity of carriage famous in Castilian women,
+though her figure was youthful still, and slight.  Her face was a
+clean-cut oval, with lips that were still and proud, and a delicately
+aquiline nose.
+
+‘My daughter speaks English better than I do,’ went on the General in the
+garrulous voice of an exceedingly domesticated man.  ‘She has been at
+school in England—at the suggestion of my dear friend Watterson—with his
+daughters, in fact.’
+
+‘And must have found it dull and grey enough compared with Spain,’ said
+Conyngham.
+
+‘Ah!  Then you like Spain?’ said the General eagerly.  ‘It is so with all
+the English.  We have something in common, despite the Armada, eh?
+Something in manner and in appearance, too; is it not so?’
+
+He left Conyngham, and walked slowly on with one hand at his daughter’s
+waist.
+
+‘I was very happy in England,’ said Estella to Conyngham, who walked at
+her other side; ‘but happier still to get home to Spain.’
+
+Her voice was rather low, and Conyngham had an odd sensation of having
+heard it before.
+
+‘Why did you leave your home?’ she continued in a leisurely
+conversational way which seemed natural to the environments.
+
+The question rather startled the Englishman, for the only answer seemed
+to be that he had quitted England in order to come to Ronda and to her,
+following the path in life that fate had assigned to him.
+
+‘We have troubles in England also—political troubles,’ he said, after a
+pause.
+
+‘The Chartists,’ said the General cheerfully.  ‘We know all about them,
+for we have the English newspapers.  I procure them in order to have
+reliable news of Spain.’
+
+He broke off with a little laugh, and looked towards his daughter.
+
+‘In the evening Estella reads them to me.  And it was on account of the
+Chartists that you left England?’
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘Ah, you are a Chartist, Mr. Conyngham.’
+
+‘Yes,’ admitted the Englishman after a pause, and he glanced at Estella.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+IN A MOORISH GARDEN
+
+
+              ‘When love is not a blasphemy, it is a religion.’
+
+THERE is perhaps a subtle significance in the fact that the greatest, the
+cruellest, the most barbarous civil war of modern days, if not of all
+time, owed its outbreak and its long continuance to the influence of a
+woman.  When Ferdinand VII. of Spain died, in 1833, after a reign broken
+and disturbed by the passage of that human cyclone, Napoleon the Great,
+he bequeathed his kingdom, in defiance of the Salic law, to his daughter
+Isabella.  Ferdinand’s brother Charles, however, claimed the throne under
+the very just contention that the Salic law, by which women were excluded
+from the heritage of the crown, had never been legally abrogated.
+
+This was the spark that kindled in many minds ambition, cruelty,
+bloodthirstiness, self-seeking and jealousy—producing the _morale_, in a
+word, of the Spain of sixty years ago.  Some sided with the Queen Regent
+Christina, and rallied round the child-queen because they saw that that
+way lay glory and promotion.  Others flocked to the standard of Don
+Carlos because they were poor and of no influence at Court.  The Church
+as a whole raised its whispering voice for the Pretender.  For the rest,
+patriotism was nowhere, and ambition on every side.  ‘For five years we
+have fought the Carlists, hunger, privation, and the politicians at
+Madrid!  And the holy saints only know which has been the worst enemy,’
+said General Vincente to Conyngham when explaining the above related
+details.
+
+And indeed the story of this war reads like a romance, for there came
+from neutral countries foreign legions as in the olden days.  From
+England an army of ten thousand mercenaries landed in Spain, prepared to
+fight for the cause of Queen Christina, and very modestly estimating the
+worth of their services at the sum of thirteenpence per diem.  After all,
+the value of a man’s life is but the price of his daily hire.
+
+‘We did not pay them much,’ said General Vincente with a deprecating
+little smile, ‘but they did not fight much.  Their pay was generally in
+arrear, and they were usually in the rear as well.  What will you, my
+dear Conyngham?  You are a commercial people—you keep good soldiers in
+the shop window, and when a buyer comes you serve him with second-class
+goods from behind the counter.’
+
+He beamed on Conyngham with a pleasant air of benign connivance in a very
+legitimate commercial transaction.
+
+This is no time or place to go into the history of the English Legion in
+Spain, which, indeed, had quitted that country before Conyngham landed
+there, horrified by the barbarities of a cruel war where prisoners
+received no quarter and the soldiers on either side were left without pay
+or rations.  In a half-hearted manner England went to the assistance of
+the Queen Regent of Spain, and one error in statesmanship led to many.
+It is always a mistake to strike gently.
+
+‘This country,’ said General Vincente in his suavest manner, ‘owes much
+to yours, my dear Conyngham; but it would have been better for us both
+had we owed you a little more.’
+
+During the five years prior to Conyngham’s arrival at Ronda the war had
+raged with unabated fury, swaying from the west to the east coast as
+fortune smiled or frowned on the Carlist cause.  At one time it almost
+appeared certain that the Christino forces were unable to stem the rising
+tide which bade fair to spread over all Spain—so unfortunate were their
+generals, so futile the best endeavours of the bravest and most patient
+soldiers.  General Vincente was not alone in his conviction that had the
+gallant Carlist leader Zumalacarreguy lived he might have carried all
+before him.  But this great leader at the height of his fame—beloved of
+all his soldiers, worshipped by his subordinate officers—died suddenly,
+by poison, as it was whispered, the victim of jealousy and ambition.
+Almost at once there arose in the East of Spain one, obscure in birth and
+unknown to fame, who flashed suddenly to the zenith of military glory—the
+ruthless, the wonderful Cabrera.  The name is to this day a household
+word in Catalonia, while the eyes of a few old men still living, who
+fought with or against him, flash in the light of other days at the mere
+mention of it.
+
+Among the many leaders who had attempted in vain to overcome by skill and
+patriotism the thousand difficulties placed in their way by successive
+unstable, insincere Ministers of War, General Vincente occupied an
+honoured place.  This mild-mannered tactician enjoyed the enviable
+reputation of being alike unconquerable and incorruptible.  His smiling
+presence on the battlefield was in itself worth half a dozen battalions,
+while at Madrid the dishonest politicians, who through those years of
+Spain’s great trial systematically bartered their honour for immediate
+gain, dreaded and respected him.
+
+During the days that followed his arrival at Ronda and release from the
+prison there, Frederick Conyngham learnt much from his host and little of
+the man himself, for General Vincente had that in him with which no great
+leader in any walk of life can well dispense—an unsoundable depth.
+
+Conyngham learnt also that the human heart is capable of rising at one
+bound above differences of race or custom, creed and spoken language.  He
+walked with Estella in that quiet garden between high walls on the trim
+Moorish paths, and often the murmur of the running water which ever
+graced the Moslem palaces was the only sound that broke the silence.  For
+this thing had come into the Englishman’s life suddenly, leaving him
+dazed and uncertain.  Estella, on the other hand, had a quiet
+_savoir-faire_ that sat strangely on her young face.  She was only
+nineteen, and yet had a certain air of authority, handed down to her from
+two great races of noble men and women.
+
+‘Do all your countrymen take life thus gaily?’ she asked Conyngham one
+day; ‘surely it is a more serious affair than you think it.’
+
+‘I have never found it very serious, señorita,’ he answered.  ‘There is
+usually a smile in human affairs if one takes the trouble to look for
+it.’
+
+‘Have you always found it so?’
+
+He did not answer at once, pausing to lift the branch of a mimosa tree
+that hung in yellow profusion across the pathway.
+
+‘Yes, señorita, I think so,’ he answered at length, slowly.  There was a
+sense of eternal restfulness in this old Moorish garden which acted as a
+brake on the thoughts, and made conversation halt and drag in an Oriental
+way that Europeans rarely understand.
+
+‘And yet you say you remember your father’s death?’
+
+‘He made a joke to the doctor, señorita, and was not afraid.’
+
+Estella smiled in a queer way, and then looked grave again.
+
+‘And you have always been poor, you say, sometimes almost starving?’
+
+‘Yes—always poor, deadly poor, señorita,’ answered Conyngham with a gay
+laugh; ‘and since I have been on my own resources frequently—well, very
+hungry.  The appetite has been large and the resources have been small.
+But when I get into the Spanish army they will no doubt make me a
+general, and all will be well.’
+
+He laughed again, and slipped his hand into his jacket pocket.
+
+‘See here,’ he said, ‘your father’s recommendation to General Espartero
+in a confidential letter.’
+
+But the envelope he produced was that pink one which the man called
+Larralde had given him at Algeciras.
+
+‘No—it is not that,’ he said, searching in another pocket.  ‘Ah! here it
+is—addressed to General Espartero, Duke of Vittoria.’
+
+He showed her the superscription, which she read with a little
+inclination of the head, as if in salutation of the great name written
+there.  The greatest names are those that men have made for themselves.
+Conyngham replaced the two letters in his pocket and almost immediately
+asked:
+
+‘Do you know anyone called Barenna in Ronda, señorita?’ thereby proving
+that General Espartero would do ill to give him an appointment requiring
+even the earliest rudiments of diplomacy.
+
+‘Julia Barenna is my cousin.  Her mother was my mother’s sister.  Do you
+know them, Señor Conyngham?’
+
+‘Oh no,’ answered Conyngham, truthfully enough.  ‘I met a man who knows
+them.  Do they live in Ronda?’
+
+‘No; their house is on the Cordova road, about half a league from the
+Customs station.’
+
+Estella was not by nature curious, and asked no questions.  Some who knew
+the Barennas would have been glad to claim acquaintance with General
+Vincente and his daughter, but could not do so.  For the Captain-General
+moved in a circle not far removed from the Queen Regent herself, and
+mixed but little in the society of Ronda, where, for the time being, he
+held a command.
+
+Conyngham required no further information, and in a few moments dismissed
+the letter from his mind.  Events seemed for him to have moved rapidly
+within the last few days, and the world of roadside inns and casual
+acquaintance into which he had stepped on his arrival in Spain was quite
+another from that in which Estella moved at Ronda.
+
+‘I must set out for Madrid in a few days at the latest,’ he said a few
+moments afterwards; ‘but I shall go against my will, because you tell me
+that you and your father will not be coming North until the spring.’
+
+Estella shook her head with a little laugh.  This man was different from
+the punctilious aides-de-camp and others who had hitherto begged most
+respectfully to notify their admiration.
+
+‘And three days ago you did not know of our existence,’ she said.
+
+‘In three days a man may be dead of an illness of which he ignored the
+existence, señorita.  In three days a man’s life may be made miserable or
+happy—perhaps in three minutes.’
+
+And she looked straight in front of her in order to avoid his eyes.
+
+‘Yours will always be happy, I think,’ she said, ‘because you never seem
+to go below the surface, and on the surface life is happy enough.’
+
+He made some light answer, and they walked on beneath the orange trees,
+talking of these and other matters—indulging in those dangerous
+generalities which sound so safe, and in reality narrow down to a little
+world of two.
+
+They were thus engaged when the servant came to announce that the horse
+which the General had placed at Conyngham’s disposal was at the door in
+accordance with the Englishman’s own order.  He went away sorrowfully
+enough, only half consoled by the information that Estella was about to
+attend a service at the Church of Santa Maria, and could not have stayed
+longer in the garden.
+
+The hour of the siesta was scarce over, and as Conyngham rode through the
+cleanly streets of the ancient town more than one idler roused himself
+from the shadow of a doorway to see him pass.  There are few older towns
+in Andalusia than Ronda, and scarce anywhere the habits of the Moors are
+so closely followed.  The streets are clean, the houses whitewashed
+within and without.  The trappings of the mules and much of the costume
+of the people are Oriental in texture and brilliancy.
+
+Conyngham asked a passer-by to indicate the way to the Cordova road, and
+the polite Spaniard turned and walked by his stirrup until a mistake was
+no longer possible.
+
+‘It is not the most beautiful approach to Ronda,’ said this garrulous
+person, ‘but well enough in the summer, when the flowers are in bloom and
+the vineyards green.  The road is straight and dusty until one arrives at
+the possession of the Señora Barenna—a narrow road to the right leading
+up into the mountain.  One can perceive the house—oh, yes—upon the
+hillside, once beautiful, but now old and decayed.  Mistake is now
+impossible.  It is a straight way.  I wish you a good journey.’
+
+Conyngham rode on, vaguely turning over in his mind a half-matured plan
+of effecting a seemingly accidental entry to the house of Señora Barenna,
+in the hope of meeting that lady’s daughter in the garden or grounds.
+Once outside the walls of the town he found the country open and bare,
+consisting of brown hills, of which the lower slopes were dotted with
+evergreen oaks.  The road soon traversed a village which seemed to be
+half deserted, for men and women alike were working in the fields.  On
+the balcony of the best house a branch of palm bound against the ironwork
+balustrade indicated the dwelling of the priest, and the form of that
+village despot was dimly discernible in the darkened room behind.  Beyond
+the village Conyngham turned his horse’s head towards the mountain, his
+mind preoccupied with a Macchiavellian scheme of losing his way in this
+neighbourhood.  Through the evergreen oak and olive groves he could
+perceive the roof of an old grey house which had once been a mere
+hacienda or semi-fortified farm.
+
+Conyngham did not propose to go direct to Señora Barenna’s house, but
+described a semicircle, mounting from terrace to terrace on his
+sure-footed horse.
+
+When at length he came in sight of the high gateway where the ten-foot
+oaken gates still swung, he perceived someone approaching the exit.  On
+closer inspection he saw that this was a priest, and on nearing him
+recognised the Padre Concha, whose acquaintance he had made at the Hotel
+of the Marina at Algeciras.
+
+The recognition was mutual, for the priest raised his shabby old hat with
+a tender care for the insecurity of its brim.
+
+‘A lucky meeting, Señor Englishman,’ he said; ‘who would have expected to
+see you here?’
+
+‘I have lost my way.’
+
+‘Ah!’  And the grim face relaxed into a smile.  ‘Lost your way?’
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘Then it is lucky that I have met you.  It is so easy to lose one’s
+way—when one is young.’
+
+He raised his hand to the horse’s bridle.
+
+‘You are most certainly going in the wrong direction,’ he said; ‘I will
+lead you right.’
+
+It was said and done so quietly that Conyngham had found no word to say
+before his horse was moving in the opposite direction.
+
+‘This is surely one of General Vincente’s horses,’ said the priest; ‘we
+have few such barbs in Ronda.  He always rides a good horse, that Miguel
+Vincente.’
+
+‘Yes, it is one of his horses.  Then you know the General?’
+
+‘We were boys together,’ answered the Padre; ‘and there were some who
+said that he should have been the priest and I the soldier.’
+
+The old man gave a little laugh.
+
+‘He has prospered, however, if I have not.  A great man, my dear Miguel,
+and they say that his pay is duly handed to him.  My own—my princely
+twenty pounds a year—is overdue.  I am happy enough, however, and have a
+good house.  You noticed it, perhaps, as you passed through the village,
+a branch of palm against the rail of the balcony—my sign, you understand.
+The innkeeper next door displays a branch of pine, which, I notice, is
+more attractive.  Every man his day.  One does not catch rabbits with a
+dead ferret.  That is the church—will you see it?  No?  Well, some other
+day.  I will guide you through the village.  The walk will give me
+appetite, which I sometimes require, for my cook is one whose husband has
+left her.’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+THE LOVE LETTER
+
+
+          ‘I must mix myself with action lest I wither by despair.’
+
+‘NO one,’ Conyngham heard a voice exclaiming as he went into the garden
+on returning from his fruitless ride, ‘no one knows what I have
+suffered.’
+
+He paused in the dark doorway, not wishing to intrude upon Estella and
+her visitors; for he perceived the forms of three ladies seated within a
+miniature jungle of bamboo, which grew in feathery luxuriance around a
+fountain.  It was not difficult to identify the voice as that of the
+eldest lady, who was stout, and spoke in deep, almost manly tones.  So
+far as he was able to judge, the suffering mentioned had left but small
+record on its victim’s outward appearance.
+
+‘Old lady seems to have stood it well,’ commented the Englishman in his
+mind.
+
+‘Never again, my dear Estella, do I leave Ronda, except indeed for
+Toledo, where, of course, we shall go in the summer if this terrible Don
+Carlos is really driven from the country.  Ah! but what suffering!  My
+mind is never at ease.  I expect to wake up at night and hear that Julia
+is being murdered in her bed.  For me it does not matter; my life is not
+so gay that it will cost me much to part from it.  No one would molest an
+old woman, you think?  Well, that may be so; but I know all the anxiety,
+for I was once beautiful—ah! more beautiful than you or Julia; and my
+hands and feet—have you ever noticed my foot, Estella?—even now—!’
+
+And a sonorous sigh completed the sentence.  Conyngham stepped out of the
+doorway, the clank of his spurred heel on the marble pavement causing the
+sigh to break off in a little scream.  He had caught the name of Julia,
+and hastily concluded that these ladies must be no other than Madame
+Barenna and her daughter.  In the little bamboo grove he found the elder
+lady lying back in her chair, which creaked ominously, and asking in a
+faint voice whether he were Don Carlos.
+
+‘No,’ answered Estella, with a momentary twinkle in her grave, dark eyes;
+‘this is Mr. Conyngham—my aunt, Señora Barenna, and my cousin Julia.’
+
+The ladies bowed.
+
+‘You must excuse me,’ said Madame Barenna volubly, ‘but your approach was
+so sudden.  I am a great sufferer—my nerves, you know.  But young people
+do not understand.’
+
+And she sighed heavily, with a side glance at her daughter, who did not
+even appear to be trying to do so.  Julia Barenna was darker than her
+cousin, quicker in manner, with an air of worldly capability which
+Estella lacked.  Her eyes were quick and restless, her face less
+beautiful, but expressive of a great intelligence, which, if brought to
+bear upon men in the form of coquetry, was likely to be infinitely
+dangerous.
+
+‘It is always best to approach my mother with caution,’ she said with a
+restless movement of her hands.  This was not a woman at her ease in the
+world or at peace with it.  She laughed as she spoke, but her eyes were
+grave, even while her lips smiled, and watched the Englishman’s face with
+an air almost of anxiety.  There are some faces that seem to be watching
+and waiting.  Julia Barenna’s had such a look.
+
+‘Conyngham,’ said Madame Barenna reflectively.  ‘Surely I have heard that
+name before.  You are not the Englishman with whom Father Concha is so
+angry—who sells forbidden books—the Bible, it is said?’
+
+‘No, señora,’ answered Conyngham with perfect gravity; ‘I have nothing to
+sell.’
+
+He laughed suddenly, and looked at the elder lady with that air of good
+humour which won for him more friends than he ever wanted; for this
+Irishman had a ray of sunshine in his heart which shone upon his path
+through life, and made that uneven way easier for his feet.  He glanced
+at Julia, and saw in her eyes the look of expectancy which was, in
+reality, always there.  The thought flashed through his mind that by some
+means, or perhaps feminine intuition beyond his comprehension, she knew
+that he possessed the letter addressed to her, and was eagerly awaiting
+it.  This letter seemed to have been gaining in importance the longer he
+carried it, and this opportunity of giving it to her came at the right
+moment.  He remembered Larralde’s words concerning the person to whom the
+missive was addressed, and the high-flown sentiments of that somewhat
+theatrical gentleman became in some degree justified.  Julia Barenna was
+a woman who might well awaken a passionate love.  Conyngham realised
+this, as from a distance, while Julia’s mother spoke of some trivial
+matter of the moment to unheeding ears.  That distance seemed now to
+exist between him and all women.  It had come suddenly, and one glance of
+Estella’s eyes had called it into existence.
+
+‘Yes,’ Señora Barenna was saying, ‘Father Concha is very angry with the
+English.  What a terrible man!  You do not know him, Señor Conyngham?’
+
+‘I think I have met him, señora.’
+
+‘Ah, but you have never seen him angry.  You have never confessed to him!
+A little, little sin—no larger than the eye of a fly—a little bite of a
+calf’s sweetbread on Friday in mere forgetfulness, and Sancta Maria! what
+a penance is required!  What suffering!  It is a purgatory to have such a
+confessor.’
+
+‘Surely madame can have no sins,’ said Conyngham pleasantly.
+
+‘Not now,’ said Señora Barenna with a deep sigh.  ‘When I was young it
+was different.’
+
+And the memory of her sinful days almost moved her to tears.  She glanced
+at Conyngham with a tragic air of mutual understanding, as if drawing a
+veil over that blissful past in the presence of Julia and Estella.  ‘Ask
+me another time,’ that glance seemed to say.
+
+‘Yes,’ the lady continued, ‘Father Concha is very angry with the English.
+Firstly, because of these bibles.  Blessed Heaven! what does it matter?
+No one can read them except the priests, and they do not want to do so.
+Secondly, because the English have helped to overthrow Don Carlos—’
+
+‘You will have a penance,’ interrupted Miss Julia Barenna quietly, ‘from
+Father Concha for talking politics.’
+
+‘But how will he know?’ asked Señora Barenna sharply; and the two young
+ladies laughed.
+
+Señora Barenna looked from one to the other, and shrugged her shoulders.
+Like many women she was a strange mixture of foolishness and worldly
+wisdom.  She adjusted her mantilla and mutely appealed to Heaven with a
+glance of her upturned eyes.  Conyngham, who was no diplomatist, nor
+possessed any skill in concealing his thoughts, looked with some interest
+at Julia Barenna, and Estella watched him.  ‘Julia is right,’ Señora
+Barenna was saying, though nobody heeded her; ‘one must not talk nor even
+think politics in this country.  You are no politician, I trust, Señor
+Conyngham—Señor Conyngham, I ask you, you are no politician?’
+
+‘No, señora,’ replied Conyngham hastily; ‘no; and if I were, I should
+never understand Spanish politics.’
+
+‘Father Concha says that Spanish politics are the same as those of any
+other country—each man for himself,’ said Julia with a bitter laugh.
+
+‘And he is, no doubt, right.’
+
+‘Do you really think so?’ asked Julia Barenna, with more earnestness than
+the question would seem to require; ‘are there not true patriots who
+sacrifice all—not only their friends, but themselves—to the cause of
+their country?’
+
+‘Without the hope of reward?’
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘There may be, señorita—a few,’ answered Conyngham with a laugh, ‘but not
+in my country.  They must all be in Spain.’
+
+She smiled and shook her head in doubt.  But it was a worn smile.
+
+The Englishman turned away and looked through the trees.  He was
+wondering how he could get speech with Julia alone for a moment.
+
+‘You are admiring the garden,’ said that young lady; and this time he
+knew that there had in reality been that meaning in her eyes which he had
+imagined to be there.
+
+‘Yes, señorita, I think it must be the most beautiful garden in the
+world.’
+
+He turned as he spoke, and looked at Estella, who met his glance quietly.
+Her repose of manner struck him afresh.  Here was a woman having that air
+of decision which exacts respect alike from men and women.  Seen thus,
+with the more vivacious Julia at her side, Estella gained suddenly in
+moral strength and depth—suggesting a steady fire in contrast with a
+flickering will-o’-the-wisp blown hither and thither on every zephyr.
+Yet Julia Barenna would pass anywhere as a woman of will and purpose.
+
+Julia had risen, and was moving towards the exit of the little grove in
+which they found themselves.  Conyngham had never been seated.
+
+‘Are the violets in bloom, Estella?  I must see them,’ said the visitor.
+‘We have none at home, where all is dry and parched.’
+
+‘So bad for the nerves—what suffering!—such a dry soil that one cannot
+sleep at night,’ murmured Madame Barenna, preparing to rise from her
+seat.
+
+Julia and Conyngham naturally led the way.  The paths winding in and out
+among the palms and pepper trees were of a width that allowed two to walk
+abreast.
+
+‘Señorita, I have a letter for you.’
+
+‘Not yet—wait!’
+
+Señora Barenna was chattering in her deep husky tones immediately behind
+them.  Julia turned and looked up at the windows of the house, which
+commanded a full view of the garden.  The dwelling rooms were as usual
+upon the first floor, and the windows were lightly barred with curiously
+wrought iron.  Each window was curtained within with lace and muslin.
+
+The paths wound in and out among the trees, but none of these were large
+enough to afford a secure screen from the eye of any watcher within the
+house.  There was neither olive nor ilex in the garden to afford shelter
+with their heavy leaves.  Julia and Conyngham walked on, out-distancing
+the elder lady and Estella.  From these many a turn in the path hid them
+from time to time, but Julia was distrustful of the windows and
+hesitated, in an agony of nervousness.  Conyngham saw that her face was
+quite colourless, and her teeth closed convulsively over her lower lip.
+He continued to talk of indifferent topics, but the answers she made were
+incoherent and broken.  The course of true love did not seem to run
+smooth here.
+
+‘Shall I give you the letter?  No one can see us, señorita.  Besides, I
+was informed that it was of no importance except to yourself.  You have
+doubtless had many such before, unless the Spanish gentlemen are blind.’
+
+He laughed and felt in his pocket.
+
+‘Yes!’ she whispered.  ‘Quickly—now.’
+
+He gave her the letter in its romantic pink, scented envelope with a
+half-suppressed smile at her eagerness.  Would anybody—would Estella—ever
+be thus agitated at the receipt of a letter from himself?  They were at
+the lower end of the inclosure, which was divided almost in two by a
+broader pathway leading from the house to the centre of the garden, where
+a fountain of Moorish marble formed a sort of carrefour, from which the
+narrower pathways diverged in all directions.
+
+Descending the steps into the garden from the house were two men, one
+talking violently, the other seeking to calm him.
+
+‘My uncle and the Alcalde—they have seen us from the windows,’ said Julia
+quickly.  All her nervousness of manner seemed to have vanished, leaving
+her concentrated and alert.  Some men are thus in warfare—nervous until
+the rifle opens fire, and then cool and ready.
+
+‘Quick!’ whispered Julia.  ‘Let us turn back.’
+
+She wheeled round, and Conyngham did the same.
+
+‘Julia!’ they heard General Vincente call in his gentle voice.
+
+Julia, who was tearing the pink envelope, took no heed.  Within the first
+covering a second envelope appeared, bearing a longer address.  ‘Give
+that to the man whose address it bears, and save me from ruin,’ said the
+girl, thrusting the letter into Conyngham’s hand.  She kept the pink
+envelope.
+
+When, a minute later, they came face to face with General Vincente and
+his companion, a white-faced, fluttering man of sixty years, Julia
+Barenna received them with a smile.  There are some men who, conscious of
+their own quickness of resource, are careless of danger, and run into it
+from mere heedlessness, trusting to good fortune to aid them should peril
+arise.  Frederick Conyngham was one of these.  He now suspected that this
+was no love letter which the man called Larralde had given him in
+Algeciras.
+
+‘Julia,’ said the General, ‘the Alcalde desires to speak with you.’
+
+Julia bowed with that touch of hauteur which in Spain the nobles ever
+observe in their manner towards the municipal authorities.
+
+‘Mr. Conyngham,’ continued the General, ‘this is our brave Mayor, in
+whose hands rests the well-being of the people of Ronda.’
+
+‘Honoured to meet you,’ said Conyngham, holding out his hand with that
+frankness of manner which he accorded to great and small alike.  The
+Alcalde, a man of immense importance in his own estimation, hesitated
+before accepting it.
+
+‘General,’ he said, turning and bowing very low to Señora Barenna and
+Estella, who now joined them, ‘General, I leave you to explain to your
+niece the painful duties of my office.’
+
+The General smiled and raised a deprecating shoulder.
+
+‘Well, my dear,’ he said kindly to Julia, ‘it appears that our good
+Alcalde has news of a letter which is at present passing from hand to
+hand in Andalusia.  It is a letter of some importance.  Our good Mayor,
+who was at the window a minute ago, saw Mr. Conyngham hand you a letter.
+Between persons who only met in this garden five minutes ago such a
+transaction had a strange air.  Our good friend, who is all zeal for
+Spain and the people of Ronda, merely asks you if his eyes deceived him.
+It is a matter at which we shall all laugh presently over a lemonade—is
+it not so?  A trifle, eh?’  He passed his handkerchief across his
+moustache, and looked affectionately at his niece.
+
+‘A letter!’ exclaimed Julia.  ‘Surely the Alcalde presumes.  He takes too
+much upon himself.’  The official stepped forward.
+
+‘Señorita,’ he said, ‘I must be allowed to take that risk.  Did this
+gentleman give you a letter three minutes ago?’
+
+Julia laughed and shrugged her shoulders.
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘May I ask the nature of the letter?’
+
+‘It was a love letter.’
+
+Conyngham bit his lip and looked at Estella.
+
+The Alcalde looked doubtful, with the cunning lips of a cheap country
+lawyer.
+
+‘A love letter from a gentleman you have never seen before?’ he said with
+a forced laugh.
+
+‘Pardon me, Señor Alcalde, this gentleman travelled in the same ship with
+my mother and myself from Bordeaux to Algeciras, and he saved my life.’
+
+She cast a momentary glance at Conyngham; which would have sealed his
+fate had the fiery Mr. Larralde been there to see it.  The Prefect
+paused, somewhat taken aback.  There was a momentary silence, and every
+moment gave Julia and Conyngham time to think.  Then the Alcalde turned
+to Conyngham.
+
+‘It will give me the greatest pleasure,’ he said, ‘to learn that I have
+been mistaken.  I have only to ask this gentleman’s confirmation of what
+the señorita has said.  It is true, señor, that you surreptitiously
+handed to the Señorita Barenna a letter expressing your love?’
+
+‘Since the señorita has done me the honour of confessing it, I must ask
+you to believe it,’ answered Conyngham steadily and coldly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+A WAR OF WIT
+
+
+                    ‘La discrétion est l’art du mensonge.’
+
+THE Alcalde blew out his cheeks and looked at General Vincente.  Señora
+Barenna would with small encouragement have thrown herself into
+Conyngham’s arms; but she received none whatever, and instead frowned at
+Julia.  Estella was looking haughtily at her father, and would not meet
+Conyngham’s glance.
+
+‘I feel sure,’ said General Vincente in his most conciliating manner,
+‘that my dear Julia will see the necessity of satisfying the good Alcalde
+by showing him the letter—with, of course, the consent of my friend
+Conyngham.’
+
+He laughed, and slipped his hand within Conyngham’s arm.
+
+‘You see, my dear friend,’ he said in English, ‘these local magnates are
+a trifle inflated; local magnitude is a little inclined to inflate, eh?
+Ha! ha!  And it is so easy to conciliate them.  I always try to do so
+myself.  Peace at any price—that is my motto.’
+
+And he turned aside to arrange his sword, which dragged on the ground.
+
+‘Tell her, my dear Conyngham, to let the old gentleman read the letter.’
+
+‘But it is nothing to do with me, General.’
+
+‘I know that, my friend, as well as you do,’ said Vincente with a sudden
+change of manner, which gave the Englishman an uncomfortable desire to
+know what he meant.  But General Vincente, in pursuit of that peace which
+had earned him such a terrible reputation in war, turned to Señora
+Barenna with his most reassuring smile.
+
+‘It is nothing, my dear Iñez,’ he said.  ‘In these times of trouble the
+officials are so suspicious, and our dear Alcalde knows too much.  He
+remembers dear Julia’s little affair with Esteban Larralde, now long
+since lived down and forgotten.  Larralde is, it appears, a malcontent,
+and on the wrong side of the wall.  You need have no uneasiness.  Ah!
+your nerves—yes, I know!  A great sufferer—yes, I remember.  Patience,
+dear Iñez, patience!’
+
+And he patted her stout white hand affectionately.
+
+The Alcalde was taking snuff with a stubborn air of disbelief, glancing
+the while suspiciously at Conyngham, who had eyes for none but Estella.
+
+‘Alcalde,’ said General Vincente, ‘the incident is past, as we say in the
+diplomatic service; a lemonade now?’
+
+‘No, General, the incident is not past, and I will not have a lemonade.’
+
+‘Oh!’ exclaimed General Vincente in gentle horror.
+
+‘Yes, this young lady must give me the letter, or I call in my men.’
+
+‘But your men could not touch a lady, my dear Alcalde.’
+
+‘You may be the Alcalde of Ronda,’ said Conyngham cheerfully, in
+continuation of the General’s argument; ‘but if you offer such an insult
+to Señorita Barenna, I throw you into the fountain, in the deepest part,
+where it is wettest, just there by the marble dolphin.’
+
+And Conyngham indicated the exact spot with his riding-whip.
+
+‘Who is this gentleman?’ asked the Alcalde.  The question was in the
+first place addressed to space and the gods—after a moment the speaker
+turned to General Vincente.
+
+‘A prospective aide-de-camp of General Espartero.’
+
+At the mention of the great name the Mayor of Ronda became beautifully
+less and half bowed to Conyngham.
+
+‘I must do my duty,’ he said with the stubbornness of a small mind.
+
+‘And what do you conceive that to be, my dear Alcalde?’ inquired the
+General.
+
+‘To place the Señorita Barenna under arrest unless she will hand to me
+the letter she has in her possession.’  Julia looked at him with a smile.
+She was a brave woman, playing a dangerous game with consummate courage,
+and never glanced at Conyngham, who with an effort kept his hand away
+from the pocket where the letter lay concealed.  The manner in which she
+trusted him unreservedly and entirely was in itself cunning enough, for
+it appealed to that sense of chivalry which is not yet dead in men.
+
+‘Place me under arrest, Señor Alcalde,’ she said indifferently, ‘and when
+you have satisfied me that you have a right to inspect a lady’s private
+correspondence I will submit to be searched—but not before.’
+
+She made a little signal to Conyngham not to interfere.
+
+Señora Barenna took this opportunity of asserting herself and her nerves.
+She sat heavily down on a stone seat and wept.  She could hardly have
+done better, for she was a countess in her own right, and the sight of
+high-born tears distinctly unnerved the Alcalde.
+
+‘Well,’ he said, ‘the señorita has made her own choice.  In these times’
+(he glanced nervously at the weeping lady) ‘one must do one’s duty.’
+
+‘My dear Julia,’ protested the General, ‘you who are so sensible—’
+
+Julia shrugged her shoulders and laughed.  She not only trusted Conyngham
+but relied upon his intelligence.  It is as a rule safer to confide in
+the honesty of one’s neighbour than in his wit; better still, trust in
+neither.  Conyngham, who was quick enough when the moment required it,
+knew that she was fostering the belief that the letter at that moment in
+his pocket was in her possession.  He suspected also that he and Julia
+Barenna were playing with life and death.  Further, he recognised her and
+her voice.  This was the woman who had showed discrimination and calmness
+in face of a great danger on the Garonne.  Had this Englishman, owning as
+he did to a strain of Irish blood, turned his back on her and danger at
+such a moment he would assuredly have proved himself untrue to the annals
+of that race which has made a mark upon the world that will never be
+wiped out.  He looked at the Alcalde and smiled, whereupon that official
+turned and made a signal with his hand to a man who, dressed in a quiet
+uniform, had appeared in the doorway of the house.
+
+‘What the deuce we are all trying to do I don’t know,’ reflected
+Conyngham, who indeed was sufficiently at sea to awake the most dormant
+suspicions.
+
+The Alcalde, now thoroughly aroused, protested his inability to neglect a
+particle of his duty at this troubled period of Spain’s history, and
+announced his intention of placing Julia Barenna under surveillance until
+she handed him the letter she had received from Conyngham.
+
+‘I am quite prepared,’ he added, ‘to give this caballero the benefit of
+the doubt, and assume that he has been in this matter the tool of
+unscrupulous persons.  Seeing that he is a friend of General Vincente’s,
+and has an introduction to his Excellency the Duke of Vittoria, he is
+without the pale of my jurisdiction.’
+
+The Alcalde made Conyngham a profound bow and proceeded to conduct Julia
+and her indignant mother to their carriage.
+
+‘There goes,’ said General Vincente with his most optimistic little
+chuckle, ‘a young woman whose head will always be endangered by her
+heart.’  And he nodded towards Julia’s retreating form.
+
+Estella turned and walked away by herself.
+
+‘Come,’ said the General to Conyngham, ‘let us sit down.  I have news for
+you.  But what a susceptible heart—my dear young friend—what a
+susceptible heart!  Julia is, I admit, a very pretty girl—_la beauté du
+diable_, eh!  But on so short an acquaintance—rather rapid, rather
+rapid!’
+
+As he spoke he was searching among some letters which he had produced
+from his pocket, and at length found an official envelope that had
+already been opened.
+
+‘I have here,’ he said, ‘a letter from Madrid.  You have only to proceed
+to the capital, and there I hope a post awaits you.  Your duties will at
+present be of a semi-military character, but later I hope we can show you
+some fighting.  This pestilential Cabrera is not yet quelled, and Morella
+still holds out.  Yes, there will be fighting.’
+
+He closed the letter and looked at Conyngham.  ‘If that is what you
+want,’ he added.
+
+‘Yes, that is what I want.’
+
+The General nodded and rose, pausing to brush a few grains of dust from
+his dapper riding-breeches.
+
+‘Come,’ he said, ‘I have seen a horse which will suit you at the cavalry
+quarters in the Calle de Bobadilla.  Shall we go and look at him?’
+
+Conyngham expressed his readiness to do as the General proposed.
+
+‘When shall I start for Madrid?’ he asked.
+
+‘Oh, to-morrow morning will be time enough,’ was the reply, uttered in an
+easy-going, indolent tone, ‘if you are early astir.  You see, it is now
+nearly five o’clock, and you could scarcely be in saddle before sunset.’
+
+‘No,’ laughed Conyngham, ‘scarcely, considering that I have not yet
+bought the saddle or the horse.’
+
+The General led the way into the house, and Conyngham thought of the
+letter in his pocket.  He had not yet read the address.  Julia relied
+upon him to deliver it, and her conduct towards the Alcalde had the
+evident object of gaining time for him to do so.  She had unhesitatingly
+thrust herself into a position of danger to screen him and further her
+own indomitable purpose.  He thought of her—still as from a distance at
+which Estella had placed him—and knew that she not only had a disquieting
+beauty, but cleverness and courage, which are qualities that outlast
+beauty and make a woman powerful for ever.
+
+When he and his companion emerged from the great doorway of the house
+into the sunlight of the Calle Mayor, a man came forward from the shade
+of a neighbouring porch.  It was Concepçion Vara, leisurely and
+dignified, twirling a cigarette between his brown fingers.  He saluted
+the General with one finger to the brim of his shabby felt hat as one
+great man might salute another.  He nodded to Conyngham.
+
+‘When does his Excellency take the road again?’ he said.  ‘I am ready.
+The Guardia Civil was mistaken this time—the judge said there was no
+stain on my name.’
+
+He shrugged his shoulders and waved away the slight with the magnanimity
+of one who can forgive and forget.
+
+‘I take the road to-morrow; but our contract ceased at Ronda.  I had no
+intention of taking you on.’
+
+‘You are not satisfied with me?’ inquired Concepçion, offering his
+interlocutor the cigarette he had just made.
+
+‘Oh, yes.’
+
+‘Buen!  We take the road together.’
+
+‘Then there is nothing more to be said?’ inquired Conyngham with a
+good-natured laugh.
+
+‘Nothing, except the hour at which your Excellency starts.’
+
+‘Six o’clock,’ put in General Vincente quietly.  ‘Let me see, your name
+is Concepçion Vara.’
+
+‘Yes, Excellency—of Algeciras.’
+
+‘It is well.  Then serve this gentleman well, or else—’  The General
+paused, and laughed in his most deprecating manner.
+
+Concepçion seemed to understand, for he took off his hat and turned
+gravely away.  The General and Conyngham walked rapidly through the
+streets of Ronda, than which there are none cleaner in the whole world,
+and duly bought a great black horse at a price which seemed moderate
+enough to the Englishman, though the vendor explained that the long war
+had made horseflesh rise in value.  Conyngham, at no time a keen
+bargainer, hurried the matter to an end, and scarce examined the saddle.
+He was anxious to get back to the garden of the great house in the Calle
+Mayor before the cool of evening came to drive Estella indoors.
+
+‘You will doubtless wish to pack your portmanteau,’ said the General
+rather breathlessly, as he hurried along with small steps beside
+Conyngham.
+
+‘Yes,’ answered the Englishman ingenuously, ‘yes, of course.’
+
+‘Then I will not detain you,’ said General Vincente.  ‘I have affairs at
+headquarters.  We meet at dinner, of course.’
+
+He waved a little salutation with his whip and took a side turning.
+
+The sun had not set when Conyngham with a beating heart made his way
+through the house into the garden.  He had never been so serious about
+anything in his life.  Indeed, his life seemed only to have begun in that
+garden.  Estella was there.  He saw her black dress and mantilla through
+the trees, and the gleam of her golden hair made his eyes almost fierce
+for the moment.
+
+‘I am going to-morrow morning,’ he said bluntly when he reached her where
+she sat in the shade of a mimosa.
+
+She raised her eyes for a moment—deep velvet eyes with something in them
+that made his heart leap within his breast.
+
+‘And I love you, Estella,’ he added.  ‘You may be offended—you may
+despise me—you may distrust me.  But nothing can alter me.  I love
+you—now and ever.’
+
+She drew a deep breath and sat motionless.
+
+‘How many women does an Englishman love at once?’ she asked coldly at
+length.
+
+‘Only one, señorita.’
+
+He stood looking at her for a moment.  Then she rose and walked past him
+into the house.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+THE CITY OF DISCONTENT
+
+
+         ‘En paroles ou en actions, être discret, c’est s’abstenir.’
+
+‘THERE is,’ observed Frederick Conyngham to himself as he climbed into
+the saddle in the grey dawn of the following morning, ‘there is a certain
+picturesqueness about these proceedings which pleases me.’
+
+Concepçion Vara indeed supplied a portion of this romantic atmosphere,
+for he was dressed in the height of contrabandista fashion, with a
+bright-coloured handkerchief folded round his head underneath his black
+hat, a scarlet waistcloth, a spotless shirt, and a flower in the ribbon
+of his hat.
+
+He was dignified and leisurely, but so far forgot himself as to sing as
+he threw his leg across his horse.  A dark-eyed maiden had come to the
+corner of the Calle Vieja, and stood there watching him with mournful
+eyes.  He waved her a salutation as he passed.
+
+‘It is the waiting-maid at the venta where I stay in Ronda—what will
+you?’ he explained to Conyngham with a modest air as he cocked his hat
+farther on one side.
+
+The sun rose as they emerged from the narrow streets into the open
+country that borders the road to Bobadilla.  A pastoral country this,
+where the land needs little care to make it give more than man requires
+for his daily food.  The evergreen oak studded over the whole plain
+supplies food for countless pigs and shade where the herdsmen may dream
+away the sunny days.  The rich soil would yield two or even three crops
+in the year, were the necessary seed and labour forthcoming.
+Underground, the mineral wealth outvies the richness of the surface, but
+national indolence leaves it unexplored.
+
+‘Before General Vincente one could not explain oneself,’ said Concepçion,
+urging his horse to keep pace with the trot of Conyngham’s huge mount.
+
+‘Ah!’
+
+‘No,’ pursued Concepçion.  ‘And yet it is simple.  In Algeciras I have a
+wife.  It is well that a man should travel at times.  So,’ he paused and
+bowed towards his companion with a gesture of infinite condescension,
+‘so—we take the road together.’
+
+‘As long as you are pleased, Señor Vara,’ said Conyngham, ‘I am sure I
+can but feel honoured.  You know I have no money.’
+
+The Spaniard shrugged his shoulders.
+
+‘What matter?’ he said.  ‘What matter?  We can keep an account—a mere
+piece of paper—so: “Concepçion Vara, of Algeciras, in account current
+with F. Conyngham; Englishman.  One month’s wages at one hundred
+pesetas.” It is simple.’
+
+‘Very,’ acquiesced Conyngham.  ‘It is only when pay-day comes that things
+will get complicated.’
+
+Concepçion laughed.
+
+‘You are a caballero after my own heart,’ he said.  ‘We shall enjoy
+ourselves in Madrid.  I see that.’
+
+Conyngham did not answer.  He had remembered the letter and Julia
+Barenna’s danger.  He rose in his stirrups and looked behind him.  Ronda
+was already hidden by intervening hills, and the bare line of the roadway
+was unbroken by the form of any other traveller.
+
+‘We are not going to Madrid yet,’ said Conyngham.  ‘We are going to
+Xeres, where I have business.  Do you know the road to Xeres?’
+
+‘As well that as any other, Excellency.’
+
+‘What do you mean?’
+
+‘I know no roads north of Ronda.  I am of Andalusia, I,’ replied
+Concepçion easily, and he looked round about him with an air of interest
+which was more to the credit of his intelligence as a traveller than his
+reliability as a guide.
+
+‘But you engaged to guide me to Madrid.’
+
+‘Yes, Excellency—by asking the way,’ replied Concepçion with a light
+laugh, and he struck a sulphur match on the neck of his horse to light a
+fresh cigarette.
+
+Thus with an easy heart Frederick Conyngham set out on his journey,
+having for companion one as irresponsible as himself.  He had determined
+to go to Xeres, though that town of ill repute lay far to the westward of
+his road towards the capital.  It would have been simple enough to
+destroy the letter entrusted to him by Julia Barenna, a stranger whom he
+was likely never to see again—simple enough and infinitely safer as he
+suspected, for the billet-doux of Mr. Larralde smelt of grimmer things
+than love.  But Julia Barenna wittingly, or in all innocence, appealed to
+that sense of chivalry which is essentially the quality of lonely men who
+have never had sisters, and Conyngham was ready to help Julia where he
+would have refused his assistance to a man, however hard pressed.
+
+‘Cannot leave the girl in a hole,’ he said to himself, and proceeded to
+act upon this resolution with a steadiness of purpose for which some may
+blame him.
+
+It was evening when the two travellers reached Xeres after some weary
+hours of monotonous progress through the vine-clad plains of this
+country.
+
+‘It is no wonder,’ said Concepçion, ‘that the men of Xeres are
+malcontents, when they live in a country as flat as the palm of my hand.’
+
+It happened to be a fête day, which in Spain, as in other countries
+farther North, is synonymous with mischief.  The men of Xeres had taken
+advantage of this holiday to demonstrate their desire for more.  They had
+marched through the streets with banner and song, arrayed in their best
+clothes, fostering their worst thoughts.  They had consumed marvellous
+quantities of that small Amontillado which is as it were a thin fire to
+the blood, heating and degenerating at once.  They had talked much
+nonsense and listened to more.  Carlist or Christino—it was all the same
+to them, so long as they had a change of some sort.  In the meantime they
+had a desire to break something, if only to assert their liberty.
+
+A few minutes before Conyngham and his guide rode into the market-place,
+which in Xeres is as long as a street, some of the free sons of Spain had
+thought fit to shout insulting remarks to a passer-by.  With a fire too
+bright for his years this old gentleman, with fierce white moustache and
+imperial, had turned on them, calling them good-for-nothings and sons of
+pigs.
+
+Conyngham rode up just in time to see the ruffians rise as one man and
+rush at the victim of their humour.  The old man with his back to the
+wall repelled his assailants with a sort of fierce joy in his attitude
+which betokened the soldier.
+
+‘Come on, Concepçion!’ cried Conyngham, with a dig of the spurs that made
+his tired horse leap into the air.  He charged down upon the gathering
+crowd, which scattered right and left before the wild onslaught.  But he
+saw the flash of steel, and knew that it was too late.  The old man, with
+an oath and a gasp of pain, sank against the wall with the blood
+trickling through the fingers clasped against his breast.  Conyngham
+would have reined in, but Concepçion on his heels gave the charger a cut
+with his heavy whip that made him bound forward and would have unseated a
+short-stirruped rider.
+
+‘Go on,’ cried the Spaniard; ‘it is no business of ours.  The police are
+behind.’
+
+And Conyngham, remembering the letter in his pocket, rode on without
+looking back.  In the day of which the present narrative treats, the
+streets of Xeres were but ill paved, and the dust lay on them to the
+depth of many inches, serving to deaden the sound of footsteps and
+facilitate the commission of such deeds of violence as were at this time
+of daily occurrence in Spain.  Riding on at random, Conyngham and his
+companion soon lost their way in the narrow streets, and were able to
+satisfy themselves that none had followed them.  Here in a quiet alley
+Conyngham read again the address of the letter of which he earnestly
+desired to rid himself without more ado.
+
+It was addressed to Colonel Monreal at No. 84 Plaza de Cadiz.
+
+‘Let his Excellency stay here and drink a glass of wine at this venta,’
+said Concepçion.  ‘Alone, I shall be able to get information without
+attracting attention.  And then, in the name of the saints, let us shake
+the dust of Xeres off our feet.  The first thing we see is steel, and I
+do not like it.  I have a wife in Algeciras to whom I am much attached,
+and I am afraid—yes, afraid.  A gentleman need never hesitate to say so.’
+
+He shook his head forebodingly as he loosened his girths and called for
+water for the horses.
+
+‘I could eat a cocida,’ he went on, sniffing the odours of a neighbouring
+kitchen, ‘with plenty of onions and the mutton as becomes the
+springtime—young and tender.  Dios! this quick travelling and an empty
+stomach, it kills one.’
+
+‘When I have delivered my letter,’ replied Conyngham, ‘we shall eat with
+a lighter heart.’
+
+Concepçion went away in a pessimistic humour.  He was one of those men
+who are brave enough on good wine and victuals, but lack the stamina to
+fight when hungry.  He returned presently with the required information.
+The Plaza de Cadiz was, it appeared, quite close.  Indeed, the town of
+Xeres is not large, though the intricacies of its narrow streets may well
+puzzle a new-comer.  No. 84 was the house of the barber, and on his first
+floor lived Colonel Monreal, a retired veteran who had fought with the
+English against Napoleon’s armies.
+
+During his servant’s absence, Conyngham had written a short note in
+French, conveying, in terms which she would understand, the news that
+Julia Barenna doubtless awaited with impatience; namely, that her letter
+had been delivered to him whose address it bore.
+
+‘I have ordered your cocida and some good wine,’ he said to Concepçion.
+‘Your horse is feeding.  Make good use of your time, for when I return I
+shall want you to take the road again at once.  You must make ten miles
+before you sleep to-night, and then an early start in the morning.’
+
+‘For where, señor?’
+
+‘For Ronda.’
+
+Concepçion shrugged his shoulders.  His life had been spent upon the
+road, his wardrobe since childhood had been contained in a saddle-bag,
+and Spaniards, above all people, have the curse of Ishmael.  They are a
+homeless race, and lay them down to sleep, when fatigue overtakes them,
+under a tree or in the shade of a stone wall.  It often happens that a
+worker in the fields will content himself with the lee side of a haystack
+for his resting-place when his home is only a few hundred yards up the
+mountain side.
+
+‘And his Excellency?’ inquired Concepçion.
+
+‘I shall sleep here to-night and proceed to Madrid to-morrow, by way of
+Cordova, where I will wait for you.  I have a letter here which you must
+deliver to the Señorita Barenna at Ronda without the knowledge of anyone.
+It will be well that neither General Vincente nor any other who knows you
+should catch sight of you in the streets of Ronda.’
+
+Concepçion nodded his head with much philosophy.
+
+‘Ah! these women,’ he said, turning to the steaming dish of mutton and
+vegetables which is almost universal in the South, ‘these women, what
+shoe leather they cost us!’
+
+Leaving his servant thus profitably employed, Conyngham set out to find
+the barber’s shop in the Plaza de Cadiz.  This he did without difficulty,
+but on presenting himself at the door of Colonel Monreal’s apartment
+learnt that that gentleman was out.
+
+‘But,’ added the servant, ‘the Colonel is a man of regular habits.  He
+will return within the next fifteen minutes, for he dines at five.’
+
+Conyngham paused.  He had no desire to make Colonel Monreal’s
+acquaintance, indeed preferred to remain without it, for he rightly
+judged that Señor Larralde was engaged in affairs best left alone.
+
+‘I have a letter for the Colonel,’ he said to the servant, a man of
+stupid countenance.  ‘I will place it here upon his table, and can no
+doubt trust you to see that he gets it.’
+
+‘That you can, Excellency,’ replied the man, with a palm already half
+extended to receive a gratuity.
+
+‘If the Colonel fails to receive the letter I shall certainly know of
+it,’ said Conyngham, stumbling down the dark staircase, and well pleased
+to have accomplished his mission.
+
+He returned with all speed to the inn in the quiet alley where he had
+elected to pass the night, and found Concepçion still at table.
+
+‘In half an hour I take the road,’ said the Spaniard.  ‘The time for a
+cup of coffee, and I am ready to ride all night.’
+
+Having eaten, Concepçion was in a better frame of mind, and now
+cheerfully undertook to carry out his master’s instructions.  In little
+more than half an hour he was in the saddle again, and waved an airy
+adieu to Conyngham as he passed under the swinging oil lamp that hung at
+the corner of the street.
+
+It was yet early in the evening, and Conyngham, having dined, set out to
+explore the streets of Xeres, which were quiet enough now, as the cafes
+were gayer and safer than the gloomy thoroughfares where a foe might lurk
+in every doorway.  In the market-place, between rows of booths and tents,
+a dense crowd walked backwards and forwards with that steady sense of
+promenading which the Spaniard understands above all other men.  The
+dealers in coloured handkerchiefs from Barcelona or mantillas from
+Seville were driving a great trade, and the majority of them had long
+since shouted themselves hoarse.  A few quack dentists were operating
+upon their victims under the friendly covert of a big drum and a bassoon.
+Dealers in wonderful drugs and herbs were haranguing the crowd, easily
+gaining the attention of the simple peasants by handling a live snake or
+a crocodile which they allowed to crawl upon their shoulders.
+
+Conyngham lingered in the crowd, which was orderly enough, and amused
+himself by noting the credulity of the country folk, until his attention
+was attracted by a solemn procession passing up the market-place behind
+the tents.  He inquired of a bystander what this might be.
+
+‘It is the police carrying to his apartment the body of Colonel Monreal,
+who was murdered this afternoon in the Plaza Mayor,’ was the answer.
+
+Conyngham made his way between two tents to the deserted side of the
+market-place, and, running past the procession, reached the barber’s shop
+before it.  In answer to his summons a girl came to the door of the
+Colonel’s apartment.  She was weeping and moaning in great mental
+distress.
+
+Without explanation Conyngham pushed past her into the room where he had
+deposited the letter.  The room was in disorder, and no letter lay upon
+the table.
+
+‘It is,’ sobbed the girl, ‘my husband, who, having heard that the good
+Colonel had been murdered, stole all his valuables and papers and has run
+away from me.’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+A TANGLED WEB
+
+
+            ‘Wherein I am false, I am honest—not true to be true.’
+
+‘AND—would you believe it?—there are soldiers in the house, at the very
+door of Julia’s apartments.’  Señora Barenna, who made this remark,
+heaved a sigh and sat back in her canework chair with that jerkiness of
+action which in elderly ladies usually betokens impatience with the ways
+of young people.
+
+‘Policemen—policemen, not soldiers,’ corrected Father Concha patiently,
+as if it did not matter much.  They were sitting in the broad vine-clad
+verandah of the Casa Barenna, that grim old house on the Bobadilla road,
+two miles from Ronda.  The priest had walked thither, as the dust on his
+square-toed shoes and black stockings would testify.  He had laid aside
+his mournful old hat, long since brown and discoloured, and was wiping
+his forehead with a cheap pocket-handkerchief of colour and pattern
+rather loud for his station in life.
+
+‘Well, they have swords,’ persisted the lady.
+
+‘Policemen,’ said Father Concha, in a stern and final voice, which caused
+Señora Barenna to cast her eyes upwards with an air of resigned
+martyrdom.
+
+‘Ah, that Alcalde!’ she whispered between her teeth.
+
+‘A little dog, when it is afraid, growls,’ said Concha philosophically.
+‘The Alcalde is a very small dog, and he is at his wit’s end.  Such a
+thing has not occurred in Ronda before, and the Alcalde’s world is Ronda.
+He does not know whether his office permits him to inspect young ladies’
+love letters or not.’
+
+‘Love letters!’ ejaculated Señora Barenna.  She evidently had a keen
+sense of the romantic, and hoped for something more tragic than a mere
+flirtation begotten of idleness at sea.
+
+‘Yes,’ said Concha, crossing his legs and looking at his companion with a
+queer cynicism.  ‘Young people mostly pass that way.’
+
+He had had a tragedy, this old man.  One of those grim tragedies of the
+cassock which English people rarely understand.  And his tragedy sat
+beside him on the cane chair, stout and eminently worldly, while he had
+journeyed on the road of life with all his illusions, all his
+half-fledged aspirations, untouched by the cold finger of reality.  He
+despised the woman now, the contempt lurked in his cynical smile, but he
+clung with a half-mocking, open-eyed sarcasm to his memories.
+
+‘But,’ he said reassuringly, ‘Julia is a match for the Alcalde, you may
+rest assured of that.’
+
+Señora Barenna turned with a gesture of her plump hand indicative of
+bewilderment.
+
+‘I do not understand her.  She laughs at the soldiers—the policemen, I
+mean.  She laughs at me.  She laughs at everything.’
+
+‘Yes, it is the hollow hearts that make most noise in the world,’ said
+Concha, folding his handkerchief upon his knee.  He was deadly poor, and
+had a theory that a folded handkerchief remains longer clean.  His whole
+existence was an effort to do without those things that make life worth
+living.
+
+‘Why did you send for me?’ he asked.
+
+‘But to advise me—to help me.  I have been, all my life, cast upon the
+world alone.  No one to help me—no one to understand.  No one knows what
+I have suffered—my husband—’
+
+‘Was one of the best and most patient of mortals, and is assuredly in
+heaven, where I hope there are a few mansions reserved for men only.’
+
+Señora Barenna fetched one of her deepest sighs.  She had a few lurking
+in the depth of her capacious being, reserved for such occasions as this.
+It was, it seemed, no more than her life had led her to expect.
+
+‘You have had,’ went on her spiritual adviser, ‘a life of ease and
+luxury, a husband who denied you nothing.  You have never lost a child by
+death, which I understand is—one of the greatest sorrows that God sends
+to women.  You are an ungrateful female.’
+
+Señora Barenna, whose face would have graced one of the very earliest of
+the martyrs, sat with folded hands waiting until the storm should pass.
+
+‘Do you wish me to see Julia?’ asked Concha abruptly.
+
+‘Yes—yes!  And persuade her to conciliate the Alcalde—to tell him some
+story or another.  It does not surely matter if it be not the strict
+truth.  Anything to get these men out of the house.  My maid Maria is so
+flighty.  Ah—these young people!  What a trial—my dear Padre, what a
+trial!’
+
+‘Of course,’ said Father Concha.  ‘But what a dull world it would be if
+our neighbour knew how to manage his own affairs!  Shall we go to Julia?’
+
+The perturbed lady preferred that the priest should see her daughter
+alone.  A military-looking individual in white trousers and a dark green
+tunic stood guard over the door of Julia’s apartment, seeking by his
+attitude and the curl of his moustache to magnify his office in the eyes
+of a maid who happened to have an unusual amount of cleaning to do in
+that particular corridor.
+
+‘Ah!’ said Father Concha, by no means abashed by the sentinel’s sword.
+‘Ah, it is you, Manuel.  Your wife tells me you have objections to the
+christening of that last boy of yours, number five, I think.  Bring
+number five on Sunday, after vespers—eh?  You understand—and a little
+something for the poor.  It is pay day on Saturday.  And no more nonsense
+about religion, Manuel, eh?’
+
+He shook his lean finger in the official’s face and walked on
+unchallenged.
+
+‘May I come in?’ he said, tapping at the door; and Julia’s voice bade him
+enter.
+
+He closed the door behind him and laid aside his hat.  Then he stood
+upright, and slowly rubbing his hands together looked at Julia with the
+humorous twinkle lurking in his eye and its companion dimple twitching in
+his lean cheek.  Then he began to feel his pockets, passing his hands
+down his worn cassock.
+
+‘Let me see, I had a love letter—was it from Don Carlos?  At all events,
+I have lost it!’
+
+He laughed, made a perfunctory sign of the cross and gave her his
+blessing.  Then, his face having become suddenly grave as if by machinery
+at the sound of the solemn Latin benediction, he sat down.
+
+Julia looked worn and eager.  Her eyes seemed to search his face for
+news.
+
+‘Yes, my dear child,’ he said.  ‘Politics are all very well as a career.
+But without a distinct profit they are worth the attention of few men,
+and never worth the thought of a woman.’
+
+He looked at her keenly, and she turned to the window, which was open to
+admit the breath of violets and other flowers of the spring.  She
+shrugged her shoulders and gave a sharp sigh.
+
+‘See here, my child,’ said Padre Concha abruptly.  ‘For reasons which
+concern no one, I take a great interest in your happiness.  You resemble
+some one whose welfare was once more important to me than my own.  That
+was long ago, and I now consider myself first, as all wise men should.  I
+am your friend, Julia, and much too old to be over-scrupulous.  I peep
+and pry into my neighbours’ affairs, and I am uneasy about you, my
+child.’
+
+He shook his head and drummed upon the table with his dirty fingers.
+
+‘Thank you,’ answered the girl with her defiant little laugh, ‘but I can
+manage my own affairs.’
+
+The priest nodded reflectively.
+
+‘Yes,’ he said.  ‘It is natural that you should say that.  One of the
+chief blessings of youth is self confidence.  Heaven forbid that I should
+shake yours.  But, you see, there are several people who happen to be
+anxious that this little affair should blow over and be forgotten.  The
+Alcalde is a mule, we know that, and anything that serves to magnify
+himself and his office is likely to be prolonged.  Do not play into his
+hand.  As I tell you, there are some who wish to forget this incident,
+and one of them is coming to see you this afternoon.’
+
+‘Ah!’ said the girl indifferently.
+
+‘General Vincente.’
+
+Julia changed colour and her eyelids flickered for a moment as she looked
+out of the open window.
+
+‘A good friend,’ continued Concha, ‘but—’
+
+He finished the phrase with an eloquent little gesture of the hand.  At
+this moment they both heard the sound of an approaching carriage.
+
+‘He is coming now,’ said Concha.  ‘He is driving, so Estella is with
+him.’
+
+‘Estella is of course jealous.’
+
+The priest looked at her with a slow wise smile and said nothing.
+
+‘She—’ began Julia, and then closed her lips—true to that _esprit de
+sexe_ which has ruled through all the ages.  Then Julia Barenna gave a
+sharp sigh as her mind reverted from Estella’s affairs to her own.
+
+Sitting thus in silence, the two occupants of the quiet room heard the
+approach of steps and the clink of spurs in the corridor.
+
+‘It is the reverendo who visits the señorita,’ they heard the voice of
+the sentinel explain deprecatingly.
+
+The priest rose and went to the door, which he opened.
+
+‘Only as a friend,’ he said.  ‘Come in, General.’
+
+General Vincente entered the room followed by Estella.  He nodded to
+Concha and kissed his niece affectionately.
+
+‘Still obdurate?’ he said, with a semi-playful tap on her shoulder.
+‘Still obdurate?  My dear Julia, in peace and war the greatest quality in
+the strong is mercy.  You have proved yourself strong—you have worsted
+that unfortunate Alcalde—be merciful to him now, and let this incident
+finish.’
+
+He drew forward a chair, the others being seated, and laid aside his
+gloves.  The sword which he held upright between his knees, with his two
+hands resting on the hilt, looked incongruously large and reached the
+level of his eyes.  He gave a little chuckling laugh.
+
+‘I saw him last night at the Café Real—the poor man had the air of a
+funeral, and took his wine as if it were sour.  Ah! these civilians, they
+amuse one—they take life so seriously.’
+
+He laughed and looked round at those assembled as if inviting them to
+join him in a gayer and easier view of existence.  The Padre’s furrowed
+face answered the summons in a sudden smile, but it was with grave eyes
+that he looked searchingly at the most powerful man in Andalusia; for
+General Vincente’s word was law south of the Tagus.
+
+The two men sat side by side in strong contrast.  Fate indeed seems to
+shake men together in a bag, and cast them out upon the world heedless
+where they may fall; for here was a soldier in the priest’s habit, and
+one carrying a sword who had the keen heart and sure sympathy for joy or
+sorrow that should ever be found within a black coat if the Master’s work
+is to be well done.
+
+General Vincente smiled at Estella with _sang-froid_ and an unruffled
+good nature, while the Padre Concha, whose place it surely was to take
+the lead in such woman’s work as this, slowly rubbed his bony hands
+together, at a loss and incompetent to meet the urgency of the moment.
+
+‘Our guest left us yesterday morning,’ said the General, ‘and of course
+the Alcalde placed no hindrance on his departure.’
+
+He did not look at Julia, who drew a deep breath and glanced at Estella.
+
+‘I do not know if Señor Conyngham left any message for you with
+Estella—to me he said nothing,’ continued Estella’s father; and that
+young lady shook her head.
+
+‘No,’ she put in composedly.
+
+‘Then it remains for us to close this foolish incident, my dear Julia;
+and for me to remind you, seeing that you are fatherless, that there are
+in Spain many adventurers who come here seeking the sport of love or war,
+who will ride away when they have had their fill of either.’
+
+He ceased speaking with a tolerant laugh, as one who, being a soldier
+himself, would beg indulgence for the failings of his comrades, examined
+the hilt of his sword, and then looked blandly round on three faces which
+resolutely refused to class the absent Englishman in this category.
+
+‘It remains, my dear niece, to satisfy the Alcalde—a mere glance at the
+letter—sufficient to satisfy him as to the nature of its contents.’
+
+‘I have no letter,’ said Julia quietly, with her level red lips set hard.
+
+‘Not in your possession, but perhaps concealed in some place near at
+hand—unless it is destroyed.’
+
+‘I have destroyed no letter, I have concealed no letter, and I have no
+letter,’ said the girl quietly.  Estella moved uneasily in the chair.
+Her face was colourless and her eyes shone.  She watched her cousin’s
+face intently, and beneath his shaggy brows the old priest’s eyes went
+from one fair countenance to the other.
+
+‘Then,’ cried the General, rising to his feet with an air of relief, ‘you
+have but to assure the Alcalde of this, and the whole incident is
+terminated.  Blown over, my dear Concha—blown over!’
+
+He tapped the priest on the shoulder with great good nature.  Indeed, the
+world seemed sunny enough and free from cares when General Vincente had
+to deal with it.
+
+‘Yes—yes,’ said the Padre, snuff-box in hand.  ‘Blown over—of course.’
+
+‘Then I may send the Alcalde to you, Julia—and you will tell him what you
+have told us?  He cannot but take the word of a lady.’
+
+‘Yes—if you like,’ answered Julia.
+
+The General’s joy knew no bounds.
+
+‘That is well,’ he cried, ‘I knew we could safely rely upon your good
+sense.  Kiss me, Julia—that is well!  Come, Estella—we must not keep the
+horses waiting.’
+
+With a laugh and a nod he went towards the door.  ‘Blown over, my dear
+Concha,’ he said over his shoulder.
+
+A few minutes later the priest walked down the avenue of walnut trees
+alone.  The bell was ringing for vespers, but the Padre was an autocratic
+shepherd and did not hurry towards his flock.  The sun had set, and in
+the hollows of the distant mountains the shades of night already lay like
+a blue veil.
+
+The priest walked on and presently reached the high road.  A single
+figure was upon it—the figure of a man sitting in the shadow of an ilex
+tree half a mile up the road towards Bobadilla.  The man crouched low
+against a heap of stones and had the air of a wanderer.  His face was
+concealed in the folds of his cloak.
+
+‘Blown over,’ muttered the Padre as he turned his back upon Bobadilla and
+went on towards his church.  ‘Blown over, of course; but what is
+Concepçion Vara doing in the neighbourhood of Ronda to-night?’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+ON THE TOLEDO ROAD
+
+
+              ‘Une bonne intention est une échelle trop courte.’
+
+CONYNGHAM made his way without difficulty or incident from Xeres to
+Cordova, riding for the most part in front of the clumsy diligencia
+wherein he had bestowed his luggage.  The road was wearisome enough, and
+the last stages, through the fertile plains bordering the Guadalquivir,
+dusty and monotonous.
+
+At Cordova the traveller found comfortable quarters in an old inn
+overlooking the river.  The ancient city was then, as it is now, a great
+military centre, and the headquarters of the picturesque corps of
+horse-tamers, the ‘Remonta,’ who are responsible for the mounting of the
+cavalry and the artillery of Spain.  Conyngham had, at the suggestion of
+General Vincente, made such small changes in his costume as would serve
+to allay curiosity and prevent that gossip of the stable and kitchen
+which may follow a traveller to his hurt from one side of a continent to
+the other.
+
+‘Wherever you may go learn your way in and out of every town, and you
+will thus store up knowledge most useful to a soldier,’ the General had
+said in his easy way.
+
+‘See you,’ Concepçion had observed, wagging his head over a cigarette;
+‘to go about the world with the eyes open is to conquer the world.’
+
+From his guide, moreover, whose methods were those that Nature teaches to
+men who live their daily lives in her company, Conyngham learnt much of
+that road craft which had raised Concepçion Vara to such a proud eminence
+among the rascals of Andalusia.  Cordova was a good object upon which to
+practise, for Roman and Goth, Moor and Christian, have combined to make
+its tortuous streets well-nigh incomprehensible to the traveller’s mind.
+
+Here Conyngham wandered, or else he sat somnolently on a seat in the
+Paseo del Gran Capitan in the shade of the orange trees, awaiting the
+arrival of Concepçion Vara.  He made a few acquaintances, as every
+traveller who is not a bear must needs do in a country where politeness
+and hospitality and a grave good fellowship are the natural habit of high
+and low alike.  A bullfighter or two, who beguiled the long winter
+months, when the rings are closed, by a little innocent horse dealing,
+joined him quietly in the streets and offered him a horse—as between
+gentlemen of undoubted honour—at a price much below the current value.
+Or it was perhaps a beggar who came to him on the old yellow marble seat
+under the orange trees, and chatted affably about his business as being
+bad in these times of war.  Once, indeed, it was a white-haired
+gentleman, who spoke in English, and asked some very natural questions as
+to the affairs that brought an Englishman to the town of Cordova.  This
+sweet-spoken old man explained that strangers would do well to avoid all
+questions of politics and religion, which he classed together in one
+dangerous whole.  Nevertheless, Conyngham thought that he perceived his
+ancient friend the same evening hurrying up the steps of the Jesuit
+College of La Campania.
+
+Two days elapsed and Concepçion Vara made neither appearance nor sign.
+On the second evening Conyngham decided to go on alone, prosecuting his
+journey through the sparsely populated valley of the Alcadia to Ciudad
+Real, Toledo, and Madrid.
+
+‘You will ride,’ the innkeeper told him, ‘from the Guadalquivir to the
+Guadiana, and if there is rain you may be a month upon the road.’
+
+Conyngham set out in the early morning, and as he threw his leg across
+the saddle the sun rose over the far misty hills of Ronda, and Concepçion
+Vara awoke from his night’s rest under the wall of an olive terrace above
+the Bobadilla road, to begin another day of patient waiting and watching
+to get speech with the maid or the mistress; for he had already
+inaugurated what he lightly called ‘an affair’ with Julia’s flighty
+attendant.  The sun rose also over the plains of Xeres, and lighted up
+the picturesque form of Esteban Larralde, in the saddle this hour and
+more, having learnt that Colonel Monreal’s death took place an hour
+before Conyngham’s arrival in the town of Xeres de la Frontera.  The
+letter, therefore, had not been delivered to Colonel Monreal, and was
+still in Conyngham’s possession.
+
+Larralde bestrode a shocking steed, and had but an indifferent seat in
+the saddle.  Nevertheless, the dust rose beneath his horse’s feet, and
+his spurs flashed in the sunlight as this man of many parts hurried on
+towards Utrera and Cordova.
+
+In the old Moorish palace in Ronda, General Vincente, summoned to a great
+council of war at Madrid, was making curt military preparations for his
+journey and the conveyance of his household to the capital.  Señora
+Barenna was for the moment forgetful of her nerves in the excitement of
+despatching servants in advance to Toledo, where she owned a summer
+residence.  Julia was nervously anxious to be on the road again, and
+showed by every word and action that restlessness of spirit which is the
+inheritance of hungry hearts.  Estella, quiet and self-contained,
+attended to the details of moving a vast and formal household with a
+certain eagerness which in no way resembled Julia’s feverish haste.
+Estella seemed to be one of those happy people who know what they want.
+
+Thus Frederick Conyngham, riding northward alone, seemed to be a pilot to
+all these persons into whose lives he had suddenly stepped as from a side
+issue, for they were one and all making ready to follow him to the colder
+plains of Castile, where existence was full of strife and ambition, of
+war and those inner wheels that ever jar and grind where politicians
+contend together for the mastery of a moment.
+
+As he rode on, Conyngham left a message from time to time for his
+self-appointed servant.  At the offices of the diligencias in various
+towns on the great road from Cordova to Madrid he left word for
+Concepçion Vara to follow, should the spirit of travel be still upon him,
+knowing that at these places where travellers were ever passing, the
+tittle-tattle of the road was on the tongue of every ostler and stable
+help.  And truly enough there followed one who made careful inquiries as
+to the movements of the Englishman, and heard his messages with a grim
+smile.  But this was not Concepçion Vara.
+
+It was late one evening when Conyngham, who had quitted Toledo in the
+morning, began to hunger for the sight of the towers and steeples of
+Madrid.  He had ridden all day through the bare country of Cervantes,
+where to this day Spain rears her wittiest men and plainest women.  The
+sun had just set behind the distant hills of Old Castile, and from the
+east, over Aranjuez, where the great river cuts Spain in two parts from
+its centre to the sea, a grey cloud—a very shade of night—was slowly
+rising.  The aspect of the brown plains was dismal enough, and on the
+horizon the rolling unbroken land seemed to melt away into eternity and
+infinite space.
+
+Conyngham reined in and looked around him.  So far as eye could reach, no
+house arose to testify to the presence of man.  No labourer toiled home
+to his lonely hut.  For, in this country of many wars and interminable
+strife, it has, since the days of Nebuchadnezzar, been the custom of the
+people to congregate in villages and small townships, where a common
+danger secured some protection against a lawless foe.  The road rose and
+fell in a straight line across the table-land without tree or hedge, and
+Madrid seemed to belong to another world, for the horizon, which was
+distant enough, bore no sign of cathedral spire or castle height.
+
+Conyngham turned in his saddle to look back, and there, not a mile away,
+the form of a hurrying horseman broke the bare line of the dusty road.
+There was something weird and disturbing in this figure, a suggestion of
+pursuit in every line.  For this was not Concepçion Vara.  Conyngham
+would have known him at once.  This was one wearing a better coat; indeed
+Concepçion preferred to face life and the chances of the world in shirt
+sleeves.
+
+Conyngham sat in his saddle awaiting the new-comer.  To meet on such a
+road in Spain without pausing to exchange a salutation would be a
+gratuitous insult, to ride in solitude within hail of another traveller
+were to excite or betray the deepest distrust.  It was characteristic of
+Conyngham that he already waved his hand in salutation, and was prepared
+to hail the new-comer as the jolliest companion in the world.
+
+Esteban Larralde, seeing the salutation, gave a short laugh, and jerked
+the reins of his tired horse.  He himself wore a weary look, as if the
+fight he had in hand were an uphill one.  He had long recognised
+Conyngham; indeed the chase had been one of little excitement, but rather
+an exercise of patience and dogged perseverance.  He raised his hat to
+indicate that the Englishman’s gay salutations were perceived, and pulled
+the wide brim well forward again.
+
+‘He will change his attitude when it becomes apparent who I am,’ he
+muttered.
+
+But Conyngham’s first word would appear to suggest that Esteban Larralde
+was a much less impressive person than he considered himself.
+
+‘Why, it’s the devout lover!’ he cried.  ‘Señor Larralde, you remember
+me, Algeciras, and your pink love letter—deuced fishy love letter, that;
+nearly got me into a devil of a row, I can tell you.  How are you, eh?’
+
+And the Englishman rode forward with a jolly laugh and his hand held out.
+Larralde took it without enthusiasm.  It was rather difficult to pick a
+picturesque quarrel with such a person as this.  Moreover, the true
+conspirator never believes in another man’s honesty.
+
+‘Who would have expected to meet you here?’ went on Conyngham jovially.
+
+‘It is not so surprising as you think.’
+
+‘Oh!’
+
+There was no mistaking Larralde’s manner, and the Englishman’s gay blue
+eyes hardened suddenly and rather surprisingly.
+
+‘No, I have followed you.  I want that letter.’
+
+‘Well, as it happens, Señor Larralde, I have not got your letter, and if
+I had I am not quite sure that I would give it to you.  Your conduct in
+the matter has not been over-nice, and, to tell you the truth, I don’t
+think much of a man who gets strangers and women to do his dirty work for
+him.’
+
+Larralde stroked his moustache with a half-furtive air of contempt.
+
+‘I should have given the confounded letter to the Alcalde of Ronda if it
+had not been that a lady would have suffered for it, and let you take
+your chance, Señor Larralde.’
+
+Larralde shrugged his shoulders.
+
+‘You would not have given it to the Alcalde of Ronda,’ he said in a
+sneering voice, ‘because you want it yourself.  You require it in order
+to make your peace with Estella Vincente.’
+
+‘We are not going to talk of Señorita Vincente,’ said Conyngham quietly.
+‘You say you followed me because you wanted that letter.  It is not in my
+possession.  I left it in the house of Colonel Monreal at Xeres.  If you
+are going on to Madrid, I think I will sit down here and have a
+cigarette.  If, on the other hand, you propose resting here, I shall
+proceed, as it is getting late.’
+
+Conyngham looked at his companion with a nod and a smile which was not in
+the least friendly and at the same time quite cheerful.  He seemed to
+recognise the necessity of quarrelling, but proposed to do so as
+light-heartedly as possible.  They were both on horseback in the middle
+of the road, Larralde a few paces in the direction of Madrid.
+
+Conyngham indicated the road with an inviting wave of the hand.
+
+‘Will you go on?’ he asked.
+
+Larralde sat looking at him with glittering eyes, and said nothing.
+
+‘Then I will continue my journey,’ said the Englishman, touching his
+horse lightly with the spur.  The horse moved on and passed within a yard
+of the other.  At this moment Larralde rose in his stirrups and flung
+himself on one side.
+
+Conyngham gave a sharp cry of pain and threw back his head.  Larralde had
+stabbed him in the back.  The Englishman swayed in the saddle as if
+trying to balance himself, his legs bent back from the knee in the
+sharpness of a biting pain.  The heavy stirrups swung free.  Then,
+slowly, Conyngham toppled forward and rolled out of the saddle, falling
+to the road with a thud.
+
+Larralde watched him with a white face and staring eyes.  Then he looked
+quickly round over the darkening landscape.  There was no one in sight.
+This was one of the waste places of the world.  Larralde seemed to
+remember the Eye that seeth even there, and crossed himself as he slipped
+from the saddle to the ground.  He was shaking all over.  His face was
+ashen, for it is a terrible thing to kill a man and be left alone with
+him.
+
+Conyngham’s eyes were closed.  There was blood on his lips.  With hands
+that shook like leaves Esteban Larralde searched the Englishman, found
+nothing, and cursed his ill fortune.  Then he stood upright, and in the
+dim light his face shone as if he had dipped it in water.  He crept into
+the saddle and rode on towards Madrid.
+
+It was quite dark when Conyngham recovered consciousness.  In turning him
+over to search his pockets Larralde had perhaps, unwittingly, saved his
+life by placing him in a position that checked the internal hæmorrhage.
+What served to bring back the Englishman’s wandering senses was the
+rumbling of heavy wheels and the crack of a great whip as a cart laden
+with hay and drawn by six mules approached him from the direction of
+Toledo.
+
+The driver of the team was an old soldier, as indeed were most of the
+Castilians at this time, and knew how to handle wounded men.  With great
+care and a multitude of oaths he lifted Conyngham on to his cart and
+proceeded with him to Madrid.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+A WISE IGNORAMUS
+
+
+    ‘God help me!  I know nothing—can but pray.’
+
+IT was Father Concha’s custom to attend, at his church between the hours
+of nine and ten in the morning, to such wants spiritual or temporal as
+individual members of his flock chose to bring to him.
+
+Thus it usually happened that the faithful found the old priest at nine
+o’clock sunning himself at the front door of the sacred edifice, smoking
+a reflective cigarette and exchanging the time of day with passers-by or
+such as had leisure to pause a moment.
+
+‘Whether it is body or soul that is in trouble—come to me,’ he would say.
+‘For the body I can do a little—a very little.  I have twenty pounds a
+year, and it is not always paid to me, but I sometimes have a trifle for
+charity.  For the soul I can do a little more.’  After a storm of wind
+and rain, such as come in the winter-time, it was no uncommon sight to
+see the priest sweeping the leaves and dust from the church steps and
+using the strongest language at the bootmaker over the way whose business
+this was supposed to be.
+
+‘See!’ he would cry to some passer-by.  ‘See!—it is thus that our
+sacristan does his work.  It is for this that the Holy Church pays him
+fifteen—or is it twenty?—pesetas each year.’
+
+And the bootmaker would growl and shake his head over his last; for, like
+most who have to do with leather, he was a man of small humour.
+
+Here, too, mothers would bring their children—little girls cowering under
+their bright handkerchiefs, the mantilla of the poor, and speak with the
+Padre of the Confirmation and first Communion which had lately begun to
+hang like a cloud over the child’s life.  Father Concha would take the
+child upon his knee as he sat on the low wall at the side of the steps,
+and when the mother had left them, would talk quietly with the lines of
+his face wonderfully softened, so that before long the little girl would
+run home quite happy in mind and no longer afraid of the great unknown.
+Here, in the spring time, came the young men with thoughts appropriate to
+the season, and sheepish exceedingly; for they knew that Father Concha
+knew all about them, and would take an unfair advantage of his
+opportunities, refusing probably to perform the ceremony until he was
+satisfied as to the ways and means and prudence of the contracting
+parties—which of course he had no right to do.  Here came the halt, the
+lame, the blind, the poor, and also the rich.  Here came the unhappy.
+They came naturally and often.  Here, so the bootmaker tells, came one
+morning a ruined man, who after speaking a few words to the Padre,
+produced a revolver and tried to shoot himself.  And the Padre fell on
+him like a wild beast.  And they fought, and fell, and rolled down the
+steps together into the road, where they still fought till they were
+white like millers with dust.  Then at last the Padre got the strong man
+under him and took the revolver away and threw it into the ditch.  Then
+he fell to belabouring the would-be suicide with his fists, until the big
+man cried for mercy and received it not.
+
+‘You saved his life,’ the people said.
+
+‘It was his soul that I was caring for,’ replied the Padre with his grim
+smile.
+
+Concha was not a clever man, but he was wise.  Of learning he had but
+little.  It is easy, however, to be wise without being learned.  It is
+easier still to be learned without being wise.  The world is full of such
+persons to-day when education is too cheap.  Concha steered his flock as
+best he could through the stormy paths of insurrection and civil war.  He
+ruled with a rod of iron whom he could, and such as were beyond his reach
+he influenced by ridicule and a patient tolerance.  True to his cloth, he
+was the enemy of all progress and distrusted every innovation.
+
+‘The Padre,’ said the barber, who was a talker and a radical, ‘would have
+the world stand still.’
+
+‘The Padre,’ replied Concha, tenderly drying his chin with a towel,
+‘would have all barbers attend to their razors.  Many are so busy
+shouting “Advance!” that they have no breath to ask whither they are
+going.’
+
+On the whole, perhaps, his autocratic rule was a beneficent one, and
+contributed to the happiness of the little northern suburb of Ronda over
+which it extended.  At all events, he was a watchful guardian of his
+flock, and knew every face in his parish.
+
+It thus happened one morning that a strange woman, who had come quietly
+into church to pray, attracted his attention as he passed out after
+matins.  She was a mere peasant and ill clad.  The child seated on a
+chair by her side and staring with wondering eyes at the simple altar and
+stained-glass window had a hungry look.
+
+Concha sat down on the low wall without the doors and awaited the exit of
+this devotee who was not of his flock.  For though, as he often said, the
+good God had intended him for a soldier, his own strong will and simple
+faith had in time produced a very passable priest who, with a grim face,
+went about doing good.
+
+The woman presently lifted the heavy leathern curtain and let out into
+the sunlight a breath of cool, incense-laden air.
+
+She curtsied and paused as if expecting recognition.  Concha threw away
+his cigarette and raised his hand to his hat.  He had not lifted it
+except to ladies of the highest quality for some years, out of regard to
+symptoms of senile decay which had manifested themselves at the junction
+of the brim and the crown.
+
+‘Have I not seen your face before, my child?’ he said.
+
+‘Yes, reverendo.  I am of Ronda but have been living in Xeres.’
+
+‘Ah! then your husband is no doubt a malcontent?’
+
+The woman burst into tears, burying her face in her hands and leaning
+against the wall in an attitude that was still girlish.  She had probably
+been married at fifteen.
+
+‘No, reverendo!  He is a thief.’
+
+Concha merely nodded his head.  He never had been a man to betray much
+pious horror when he heard of ill-doing.
+
+‘The two are almost identical,’ he said quietly.  ‘One does what the
+other fears to do.  And is your husband in prison?  Is that why you have
+come back?  Ah! you women—in foolishness you almost equal the men!’
+
+‘No, reverendo.  I am come back because he has left me.  Sebastian has
+run away, and has stolen all his master’s property.  It was the Colonel
+Monreal of Xeres—a good man, reverendo, but a politician.’
+
+‘Ah!’
+
+‘Yes, and he was murdered, as your reverence has no doubt seen in the
+newspapers.  A week ago it was—the day that the Englishman came with a
+letter.’
+
+‘What Englishman was that?’ inquired Father Concha, brushing some grains
+of snuff from his sleeve.  ‘What Englishman was that, my child?’
+
+‘Oh, I do not know!  His name is unknown to me, but I could tell he was
+English from his manner of speaking.  The Colonel had an English friend
+who spoke so—one engaged in the sherry in Xeres.’
+
+‘Ah yes!  And this Englishman, what was he like?’
+
+‘He was very tall and straight, like a soldier, and had a moustache quite
+light in colour, like straw.’
+
+‘Ah yes.  The English are so.  And he left a letter?’
+
+‘Yes, reverendo.’
+
+‘A rose-coloured letter—?’
+
+‘Yes,’ said the woman, looking at him with surprise.
+
+‘And tell me what happened afterwards.  I may perhaps be able to help
+you, my child, if you tell me all you know.’
+
+‘And then, reverendo, the police brought back the Colonel who had been
+murdered in the streets—and I who had his Excellency’s dinner on the
+table waiting for him!’
+
+‘And—’
+
+‘And Sebastian ate the dinner, reverendo.’
+
+‘Your husband appears to be a man of action,’ said Concha with a queer
+smile.  ‘And then—’
+
+‘Sebastian sent me on a message to the town, and when I came back he was
+gone and all his Excellency’s possessions were gone—his papers and
+valuables.’
+
+‘Including the letter which the Englishman had left for the Colonel?’
+
+‘Yes, reverendo.  Sebastian knew that in these times the papers of a
+politician may perhaps be sold for money.’
+
+Concha nodded his head reflectively and took a pinch of snuff with
+infinite deliberation and enjoyment.
+
+‘Yes—assuredly, Sebastian is one of those men who get on in the world—up
+to a certain point—and at that point they get hanged.  There is in the
+universe a particular spot for each man—where we all think we should like
+to go if we had the money.  For me it is Rome.  Doubtless Sebastian had
+some such spot, of which he spoke when he was intoxicated.  Where is
+Sebastian’s earthly paradise, think you, my child?’
+
+‘He always spoke of Madrid, reverendo.’
+
+‘Yes—yes, I can imagine he would.’
+
+‘And I have no money to follow him,’ sobbed the woman, breaking into
+tears again.  ‘So I came to Ronda, where I am known, to seek it.’
+
+‘Ah, foolish woman!’ exclaimed the priest severely, and shaking his
+finger at her.  ‘Foolish woman to think of following such a person.  More
+foolish still is it to weep for a worthless husband, especially in
+public, thus, on the church steps, where all may see.  All the other
+women will be so pleased.  It is their greatest happiness to think that
+their neighbour’s husband is worse than their own.  Failure is the royal
+road to popularity.  Dry your tears, foolish one, before you make too
+many friends.’
+
+The woman obeyed him mechanically with a sort of dumb hopelessness.
+
+At this moment a horseman clattered past, coming from Ronda and hastening
+in the direction of Bobadilla or perhaps to the Casa Barenna.  He wore
+his flat-brimmed hat well forward over the eyes, and kept his gaze fixed
+upon the road in front.  There was a faint suggestion of assumed
+absorption in his attitude, as if he knew that the priest was usually at
+the church door at this hour, and had no desire to meet his eye.  It was
+Larralde.
+
+A few minutes later Julia Barenna, who was sitting at her window watching
+and waiting—her attitude in life—suddenly rose with eyes that gleamed and
+trembling hands.  She stood and gazed down into the valley below, her
+attention fixed on the form of a horseman slowly making his way through
+the olive groves.  Then breathlessly she turned to her mirror.
+
+‘At last!’ she whispered, her fingers busy with her hair and mantilla, a
+thousand thoughts flying through her brain, her heart throbbing in her
+breast.  In a moment the aspect of the whole world had changed—in a
+moment Julia herself was another woman.  Ten years seemed to have rolled
+away from her heart, leaving her young and girlish and hopeful again.
+She gave one last look at herself and hurried to the door.
+
+It was yet early in the day, and the air beneath the gnarled and ancient
+olive trees was cool and fresh as Julia passed under them to meet her
+lover.  He threw himself out of the saddle when he saw her, and, leaving
+his horse loose, ran to meet her.  He took her hands and raised her
+fingers to his lips with a certain fervour which was sincere enough.  For
+Larralde loved Julia according to his lights, though he had another
+mistress, Ambition, who was with him always and filled his thoughts,
+sleeping or waking.  Julia, her face all flushed, her eyes aglow,
+received his gallant greeting with a sort of breathless eagerness.  She
+knew she had not Larralde’s whole heart, and, woman-like, was not content
+with half.
+
+‘I have not seen you for nearly a fortnight,’ she said.
+
+‘Ah!’ answered Larralde, who had apparently not kept so strict an account
+of the days.  ‘Ah! yes—I know.  But, dearest, I have been burning the
+high-roads.  I have been almost to Madrid.  Ah! Julia, why did you make
+such a mistake?’
+
+‘What mistake?’ she asked with a sudden light of coquetry in her eyes.
+She thought he was about to ask her why she loved him.  In former days he
+had had a pretty turn for such questions.
+
+‘In giving the letter to that scoundrel Conyngham—he has betrayed us, and
+Spain is no longer safe for me.’
+
+‘Are you sure of this?’ asked Julia, alert.  Had she possessed Larralde’s
+whole heart she would have been happy enough to take part in his
+pursuits.
+
+Larralde gave a short laugh and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+‘Heaven only knows where the letter is now,’ he answered.  Julia unfolded
+a note and handed it to him.  She had received it three weeks earlier
+from Concepçion Vara, and it was from Conyngham, saying that he had left
+her note at the house of the Colonel.
+
+‘The Colonel was dead before Conyngham arrived at Xeres,’ said Larralde
+shortly.  ‘And I do not believe he ever left the letter.  I suspected
+that he had kept it as a little recommendation to the Christinos under
+whom he takes service.  It would have been the most natural thing to do.
+But I have satisfied myself that the letter is not in his possession.’
+
+‘How?’ asked Julia with a sudden fear that blanched her face.
+
+Larralde smiled in rather a sickly way and made no answer.  He turned and
+looked down the avenue.
+
+‘I see Father Concha approaching,’ he said; ‘let us go towards the
+house.’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+A WEIGHT OF EVIDENCE
+
+
+     ‘The woman who loves you is at once your detective and accomplice.’
+
+THE old priest was walking leisurely up the avenue towards the Casa
+Barenna when the branches of a dwarf ilex were pushed aside, and there
+came to him from their leafy concealment, not indeed a wood-nymph, but
+Señora Barenna, with her finger at her lips.
+
+‘Hush!’ she said; ‘he is here.’
+
+And from the anxious and excited expression of her face it became
+apparent that madame’s nerves were astir.
+
+‘Who is here?’
+
+‘Why, Esteban Larralde, of course.’
+
+‘Ah!’ said Concha patiently.  ‘But need we for that hide behind the
+bushes and walk on the flower borders?  Life would be much simpler,
+señora, if people would only keep to the footpath.  Less picturesque, I
+allow you, but simpler.  Shall I climb up a tree?’
+
+The lady cast her eyes up to heaven and heaved an exaggerated sigh.
+
+‘Ah—what a tragedy life is!’ she whispered, apparently to the angels, but
+loud enough for her companion to hear.
+
+‘Or a farce,’ said Concha, ‘according to our reading of the part.  Where
+is Señor Larralde?’
+
+‘Oh, he has gone to the fruit garden with Julia—there is a high wall all
+round, and one cannot see.  She may be murdered by this time.  I knew he
+was coming from the manner in which she ran downstairs.  She walks at
+other times.’
+
+Concha smiled rather grimly.
+
+‘She is not the first to do that,’ he said, ‘and many have stumbled on
+the stairs in their haste.’
+
+‘Ah!  You are a hard man—a terrible man with no heart.  And I have no one
+to sympathise with me.  No one knows what I suffer.  I never sleep at
+night—not a wink—but lie and think of my troubles.  Julia will not obey
+me.  I have warned her not to rouse me to anger—and she laughs at me.
+She persists in seeing this terrible Esteban Larralde—a Carlist, if you
+please.’
+
+‘We are all as God made us,’ said Concha—’with embellishments added by
+the Evil One,’ he added, in a lower tone.
+
+‘And now I am going to see General Vincente.  I shall tell him to send
+soldiers.  This man’s presence is intolerable—I am not obeyed in my own
+house,’ cried the lady.  ‘I have ordered the carriage to meet me at the
+lower gate.  I dare not drive away from my own door.  Ah! what a
+tragedy!’
+
+‘I will go with you, since you are determined to go,’ said Concha.
+
+‘What!  And leave Julia here with that terrible man?’
+
+‘Yes,’ answered the priest.  ‘Happiness is a dangerous thing to meddle
+with.  There is so little of it in the world, and it lasts so short a
+time.’
+
+Señora Barenna indicated by a sigh and her attitude that she had had no
+experience in the matter.  As a simple fact, she had been enabled all
+through her life to satisfy her own desires—the subtlest form of
+misfortune.
+
+‘Then you would have Julia marry this terrible man,’ said the lady,
+shielding her face from the sun with the black fan which she always
+carried.
+
+‘I am too old and too stupid to take any active part in my neighbours’
+affairs.  It is only the young and inexperienced who are competent to do
+that,’ answered the priest.
+
+‘But you say you are fond of Julia.’
+
+‘Yes,’ said the priest quietly.
+
+‘I wonder why.’
+
+‘So do I,’ he said in a tone that Señora Barenna never understood.
+
+‘You are always kinder to her than you are to me,’ went on the lady in
+her most martyred manner.  ‘Her penances are always lighter than mine.
+You are patient with her and not with me.  And I am sure I have never
+done you any injury—’
+
+The old Padre smiled.  Perhaps he was thinking of those illusions which
+she had during the years pulled down one by one—for the greater peace of
+his soul.
+
+‘There is the carriage,’ he said.  ‘Let us hasten to General Vincente—if
+you wish to see him.’
+
+In a few minutes they were rattling along the road, while Esteban
+Larralde and Julia sat side by side in the shade of the great wall that
+surrounded the fruit garden.  And one at least of them was gathering that
+quick harvest of love which is like the grass of the field, inasmuch as
+to-day it is, and to-morrow is not.
+
+General Vincente was at home.  He was one of those men who are happy in
+finding themselves where they are wanted.  So many have, on the contrary,
+the misfortune to be always absent when they are required, and the world
+soon learns to progress without them.
+
+‘That man—that Larralde is in Ronda,’ said Señora Barenna, bursting in on
+the General’s solitude.  Vincente smiled, and nevertheless exchanged a
+quick glance with Concha, who confirmed the news by a movement of his
+shaggy eyebrows.
+
+‘Ah, these young people!’ exclaimed the General with a gay little sigh.
+‘What it is to be young and in love!  But be seated, Iñez—be seated.
+Padre—a chair.’
+
+‘What do you propose to do?’ asked Señora Barenna breathlessly, for she
+was stout and agitated and had hurried up the steps.
+
+‘When, my dear Iñez—when?’
+
+‘But now—with this man in Ronda.  You know quite well he is dangerous.
+He is a Carlist.  It was only the other day that you received an
+anonymous letter saying that your life was in danger.  Of course it was
+from the Carlists, and Larralde has something to do with it; or that
+Englishman—that Señor Conyngham with the blue eyes.  A man with blue
+eyes—bah!  Of course he is not to be trusted.’
+
+The receiver of the anonymous warning seemed to be amused.
+
+‘A little sweeping, your statements, my dear Iñez.  Is it not so?  Now, a
+lemonade! the afternoon is warm.’
+
+He rose and rang the bell.
+
+‘My nerves,’ whispered the Señora to Concha.  ‘My nerves—they are so
+easily upset.’
+
+‘The liqueurs,’ said the General to the servant with perfect gravity.
+
+‘You must take steps at once,’ urged Señora Barenna when they were alone
+again.  She was endowed with a magnificent imagination without much
+wisdom to hold it in check, and at times persuaded herself that she was
+in the midst, and perhaps the leader, of a dangerous whirl of political
+events.
+
+‘I will, my dear Iñez; I will.  And we will take a little maraschino, to
+collect ourselves, eh?’
+
+And his manner quite indicated that it was he and not Madame Barenna who
+was upset.  The lady consented, and proceeded to what she took to be a
+consultation, which in reality was a monologue.  During this she imparted
+a vast deal of information, and received none in return, which is the
+habit of voluble people, and renders them exceedingly dangerous to
+themselves and useful to others.
+
+Presently the two men conducted her to her carriage, with many
+reassurances.
+
+‘Never fear, Iñez; never fear.  He will be gone before you return,’ said
+the General, with a wave of the hand.  He had consented to invite Julia
+to accompany Estella and himself to Madrid, where she would be out of
+harm’s way.
+
+The two men then returned to the General’s study, and sat down in that
+silence which only grows to perfection on the deep soil of a
+long-standing friendship.  Vincente was the first to speak.
+
+‘I have had a letter from Madrid,’ he said, looking gravely at his
+companion.  ‘My correspondent tells me that Conyngham has not yet
+presented his letter of introduction, and, so far as is ascertainable,
+has not arrived in the capital.  He should have been there six weeks
+ago.’
+
+The Padre took a pinch of snuff, and held the box out towards his
+companion, who waved it aside.  The General was too dainty a man to
+indulge in such a habit.
+
+‘He possessed no money, so he cannot have fallen a victim to thieves,’
+said Concha.
+
+‘He was accompanied by a good guide, and an honest enough scoundrel, so
+he cannot have lost his way,’ observed the General, with a queer
+expression of optimistic distress on his face.
+
+‘His movements were not always above suspicion—’ the priest closed his
+snuff-box and laboriously replaced it in the pocket of his cassock.
+
+‘That letter—it was a queer business!’ and the General laughed.
+
+‘Most suspicious.’
+
+There was a silence, during which Concha sneezed twice with enjoyment and
+more noise than is usually considered necessary.
+
+‘And your letter,’ he said, carefully folding his handkerchief into
+squares; ‘that anonymous letter of warning that your life is
+threatened—is that true?  It is the talk of Ronda.’
+
+‘Ah, that!’ laughed Vincente.  ‘Yes, it is true enough.  It is not the
+first time—a mere incident, that is all.’
+
+‘That which the Señora Barenna said just now,’ observed the priest
+slowly, ‘about our English friend—may be true.  Sometimes thoughtless
+people arrive at a conclusion which eludes more careful minds.’
+
+‘Yes—my dear Padre—yes.’
+
+The two grey-headed men looked at each other for a moment in silence.
+
+‘And yet you trust him,’ said Concha.
+
+‘Despite myself, despite my better judgment, my dear friend.’
+
+The priest rose and went to the window which overlooked the garden.
+
+‘Estella is in the garden?’ he asked, and received no answer.
+
+‘I know what you are thinking,’ said the General.  ‘You are thinking that
+we should do well to tell Estella of these distressing suspicions.’
+
+‘For you it does not matter,’ replied the priest.  ‘It is a mere
+incident, as you say.  Your life has been attempted before, and you
+killed both the men with your own hand, if I recollect aright.’
+
+Vincente shrugged his shoulders and looked rather embarrassed.
+
+‘But a woman,’ went on Concha, ‘cannot afford to trust a man against her
+better judgment.’
+
+By way of reply the General rose and rang the bell, requesting the
+servant when he answered the summons to ask the señorita to spare a few
+moments of her time.
+
+They exchanged no further words until Estella came hurrying into the room
+with a sudden flush on her cheeks and something in her dark eyes that
+made her father say at once—
+
+‘It is not bad news that we have, my child.’
+
+Estella glanced at Concha and said nothing.  His wise old eyes rested for
+a moment on her face with a little frown of anxiety.
+
+‘We have had a visit from the Señora Barenna,’ went on the General, ‘and
+she is anxious that we should invite Julia to go to Madrid with us.  It
+appears that Esteban Larralde is still attempting to force his attentions
+on Julia, and is at present in Ronda.  You will not object to her coming
+with us?’
+
+‘Oh no,’ said Estella without much interest.
+
+‘We have also heard rather disquieting news about our pleasant friend,
+Mr. Conyngham,’ said the General, examining the tassel of his sword.
+‘And I think it is only right to tell you that I fear we have been
+deceived in him.’
+
+There was silence for a few moments, and then Vincente spoke again.
+
+‘In these times, one is almost compelled to suspect one’s nearest
+friends.  Much harm may be done by being over-trustful, and appearances
+are so consistently against Mr. Conyngham that it would be folly to
+ignore them.’
+
+The General waited for Estella to make some comment, and after a pause
+continued:
+
+‘He arrived in Ronda under singularly unfortunate circumstances, and I
+was compelled to have his travelling companion shot.  Then occurred that
+affair of the letter, which he gave to Julia—an affair which has never
+been explained.  Conyngham would have to show me that letter before I
+should be quite satisfied.  I obtained for him an introduction to General
+Espartero in Madrid.  That was six or seven weeks ago.  The introduction
+has not been presented, nor has Conyngham been seen in Madrid.  In
+England, on his own confession, he was rather a scamp; why not the same
+in Spain?’
+
+The General spread out his hands in his favourite gesture of deprecation.
+He had not made the world, and while deeply deploring that such things
+could be, he tacitly admitted that the human race had not been,
+creatively speaking, a complete success.
+
+Father Concha was brushing invisible grains of snuff from his cassock
+sleeve and watching Estella with anxious eyes.
+
+‘I only tell you, my dear,’ continued the General, ‘so that we may know
+how to treat Mr. Conyngham should we meet him in Madrid.  I liked him.  I
+like a roving man—and many Englishmen are thus wanderers—but appearances
+are very much against him.’
+
+‘Yes,’ admitted Estella quietly.  ‘Yes.’
+
+She moved towards the door, and there turning looked at Concha.
+
+‘Does the Padre stay to dinner?’ she asked.
+
+‘No, my child, thank you.  No; I have affairs at home.’
+
+Estella went out of the room, leaving a queer silence behind her.
+
+Presently Concha rose.
+
+‘I, too, am going to Madrid,’ he said.  ‘It is an opportunity to press my
+claim for the payment of my princely stipend, now two years overdue.’
+
+He walked home on the shady side of the street, exchanging many
+salutations, pausing now and then to speak to a friend.  Indeed, nearly
+every passer-by counted himself as such.  In his bare room, where the
+merest necessities of life scarce had place, he sat down thoughtfully.
+The furniture, the few books, his own apparel, bespoke the direst
+poverty.  This was one who in his simplicity read his Master’s words
+quite literally, and went about his work with neither purse nor scrip.
+The priest presently rose and took from a shelf an old wooden box
+quaintly carved and studded with iron nails.  A search in the drawer of
+the table resulted in the finding of a key and the final discovery of a
+small parcel at the bottom of the box which contained letters and other
+papers.
+
+‘The rainy day—it comes at last,’ said the Padre Concha, counting out his
+little stock of silver with the care that only comes from the knowledge
+that each coin represents a self-denial.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+AN ULTIMATUM
+
+
+    ‘I do believe yourself against yourself.’
+
+NEITHER Estella nor her father had a great liking for the city of Madrid,
+which indeed is at no time desirable.  In the winter it is cold, in the
+summer exceedingly hot, and during the changes of the seasons of a
+treacherous weather difficult to surpass.  The social atmosphere was no
+more genial at the period with which we deal.  For it blew hot and cold,
+and treachery marked every change.
+
+Although the Queen Regent seemed to be nearing at last a successful issue
+to her long and eventful struggle against Don Carlos, she had enemies
+nearer home whose movements were equally dangerous to the throne of the
+child queen.
+
+‘I cannot afford to have an honest soldier so far removed from the
+capital,’ said Christina, who never laid aside the woman while playing
+the Queen, as Vincente kissed her hand on presenting himself at Court.
+The General smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+‘What did she say?  What did she say?’ the intriguers whispered eagerly
+as the great soldier made his way towards the door, with the haste of one
+who was no courtier.  But they received no answer.
+
+The General had taken a suite of rooms in one of the hotels on the Puerta
+del Sol, and hurried thither, well pleased do have escaped so easily from
+a palace where self-seeking—the grim spirit that haunts the abodes of
+royalty—had long reigned supreme.  There was, the servants told him, a
+visitor in the salon—one who had asked for the General, and on learning
+of his absence had insisted on being received by the señorita.
+
+‘That sounds like Conyngham,’ muttered the General, unbuckling his
+sword—for he had but one weapon, and wore it in the presence of the Queen
+and her enemies alike.
+
+It was indeed Conyngham, whose gay laugh Vincente heard before he crossed
+the threshold of Estella’s drawing-room.  The Englishman was in uniform,
+and stood with his back turned towards the door by which the General
+entered.
+
+‘It is Señor Conyngham,’ said Estella at once, in a quiet voice, ‘who has
+been wounded and six weeks in the hospital.’
+
+‘Yes,’ said Conyngham.  ‘But I am well again now!  And I got my
+appointment while I was still in the Sisters’ care.’
+
+He laughed, though his face was pale and thin, and approached the General
+with extended hand.  The General had come to Madrid with the intention of
+refusing to take that hand, and those who knew him said that this soldier
+never swerved from his purpose.  He looked for a moment into Conyngham’s
+eyes, and then shook hands with him.  He did not disguise the hesitation,
+which was apparent to both Estella and the Englishman.
+
+‘How were you wounded?’ he asked.
+
+‘I was stabbed in the back on the Toledo road, ten miles from here.’
+
+‘Not by a robber—not for your money?’
+
+‘No one ever hated me or cared for me on that account,’ laughed
+Conyngham.
+
+‘Then who did it?’ asked General Vincente, unbuttoning his gloves.
+
+Conyngham hesitated.
+
+‘A man with whom I quarrelled on the road,’ he made reply; but it was no
+answer at all, as hearers and speaker alike recognised in a flash of
+thought.
+
+‘He left me for dead on the road, but a carter picked me up and brought
+me to Madrid, to the hospital of the Hermanas, where I have been ever
+since.’
+
+There were flowers on the table, and the General stooped over them with a
+delicate appreciation of their scent.  He was a great lover of flowers,
+and indeed had a sense of the beautiful quite out of keeping with the
+colour of his coat.
+
+‘You must beware,’ he said, ‘now that you wear the Queen’s uniform.
+There is treachery abroad, I fear.  Even I have had an anonymous letter
+of warning.’
+
+‘I should like to know who wrote it,’ exclaimed Conyngham, with a sudden
+flash of anger in his eyes.  The General laughed pleasantly.
+
+‘So should I,’ he said.  ‘Merely as a matter of curiosity.’
+
+And he turned towards the door, which was opened at this moment by a
+servant.
+
+‘A gentleman wishing to see me—an Englishman, as it would appear,’ he
+continued, looking at the card.
+
+‘By the way,’ said Conyngham, as the General moved away, ‘I am instructed
+to inform you that I am attached to your staff as extra aide-de-camp
+during your stay in Madrid.’
+
+The General nodded and left Estella and Conyngham alone in the
+drawing-room.  Conyngham turned on Estella.
+
+‘So that I have a right to be near you,’ he said, ‘which is all that I
+want.’
+
+He spoke lightly enough, as was his habit; but Estella, who was wise in
+those matters that women know, preferred not to meet his eyes, which were
+grave and deep.
+
+‘Such things are quickly said,’ Estella retorted.
+
+‘Yes—and it takes a long time to prove them.’
+
+The General had left his gloves on the table.  Estella took them up and
+appeared to be interested in them.  ‘Perhaps a lifetime,’ she suggested.
+
+‘I ask no less, señorita.’
+
+‘Then you ask much.’
+
+‘And I give all—though that is little enough.’
+
+They spoke slowly—not bandying words but exchanging thoughts.  Estella
+was grave.  Conyngham’s attitude was that which he ever displayed to the
+world—namely, one of cheerful optimism, as behoved a strong man who had
+not yet known fear.
+
+‘Is it too little, señorita?’ he asked.
+
+She was sitting at the table and would not look up—neither would she
+answer his question.  He was standing quite close to her—upright in his
+bright uniform, his hand on his sword—and all her attention was fixed on
+the flowers which had called forth the General’s unspoken admiration.
+She touched them with fingers hardly lighter than his.
+
+‘Now that I think of it,’ said Conyngham after a pause, ‘what I give is
+nothing.’
+
+Estella’s face wore a queer little smile, as of a deeper knowledge.
+
+‘Nothing at all,’ continued the Englishman.  ‘For I have nothing to give,
+and you know nothing of me.’
+
+‘Three months ago,’ answered Estella, ‘we had never heard of you—and you
+had never seen me,’ she added, with a little laugh.
+
+‘I have seen nothing else since,’ Conyngham replied deliberately; ‘for I
+have gone about the world a blind man.’
+
+‘In three months one cannot decide matters that affect a whole lifetime,’
+said the girl.
+
+‘This matter decided itself in three minutes, so far as I am concerned,
+señorita, in the old palace at Ronda.  It is a matter that time is
+powerless to affect one way or the other.’
+
+‘With some people; but you are hasty and impetuous.  My father said it of
+you—and he is never mistaken.’
+
+‘Then you do not trust me, señorita?’
+
+Estella had turned away her face so that he could only see her mantilla
+and the folds of her golden hair gleaming through the black lace.  She
+shrugged her shoulders.
+
+‘It is not due to yourself, nor to all who know you in Spain, if I do,’
+she said.
+
+‘All who know me?’
+
+‘Yes,’ she continued; ‘Father Concha, Señora Barenna, my father, and
+others at Ronda.’
+
+‘Ah!  And what leads them to mistrust me?’
+
+‘Your own actions,’ replied Estella.
+
+And Conyngham was too simple-minded, too inexperienced in such matters,
+to understand the ring of anxiety in her voice.
+
+‘I do not much mind what the rest of the world thinks of me,’ he said; ‘I
+have never owed anything to the world nor asked anything from it.  They
+are welcome to think what they like.  But with you it is different.  Is
+it possible, señorita, to make you trust me?’
+
+Estella did not answer at once.  After a pause she gave an indifferent
+jerk of the head.
+
+‘Perhaps,’ she said.
+
+‘If it is possible, I will do it.’
+
+‘It is quite easy,’ she answered, raising her head and looking out of the
+window with an air that seemed to indicate that her interests lay without
+and not in this room at all.
+
+‘How can I do it?’
+
+She gave a short, hard laugh, which to experienced ears would have
+betrayed her instantly.
+
+‘By showing me the letter you wrote to Julia Barenna,’ she said.
+
+‘I cannot do that.’
+
+‘No,’ she said significantly.  A woman fighting for her own happiness is
+no sparing adversary.
+
+‘Will nothing else than the sight of that letter satisfy you, señorita?’
+
+Her profile was turned towards him—delicate and proud, with the perfect
+chiselling of outline that only comes with a long descent, and bespeaks
+the blood of gentle ancestors.  For Estella Vincente had in her veins
+blood that was counted noble in Spain—the land of a bygone glory.
+
+‘Nothing,’ she answered.  ‘Though the question of my being satisfied is
+hardly of importance.  You asked me to trust you, and you make it
+difficult by your actions.  In return I ask a proof, that is all.’
+
+‘Do you want to trust me?’
+
+He had come a little closer to her, and was grave enough now.
+
+‘Why do you ask that?’ she inquired in a low voice.
+
+‘Do you want to trust me?’ he asked, and it is to be supposed that he was
+able to detect an infinitesimal acquiescent movement of her head.
+
+‘Then, if that letter is in existence, you shall have it,’ he said.  ‘You
+say that my actions have borne evidence against me.  I shall trust to
+action and not to words to refute that evidence.  But you must give me
+time—will you do that?’
+
+‘You always ask something.’
+
+‘Yes, señorita, from you; but from no one else in the world.’
+
+He gave a sudden laugh and walked to the window, where he stood looking
+at her.
+
+‘I suppose,’ he said, ‘I shall be asking all my life from you.  Perhaps
+that is why we were created, señorita—I to ask, you to give.  Perhaps
+that is happiness, Estella.’
+
+She raised her eyes but did not meet his, looking past him through the
+open window.  The hotel was situated at the lower end of the Puerta del
+Sol—the quiet end, and farthest removed from the hum of the market and
+the busy sounds of traffic.  These only came in the form of a distant
+hum, like the continuous roar of surf upon an unseen shore.  Below the
+windows a passing waterseller plied his trade, and his monotonous cry of
+‘Agua-a-a!  Agua-a-a!’ rose like a wail—like the voice of one crying in
+that human wilderness where solitude reigns as surely as in the desert.
+
+For a moment Estella glanced at Conyngham gravely, and his eyes were no
+less serious.  They were not the first, but only two out of many
+millions, to wonder what happiness is and where it hides in this busy
+world.
+
+They had not spoken or moved when the door was again opened by a servant,
+who bowed towards Conyngham and then stood aside to allow ingress to one
+who followed on his heels.  This was a tall man, white-haired, and white
+of face.  Indeed, his cheeks had the dead pallor of paper, and seemed to
+be drawn over the cheekbones at such tension as gave to the skin a polish
+like that of fine marble.  One sees many such faces in London streets,
+and they usually indicate suffering, either mental or physical.
+
+The stranger came forward with a perfect lack of embarrassment, which
+proved him to be a man of the world.  His bow to Estella clearly
+indicated that his business lay with Conyngham.  He was the incarnation
+of the Continental ideal of the polished cold Englishman, and had the air
+of a diplomate such as this country sends to foreign Courts to praise or
+blame, to declare friendship or war with the same calm suavity and
+imperturbable politeness.
+
+‘I come from General Vincente,’ he said to Conyngham, ‘who will follow in
+a moment, when he has despatched some business which detains him.  I have
+a letter to the General, and am, in fact, in need of his assistance.’
+
+He broke off, turning to Estella, who was moving towards the door.
+
+‘I was especially instructed,’ he said quickly to her, ‘to ask you not to
+leave us.  You were, I believe, at school with my nieces in England, and
+when my business, which is of the briefest, is concluded, I have messages
+to deliver to you from Mary and Amy Mainwaring.’
+
+Estella smiled a little and resumed her seat.  Then the stranger turned
+to Conyngham.
+
+‘The General told me,’ he went on in his cold voice, without a gleam of
+geniality or even of life in his eyes, ‘that if I followed the servant to
+the drawing-room I should find here an English aide-de-camp who is fully
+in his confidence, and upon whose good-nature and assistance I could
+rely.’
+
+‘I am for the time General Vincente’s aide-de-camp, and I am an
+Englishman,’ answered Conyngham.
+
+The stranger bowed.
+
+‘I did not explain my business to General Vincente,’ said he, ‘who asked
+me to wait until he came, and then tell the story to you both at one
+time.  In the meantime I was to introduce myself to you.’
+
+Conyngham waited in silence.
+
+‘My name is Sir John Pleydell,’ said the stranger quietly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+IN HONOUR
+
+
+    ‘He makes no friend who never made a foe.’
+
+CONYNGHAM remembered the name of Pleydell well enough, and glanced
+sharply at Estella, recollecting that the General received the ‘Times’
+from London.  Before he had time to make an answer, and indeed he had
+none ready, the General came into the room.
+
+‘Ah!’ said Vincente in his sociable manner, ‘I see you know each other
+already—so an introduction is superfluous.  And now we will have Sir
+John’s story.  Be seated, my dear sir.  But first—a little refreshment.
+It is a dusty day—a lemonade?’
+
+Sir John declined, his manner strikingly cold and reserved beside the
+genial _empressement_ of General Vincente.  In truth the two men seemed
+to belong to opposite poles—the one of cold and the other of heat.  Sir
+John had the chill air of one who had mixed among his fellow men only to
+see their evil side; for the world is a cold place to those that look on
+it with a chilling glance.  General Vincente, on the other hand, whose
+life had been passed in strife and warfare, seemed ready to welcome all
+comers as friends and to hold out the hand of good-fellowship to rich and
+poor alike.
+
+Conyngham shrugged his shoulders with a queer smile.  Here was a quandary
+requiring a quicker brain than his.  He did not even attempt to seek a
+solution to his difficulties, and the only thought in his mind was a
+characteristic determination to face them courageously.  He drew forward
+a chair for Sir John Pleydell, his heart stirred with that sense of
+exhilaration which comes to some in moments of peril.
+
+‘I will not detain you long,’ began the new-comer, with an air slightly
+suggestive of the law court, ‘but there are certain details which I am
+afraid I must inflict upon you, in order that you may fully understand my
+actions.’
+
+The remark was addressed to General Vincente, although the speaker
+appeared to be demanding Conyngham’s attention in the first instance.
+The learned gentlemen of the Bar thus often address the jury through the
+ears of the judge.
+
+General Vincente had seated himself at the table and was drawing his
+scented pocket-handkerchief across his moustache reflectively.  He was
+not, it was obvious, keenly interested, although desirous of showing
+every politeness to the stranger.  In truth, such Englishmen as brought
+their affairs to Spain at this time were not as a rule highly desirable
+persons or a credit to their country.  Estella was sitting near the
+window, rather behind her father, and Conyngham stood by the fireplace,
+facing them all.
+
+‘You perhaps know something of our English politics,’ continued Sir John
+Pleydell, and the General making a little gesture indicative of a limited
+but sufficient knowledge, went on to say—‘of the Chartists more
+particularly?’
+
+The General bowed.  Estella glanced at Conyngham, who was smiling.
+
+‘One cannot call them a party, as I have heard them designated in Spain,’
+said Sir John parenthetically.  ‘They are quite unworthy of so
+distinguished a name.  These Chartists consist of the most ignorant
+people in the land—the rabble, in fact, headed by a few scheming
+malcontents: professional agitators who are not above picking the pockets
+of the poor.  Many capitalists and landowners have suffered wrong and
+loss at the hands of these disturbers of the peace, none—’  He paused and
+gave a sharp sigh which seemed to catch him unawares, and almost
+suggested that the man had, after all, or had at one time possessed, a
+heart.  ‘None more severely than myself,’ he concluded.
+
+The General’s face instantly expressed the utmost concern.
+
+‘My dear sir,’ he murmured.
+
+‘For many years,’ continued Sir John hurriedly, as if resenting anything
+like sympathy, as all good Britons do, ‘the authorities acted in an
+irresolute and foolish manner, not daring to put down the disturbances
+with a firm hand.  At length, however, a riot of a more serious character
+at a town in Wales necessitated the interference of the military.  The
+ringleaders were arrested, and for some time the authorities were in
+considerable doubt as to what to do to them.  I interested myself
+strongly in the matter—having practised the law in my younger days—and
+was finally enabled to see my object carried out.  These men were
+arraigned, not as mere brawlers and rioters, but under a charge of high
+treason—a much more serious affair for them.’
+
+He broke off with a harsh laugh, which was only a matter of the voice,
+for his marble face remained unchanged, and probably had not at any time
+the power of expressing mirth.
+
+‘The ringleaders of the Newport riots were sentenced to long terms of
+imprisonment, which served my purpose excellently.’
+
+Sir John Pleydell spoke with that cynical frankness which seems often to
+follow upon a few years devoted to practice at the Common Law Bar, where
+men in truth spend their days in dissecting the mental diseases of their
+fellow creatures, and learn to conclude that a pure and healthy mind is
+possessed by none.  He moved slightly in his chair, and seemed to
+indicate that he had made his first point.
+
+‘I hope,’ he said, addressing Conyngham directly, ‘that I am not
+fatiguing you?’
+
+‘Not at all,’ returned the younger Englishman coolly; ‘I am much
+interested.’
+
+The General was studying the texture of his pocket-handkerchief.
+Estella’s face had grown cold and set.  Her eyes from time to time turned
+towards Conyngham.  Sir John Pleydell was not creating a good impression.
+
+‘I will now come to the more personal part of my story,’ went on that
+gifted speaker, ‘and proceed to explain my reason for inflicting it upon
+you.’
+
+He still spoke directly to Conyngham, who bowed his head in silence, with
+the queer smile still hovering on his lips.  Estella saw it and drew a
+sharp breath.  In the course of her short life, which had almost been
+spent in the midst of warfare, she had seen men in danger more than once,
+and perhaps recognised that smile.
+
+‘I particularly beg your attention,’ explained Sir John to Conyngham,
+‘because I understand from General Vincente that you are in reality
+attached to the staff of General Espartero, and it is to him that I look
+for help.’
+
+Sir John paused again.  He had established another point.  One almost
+expected to see him raise his hand to his shoulder to throw back the
+silken gown.
+
+‘Some months ago,’ he went on, ‘these Chartists attacked my house in the
+North of England, and killed my son.’
+
+There was a short silence, and the General muttered a curt and polite
+Spanish oath under his breath.  But somehow the speaker had failed to
+make that point, and he hurried on.
+
+‘It was not, technically speaking, a murder; my boy, who had a fine
+spirit, attacked the rioters, and a clever counsel might have got a
+verdict for the scoundrel who actually struck the blow.  I knew this, and
+awaited events.  I did not even take steps against the man who killed my
+son—an only son and child.  It was not, from a legal point of view, worth
+while.’
+
+He laughed his unpleasant laugh again and presently went on.
+
+‘Fortune, however, favoured me.  The trouble grew worse, and the Newport
+riots at last aroused the Government.  The sentence upon the ringleaders
+gave me my opportunity.  It was worth while to hunt down the murderer of
+my son when I could ensure him sixteen or twenty years’ penal servitude.’
+
+‘Quite,’ said the General; ‘quite.’  And he smiled.  He seemed to fail to
+realise that Sir John Pleydell was in deadly earnest, and really
+harboured the implacable spirit of revenge with which he cynically
+credited himself.
+
+‘I traced my man to Gibraltar, and thence he appears to have come north,’
+continued Sir John Pleydell.  ‘He has probably taken service under
+Espartero—many of our English outlaws wear the Spanish Queen’s uniform.
+He is, of course, bearing an assumed name; but surely it would be
+possible to trace him?’
+
+‘Oh, yes,’ answered Conyngham, ‘I think you will be able to find him.’
+
+Sir John’s eyes had for a moment a gleam of life in them.
+
+‘Ah!’ he said, ‘I am glad to hear you say that.  For that is my object in
+coming to this country; and although I have during the course of my life
+had many objects of ambition or desire, none of them has so entirely
+absorbed my attention as this one.  Half a dozen men have gone to penal
+servitude in order that I might succeed in my purpose.’
+
+There was a cold deliberation in this statement which was more cruel than
+cynicism, for it was sincere.  Conyngham looked at Estella.  Her face had
+lost all colour, her eyes were burning—not with the dull light of fear,
+for the blood that ran in her veins had no taint of that in it—but with
+anger.  She knew who it was that Sir John Pleydell sought.  She looked at
+Conyngham, and his smile of cool intrepidity made her heart leap within
+her breast.  This lover of hers was at all events a brave man—and that
+which through all the ages reaches the human heart most surely is
+courage.  The coward has no friends.
+
+Sir John Pleydell had paused, and was seeking something in his pocket.
+General Vincente preserved his attitude of slightly bored attention.
+
+‘I have here,’ went on the baronet, ‘a list of the English officers
+serving in the army of General Espartero at the time of my quitting
+England.  Perhaps you will, at your leisure, be kind enough to cast your
+eye over it, and make a note of such men as are personally unknown to
+you, and may therefore be bearing assumed names.’
+
+Conyngham took the paper, and, holding it in his hand, spoke without
+moving from the mantelpiece against which he leant.
+
+‘You have not yet made quite clear your object in coming to Spain,’ he
+said.  ‘There exists between Spain and England no extradition treaty; and
+even if such were to come in force I believe that persons guilty of
+political offences would be exempt from its action.  You propose to
+arraign this man for high treason—a political offence according to the
+law of many countries.’
+
+‘You speak like a lawyer,’ said Sir John, with a laugh.
+
+‘You have just informed us,’ retorted Conyngham, ‘that all the English in
+the Spanish service are miscreants.  None know the law so intimately as
+those who have broken it.’
+
+‘Ah!’ laughed Sir John again, with a face of stone.  ‘There are
+exceptions to all rules—and you, young sir, are an exception to that
+which I laid down as regards our countrymen in Spain, unless my
+experience of faces and knowledge of men play me very false.  But your
+contention is a just one.  I am not in a position to seek the aid of the
+Spanish authorities in this matter.  I am fully aware of the fact.  You
+surely did not expect me to come to Spain with such a weak case as that?’
+
+‘No,’ answered Conyngham slowly, ‘I did not.’
+
+Sir John Pleydell raised his eyes and looked at his fellow countryman
+with a dawning interest.  The General also looked up, from one face to
+the other.  The atmosphere of the room seemed to have undergone a sudden
+change, and to be dominated by the personality of these two Englishmen.
+The one will, strong on the surface, accustomed to assert itself and
+dominate, seemed suddenly to have found itself faced by another as strong
+and yet hidden behind an easy smile and indolent manner.
+
+‘You are quite right,’ he went on in his cold voice.  ‘I have a better
+case than that, and one eminently suited to a country such as Spain,
+where a long war has reduced law and order to a somewhat low ebb.  I at
+first thought of coming here to await my chance of shooting this man—his
+name, by the way, is Frederick Conyngham; but circumstances placed a
+better vengeance within my grasp—one that will last longer.’
+
+He paused for a moment to reflect upon this long-drawn-out expiation.
+
+‘I propose to get my man home to England, and let him there stand his
+trial.  The idea is not my own; it has, in fact, been carried out
+successfully before now.  Once in England I shall make it my business to
+see that he gets twenty years’ penal servitude.’
+
+‘And how do you propose to get him to England?’ asked Conyngham.
+
+‘Oh! that is simple enough.  Only a matter of paying a couple of such
+scoundrels as I understand abound in Spain at this moment—a little
+bribing of officials, a heavy fee to some English ship-captain.  I
+propose, in short, to kidnap Frederick Conyngham.  But I do not ask you
+to help me in that.  I only ask you to put me on his track—to help me to
+find him, in fact.  Will you do it?’
+
+‘Certainly,’ said Conyngham, coming forward with a card in his hand.
+‘You could not have come to a better man.’
+
+Sir John Pleydell read the card, and had himself in such control that his
+face hardly changed.  His teeth closed over his lower lip for a second;
+then he rose.  The perspiration stood out on his face—the grey of his
+eyes seemed to have faded to the colour of ashes.  He looked hard at
+Conyngham, and then, taking up his hat, went to the door with curious,
+uneven steps.  On the threshold he turned.
+
+‘Your insolence,’ he said breathlessly, ‘is only exceeded by
+your—daring.’
+
+As the door closed behind him there came, from that part of the room
+where General Vincente sat, a muffled click of steel, as if a sword half
+out of its scabbard had been sent softly home again.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+IN MADRID
+
+
+                   ‘Some keepeth silence knowing his time.’
+
+‘WHO travels slowly may arrive too late,’ said the Padre Concha, with a
+pessimistic shake of the head, as the carrier’s cart in which he had come
+from Toledo drew up in the Plazuela de la Cebada at Madrid.  The careful
+penury of many years had not, indeed, enabled the old priest to travel by
+the quick diligences, which had often passed him on the road with a cloud
+of dust and the rattle of six horses.  The great journey had been
+accomplished in the humbler vehicles plying from town to town, that ran
+as often as not by night in order to save the horses.
+
+The priest, like his fellow-travellers, was white with dust.  Dust
+covered his cloak so that its original hue of rusty black was quite lost.
+Dust coated his face and nestled in the deep wrinkles of it.  His
+eyebrows were lost to sight, and his lashes were like those of a miller.
+
+As he stood in the street the dust arose in whirling columns and
+enveloped all who were abroad; for a gale was howling across the
+tableland, which the Moors of old had named ‘Majerit’—a draught of wind.
+The conductor, who, like a good and jovial conductor, had never refused
+an offer of refreshment on the road, was now muddled with drink and the
+heat of the sun.  He was, in fact, engaged in a warm controversy with a
+passenger.  So the Padre found his own humble portmanteau, a thing of
+cardboard and canvas, and trudged up the Calle de Toledo, bearing the bag
+in one hand and his cloak in the other—a lean figure in the sunlight.
+
+Father Concha had been in Madrid before, though he rarely boasted of it,
+or indeed of any of his travels.
+
+‘The wise man does not hang his knowledge on a hook,’ he was in the habit
+of saying.
+
+That this knowledge was of that useful description which is usually
+designated as knowing one’s way about, soon became apparent; for the
+dusty traveller passed with unerring steps through the narrower streets
+that lie between the Calle de Toledo and the street of Segovia.  Here
+dwell the humbler citizens of Madrid, persons engaged in the small
+commerce of the market-place, for in the Plazuela de la Cebada a hundred
+yards away is held the corn market, which, indeed, renders the dust in
+this quarter particularly trying to the eyes.  Once or twice the priest
+was forced to stop at the corner of two streets and there do battle with
+the wind.
+
+‘But it is a hurricane,’ he muttered; ‘a hurricane.’
+
+With one hand he held his hat, with the other clung to his cloak and
+portmanteau.
+
+‘But it will blow the dust from my poor old capa,’ he added, giving the
+cloak an additional shake.
+
+He presently found himself in a street which, if narrower than its
+neighbours, smelt less pestiferous.  The open drain that ran down the
+middle of it pursued its varied course with a quite respectable speed.
+In the middle of the street Father Concha paused and looked up, nodding
+as if to an old friend at the sight of a dingy piece of palm bound to the
+ironwork of a balcony on the second floor.
+
+‘The time to wash off the dust,’ he muttered as he climbed the narrow
+stairs, ‘and then to work.’
+
+An hour later he was afoot again in a quarter of the city which was less
+known to him—namely, in the Calle Preciados, where he sought a venta more
+or less suspected by the police.  The wind had risen, and was now blowing
+with the force of a hurricane.  It came from the north-west with a chill
+whistle which bespoke its birthplace among the peaks of the Gaudarramas.
+The streets were deserted; the oil lamps swung on their chains at the
+street corners, casting weird shadows that swept over the face of the
+houses with uncanny irregularity.  It was an evening for evil deeds,
+except that when Nature is in an ill-humour human nature is mostly cowed,
+and those who have bad consciences cannot rid their minds of thoughts of
+the hereafter.
+
+The priest found the house he sought, despite the darkness of the street
+and the absence of any from whom to elicit information.  The venta was on
+the ground-floor, and above it towered storey after storey, built with
+the quaint fantasy of the middle ages, and surmounted by a deep,
+overhanging gabled roof.  The house seemed to have two staircases of
+stone and two doors—one on each side of the venta.  There is a Spanish
+proverb which says that the rat which has only one hole is soon caught.
+Perhaps the architect remembered this, and had built his house to suit
+his tenants.  It was on the fifth floor of this tenement that Father
+Concha, instructed by Heaven knows what priestly source of information,
+looked to meet with Sebastian, the whilom bodyservant of the late Colonel
+Monreal of Xeres.
+
+It was known among a certain section of the Royalists that this man had
+papers and perchance some information of value to dispose of, and more
+than one respectable, black-clad elbow had brushed the greasy walls of
+this staircase.  Sebastian, it was said, passed his time in drinking and
+smoking.  The boasted gaieties of Madrid had, it would appear, diminished
+to this sordid level of dissipation.
+
+The man was, indeed, thus occupied when the old priest opened the door of
+his room.
+
+‘Yes,’ he answered in a thick voice, ‘I am Sebastian of Xeres, and no
+other; the man who knows more of the Carlist plots than any other in
+Madrid.’
+
+‘Can you read?’
+
+‘No.’
+
+‘Then you know nothing,’ said the Padre.  ‘You have, however, a letter in
+a pink envelope which a friend of mine desires to possess.  It is a
+letter of no importance, of no political value—a love letter, in fact.’
+
+‘Ah, yes!  Ah, yes!  That may be, reverendo.  But there are others who
+want it—your love letter.’
+
+‘I offer you, on the part of my friend, a hundred pesetas for this
+letter.’
+
+The priest’s wrinkled face wore a grim smile.  It was so little—a hundred
+pesetas, the price of a dinner for two persons at one of the great
+restaurants on the Puerta del Sol.  But to Father Concha the sum
+represented five hundred cups of black coffee denied to himself in the
+evening at the café—five hundred packets of cigarettes, so-called of
+Havana, unsmoked—two new cassocks in the course of twenty years—a hundred
+little gastronomic delights sternly resisted season after season.
+
+‘Not enough, your hundred pesetas, reverendo, not enough,’ laughed the
+man.  And Concha, who could drive as keen a bargain as any market-woman
+of Ronda, knew by the manner of saying it that Sebastian only spoke the
+truth when he said that he had other offers.
+
+‘See, reverendo,’ the man went on, leaning across the table and banging a
+dirty fist upon it, ‘come to-night at ten o’clock.  There are others
+coming at the same hour to buy my letter in the pink envelope.  We will
+have an auction, a little auction, and the letter goes to the highest
+bidder.  But what does your reverence want with a love letter, eh?’
+
+‘I will come,’ said the Padre, and, turning, he went home to count his
+money once more.
+
+There are many living still who remember the great gale of wind which was
+now raging, and through which Father Concha struggled back to the Calle
+Preciados as the city clocks struck ten.  Old men and women still tell
+how the theatres were deserted that night and the great cafés wrapt in
+darkness.  For none dare venture abroad amid such whirl and confusion.
+Concha, however, with that lean strength that comes from a life of
+abstemiousness and low-living, crept along in the shadow of the houses
+and reached his destination unhurt.  The tall house in the alley leading
+from the Calle Preciados to the Plazuela Santa Maria was dark, as indeed
+were most of the streets of Madrid this night.  A small moon struggled,
+however, through the riven clouds at times, and cast streaks of light
+down the narrow streets.  Concha caught sight of the form of a man in the
+alley before him.  The priest carried no weapon, but he did not pause.
+At this moment a gleam of light aided him.
+
+‘Señor Conyngham!’ he said.  ‘What brings you here?’
+
+And the Englishman turned sharply on his heel.
+
+‘Is that you—Father Concha, of Ronda?’ he asked.
+
+‘No other, my son.’
+
+Standing in the doorway Conyngham held out his hand with that air of
+good-fellowship which he had not yet lost amid the more formal Spaniards.
+
+‘Hardly the night for respectable elderly gentlemen of your cloth to be
+in the streets,’ he said; whereat Concha, who had a keen appreciation of
+such small pleasantries, laughed grimly.
+
+‘And I have not even the excuse of my cloth.  I am abroad on worldly
+business, and not even my own.  I will be honest with you, Señor
+Conyngham.  I am here to buy that malediction of a letter in a pink
+envelope.  You remember—in the garden at Ronda, eh?’
+
+‘Yes, I remember; and why do you want that letter?’
+
+‘For the sake of Julia Barenna.’
+
+‘Ah!  I want it for the sake of Estella Vincente.’
+
+Concha laughed shortly.
+
+‘Yes,’ he said.  ‘It is only up to the age of twenty-five that men
+imagine themselves to be the rulers of the world.  But we need not bid
+against each other, my son.  Perhaps a sight of the letter before I
+destroy it would satisfy the señorita.’
+
+‘No, we need not bid against each other,’ began Conyngham; but the priest
+dragged him back into the doorway with a quick whisper of ‘Silence!’
+
+Someone was coming down the other stairway of the tall house, with slow
+and cautious steps.  Conyngham and his companion drew back to the foot of
+the stairs and waited.  It became evident that he who descended the steps
+did so without a light.  At the door he seemed to stop, probably making
+sure that the narrow alley was deserted.  A moment later he hurried past
+the door where the two men stood.  The moon was almost clear, and by its
+light both the watchers recognised Larralde in a flash of thought.  The
+next instant Esteban Larralde was running for his life with Frederick
+Conyngham on his heels.
+
+The lamp at the corner of the Calle Preciados had been shattered against
+the wall by a gust of wind, and both men clattered through a slough of
+broken glass.  Down the whole length of the Preciados but one lamp was
+left alight, and the narrow street was littered with tiles and fallen
+bricks, for many chimneys had been blown down, and more than one shutter
+lay in the roadway, torn from its hinges by the hurricane.  It was at the
+risk of life that any ventured abroad at this hour and amid the whirl of
+falling masonry.  Larralde and Conyngham had the Calle Preciados to
+themselves—and Larralde cursed his spurs, which rang out at each
+footfall, and betrayed his whereabouts.
+
+A dozen times the Spaniard fell, but before his pursuer could reach him,
+the same obstacle threw Conyngham to the ground.  A dozen times some
+falling object crashed to earth on the Spaniard’s heels, and the
+Englishman leapt aside to escape the rebound.  Larralde was fleet of foot
+despite his meagre limbs, and leapt over such obstacles as he could
+perceive, with the agility of a monkey.  He darted into the lighted
+doorway—the entrance to the palatial mansion of an upstart politician.
+The large doors were thrown open, and the hall-porter stood in full
+livery awaiting the master’s carriage.  Larralde was already in the
+patio, and Conyngham ran through the marble-paved entrance hall, before
+the porter realised what was taking place.  There was no second exit as
+the fugitive had hoped—so it was round the patio and out again into the
+dark street, leaving the hall-porter dumfoundered.
+
+Larralde turned sharply to the right as soon as he gained the Calle
+Preciados.  It was a mere alley running the whole way round a church—and
+here again was solitude, but not silence, for the wind roared among the
+chimneys overhead as it roars through a ship’s rigging at sea.  The Calle
+Preciados again! and a momentary confusion among the tables of a café
+that stood upon the pavement, amid upturned chairs and a fallen, flapping
+awning.  The pace was less killing now, but Larralde still held his
+own—one hand clutched over the precious letter regained at last—and
+Conyngham was conscious of a sharp pain where the Spaniard’s knife had
+touched his lung.
+
+Larralde ran mechanically with open mouth and staring eyes.  He never
+doubted that death was at his heels, should he fail to distance the
+pursuer.  For he had recognised Conyngham in the patio of the great
+house, and as he ran the vague wonder filled his mind whether the
+Englishman carried a knife.  What manner of death would it be if that
+long arm reached him?  Esteban Larralde was afraid.  His own life—Julia’s
+life—the lives of a whole Carlist section were at stake.  The history of
+Spain, perhaps of Europe, depended on the swiftness of his foot.
+
+The little crescent moon was shining clearly now between the long-drawn
+rifts of the rushing clouds.  Larralde turned to the right again, up a
+narrow street which seemed to promise a friendly darkness.  The ascent
+was steep, and the Spaniard gasped for breath as he ran—his legs were
+becoming numb.  He had never been in this street before, and knew not
+whither it led.  But it was at all events dark and deserted.  Suddenly he
+fell upon a heap of bricks and rubbish, a whole stack of chimneys.  He
+could smell the soot.  Conyngham was upon him, touched him, but failed to
+get a grip.  Larralde was afoot in an instant, and fell heavily down the
+far side of the barricade.  He gained a few yards again, and, before
+Conyngham’s eyes, was suddenly swallowed up in a black mass of falling
+masonry.  It was more than a chimney this time; nothing less than a whole
+house carried bodily to the ground by the fall of the steeple of the
+church of Santa Maria del Monte.  Conyngham stopped dead, and threw his
+arms over his head.  The crash was terrific, deafening—and for a few
+moments the Englishman was stunned.  He opened his eyes and closed them
+again, for the dust and powdered mortar whirled round him like smoke.
+Almost blinded, he crept back by the way he had come, and the street was
+already full of people.  In the Calle Preciados he sat down on a
+door-step, and there waited until he had gained mastery over his limbs,
+which shook still.  Presently he made his way back to the house where he
+had left Concha.
+
+The man Sebastian had, a week earlier, seen and recognised Conyngham as
+the bearer of the letter addressed to Colonel Monreal, and left at that
+officer’s lodging in Xeres at the moment of his death in the streets.
+Sebastian approached Conyngham, and informed him that he had in his
+possession sundry papers belonging to the late Colonel Monreal, which
+might be of value to a Royalist.  This was, therefore, not the first time
+that Conyngham had climbed the narrow stairs of the tall house with two
+doors.
+
+He found Concha busying himself by the bedside, where Sebastian lay in
+the unconsciousness of deep drink.
+
+‘He has probably been drugged,’ said the priest.  ‘Or, he may be dying.
+What is more important to us is, that the letter is not here.  I have
+searched.  Larralde escaped you?’
+
+‘Yes; and of course has the letter.’
+
+‘Of course, amigo.’
+
+The priest looked at the prostrate man with a face of profound contempt,
+and, shrugging his shoulders, went towards the door.
+
+‘Come,’ he said, ‘I must return to Toledo and Julia.  It is thither that
+this Larralde always returns, and she, poor woman, believes in him.  Ah,
+my friend’—he paused and shook his long finger at Conyngham.  ‘When a
+woman believes in a man she makes him or mars him; there is no medium.’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+IN TOLEDO
+
+
+    ‘Meddle not with many matters; for if thou meddle much thou shalt not
+    be innocent.’
+
+THE Café of the Ambassadeurs in the Calle de la Montera was at this time
+the fashionable resort of visitors to the city of Madrid.  Its tone was
+neither political nor urban, but savoured rather of the cosmopolitan.
+The waiters at the first-class hotels recommended the Café of the
+Ambassadeurs, and stepped round to the manager’s office at the time of
+the New Year to mention the fact.
+
+Sir John Pleydell had been rather nonplussed by his encounter with
+Conyngham, and, being a man of the world as well as a lawyer, sat down,
+as it were, to think.  He had come to Spain in the first heat of a great
+revenge, and such men as he take, like the greater volcanoes, a long time
+to cool down.  He had been prepossessed in the favour of the man who
+subsequently owned to being Frederick Conyngham.  And the very manner in
+which this admission was made redounded in some degree to the honour of
+the young Englishman.  Here, at least, was one who had no fear, and
+fearlessness appeals to the heart of every Briton from the peer to the
+navvy.
+
+Sir John took a certain cold interest in his surroundings, and in due
+course was recommended to spend an evening at the Café des Ambassadeurs,
+as it styled itself, for the habit of preferring French to Spanish
+designations for places of refreshment had come in since the great
+revolution.  Sir John went, therefore, to the café, and with
+characteristic scorn of elemental disturbance chose to resort thither on
+the evening of the great gale.  The few other occupants of the gorgeous
+room eyed his half-bottle of claret with a grave and decorous wonder, but
+made no attempt to converse with this chill-looking Englishman.  At
+length, about ten o’clock or a few minutes later, entered one who bowed
+to Sir John with an air full of affable promise.  This was Larralde, who
+called a waiter and bade him fetch a coat-brush.
+
+‘Would you believe it, sir?’ he said, addressing Sir John in broken
+English, ‘but I have just escaped a terrible death.’
+
+He shrugged his shoulders, spread out his hands, and laughed
+good-humouredly, after the manner of one who has no foes.
+
+‘The fall of a chimney—so—within a metre of my shoulder.’  He threw back
+his cloak with a graceful swing of the arm and handed it to the waiter.
+Then he drew forward a chair to the table occupied by Sir John, who
+sipped his claret and bowed coldly.
+
+‘You must not think that Madrid is always like this,’ said Larralde.
+‘But perhaps you know the city—’
+
+‘No—this is my first visit.’
+
+Larralde turned aside to give his order to the waiter.  His movements
+were always picturesque, and in the presence of Englishmen he had a habit
+of accentuating those characteristics of speech and manner which are held
+by our countrymen to be native to the Peninsula.  There is nothing so
+disarming as conventionality—and nothing less suspicious.  Larralde
+seemed ever to be a typical Spaniard—indolently polite, gravely
+indifferent—a cigarette-smoking nonentity.
+
+They talked of topics of the day, and chiefly of that great event, the
+hurricane, which was still raging.  Larralde, whose habit it was to turn
+his neighbour to account—a seed of greatness this!—had almost concluded
+that the Englishman was useless when the conversation turned, as it was
+almost bound to turn between these two, upon Conyngham.
+
+‘There are but few of your countrymen in Madrid at the moment,’ Larralde
+had said.
+
+‘I know but one,’ was the guarded reply.
+
+‘And I also,’ said Larralde, flicking the ash from his cigarette.  ‘A
+young fellow who has made himself somewhat notorious in the Royalist
+cause—a cause in which I admit I have no sympathy.  His name is
+Conyngham.’
+
+Then a silence fell upon the two men, and over raised glasses they
+glanced surreptitiously at each other.
+
+‘I know him,’ said Sir John at length, and the tone of his voice made
+Larralde glance up with a sudden gleam in his eyes.  There thus sprang
+into existence between them the closest of all bonds—a common foe.
+
+‘The man has done me more than one ill-turn,’ said Larralde after a
+pause, and he drummed on the table with his cigarette-stained fingers.
+
+Sir John, looking at him, coldly gauged the Spaniard with the deadly
+skill of his calling.  He noted that Larralde was poor and
+ambitious—qualities that often raise the devil in a human heart when fate
+brings them there together.  He was not deceived by the picturesque
+manner of Julia’s lover, but knew exactly how much was assumed of that
+air of simple vanity to which Larralde usually treated strangers.  He
+probably gauged at one glance the depth of the man’s power for good or
+ill, his sincerity, his possible usefulness.  In the hands of Sir John
+Pleydell, Larralde was the merest tool.
+
+They sat until long after midnight, and before they parted Sir John
+Pleydell handed to his companion a roll of notes, which he counted
+carefully and Larralde accepted with a grand air of condescension and
+indifference.
+
+‘You know my address,’ said Sir John, with a slight suggestion of
+masterfulness which had not been noticeable before the money changed
+hands.  ‘I shall remain at the same hotel.’
+
+Larralde nodded his head.
+
+‘I shall remember it,’ he said.  ‘And now I go to take a few hours’ rest.
+I have had a hard day, and am as tired as a shepherd’s dog.’
+
+And indeed the day had been busy enough.  Señor Larralde hummed an air
+between his teeth as he struggled against the fierce wind.
+
+Before dawn the gale subsided, and daylight broke with a clear, calm
+freshness over the city, where sleep had been almost unknown during the
+night.  The sun had not yet risen when Larralde took the road on his
+poor, thin black horse.  He rode through the streets, still littered with
+the _débris_ of fallen chimneys, slates, and shutters, with his head up
+and his mind so full of the great schemes which gave him no rest, that he
+never saw Concepçion Vara going to market with a basket on his arm and a
+cigarette, unlighted, between his lips.  Concepçion turned and watched
+the horseman, shrugged his shoulders, and quietly followed until the
+streets were left behind and there could no longer be any doubt that
+Larralde was bound for Toledo.
+
+Thither, indeed, he journeyed throughout the day with a leisureliness
+begotten of the desire to enter the ancient city after nightfall only.
+Toledo was at this time the smouldering hotbed of those political
+intrigues which some years later burst into flame, and resulted finally
+in the expulsion of the Bourbons from the throne of Spain.  Larralde was
+sufficiently dangerous to require watching, and, like many of his kind,
+considered himself of a greater importance than his enemies were pleased
+to attach to him.  The city of Toledo is, as many know, almost surrounded
+by the rapid Tagus, and entrance to its narrow confine is only to be
+gained by two gates.  To pass either of these barriers in open day would
+be to court a publicity singularly undesirable at this time, for Esteban
+Larralde was slipping down the social slope, which gradual progress is
+the hardest to arrest.  If one is mounting there are plenty to help
+him—those from above seeking to make unto themselves friends of the
+mammon of unrighteousness; those from below hoping to tread in the
+footsteps he may leave.  Each step, however, of the upward progress has
+to be gained at the expense of another.  But on the descent there are
+none to stay and many to push behind, while those in front make room
+readily enough.  Larralde had for the first time accepted a direct
+monetary reward for his services.  That this had been offered and
+accepted in a polite Spanish manner as an advance of expenses to be
+incurred was, of course, only natural under the circumstances, but the
+fact remained that Esteban Larralde was no longer a picturesque
+conspirator, serving a failing cause with that devotion which can only be
+repaid later by high honours, and a post carrying with it emoluments of
+proportionate value.  He had, in fact, been paid in advance; which is the
+surest sign of distrust upon one side or the other.
+
+The Barennas had been established at their house in Toledo some weeks,
+and, for Julia, life had been dull enough.  She had hastened northward,
+knowing well that her lover’s intrigues must necessarily bring him to the
+neighbourhood of the capital—perhaps to Toledo itself.  Larralde had,
+however, hitherto failed to come near her, and the news of the day
+reported an increasing depression in the ranks of the Carlists.  Indeed,
+that cause seemed now at such a low ebb that the franker mercenaries were
+daily drifting away to more promising scenes of warfare, while some
+cynically accepted commissions in the army of Espartero.
+
+‘I always said that Don Carlos would fail if he employed such
+men—as—well, as he does,’ Madame Barenna took more than one opportunity
+of observing at this time, and her emphatic fan rapped the personal
+application home.
+
+She had just made this remark for perhaps the sixth time one evening when
+the door of the patio where she and Julia sat was thrown open, and
+Larralde—the person indirectly referred to—came towards the ladies.  He
+was not afraid of Madame Barenna, and his tired face lightened visibly at
+the sight of Julia.  Concha was right.  According to his lights Larralde
+loved Julia.  She, who knew every expression, noted the look in his face,
+and her heart leapt within her breast.  She had long secretly rejoiced
+over the failure of the Carlist cause.  Such, messieurs, is the ambition
+of a woman for the man she really loves.
+
+Señora Barenna rose and held out her hand with a beaming smile.  She was
+rather bored that evening, and it was pleasant to imagine herself in the
+midst of great political intrigues.
+
+‘We were wondering if you would come,’ she said.
+
+‘I am here—there—everywhere—but I always come back to the Casa Barenna,’
+he said gallantly.
+
+‘You look tired,’ said Julia quietly.  ‘Where are you from?’
+
+‘At the moment I am from Madrid.  The city has been wrecked by a
+tornado—I myself almost perished.’
+
+He paused, shrugged his shoulders.
+
+‘What will you?’ he added carelessly.  ‘What is life—a single life—in
+Spain to-day?’
+
+Julia winced.  It is marvellous how an intelligent woman may blind
+herself into absolute belief in one man.  Señora Barenna shuddered.
+
+‘Blessed Heaven!’ she whispered.  ‘Why does not someone do something?’
+
+‘One does one’s best,’ answered Larralde, with his hand at his moustache.
+
+‘But yes!’ said Madame eagerly.  She had a shrewd common sense, as many
+apparently foolish women have, and probably put the right value on Señor
+Larralde’s endeavours.  Father Concha and the General were, however, far
+away, and all women are time-servers.
+
+Larralde spoke of general news, and when he at length proposed to Julia
+that they should take a ‘paseo’ in the garden the elder lady made no
+objection.  For some moments Julia was quite happy.  She had schooled
+herself into a sort of contentment in the hope that her turn would come
+when ambition failed.  Perhaps this moment had arrived.  At all events,
+Larralde acquitted himself well, and seemed sincere enough in his joy at
+seeing her again.
+
+‘Do you love me?’ he asked suddenly.
+
+Julia gave a little laugh.  Heaven has been opened by such a laugh ere
+now, and men have seen for a moment the brightness of it.
+
+‘Enough to leave Spain for ever and live in another country?’
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘Enough to risk something now for my sake?’
+
+‘Enough to risk everything,’ she answered.
+
+‘I have tried to gain a great position for you,’ went on Larralde, ‘and
+fortune has been against me.  I have failed.  The Carlist cause is dead,
+Julia.  Our chief has failed us—that is the truth of it.  We set him up
+as a king, but unless we hold him upright he falls.  He is a man of
+straw.  We are making one last effort, as you know, but it is a dangerous
+one, and we have had misfortunes.  This pestilential Englishman!  No one
+may say how much he knows.  He has had the letter too long in his
+possession for our safety.  But I have outwitted him this time.’
+
+Larralde paused, and drew from his pocket the letter in the pink
+envelope—somewhat soiled by its passage through the hands of Colonel
+Monreal’s servant.
+
+‘It requires two more signatures and will then be complete,’ said the
+upholder of Don Carlos.  ‘We shall then make our “coup,” but we cannot
+move while Conyngham remains in Spain.  It would never do for me to—well,
+to get shot at this moment.’
+
+Julia breathed hard.
+
+‘And that is what Mr. Conyngham is endeavouring to bring about.  In the
+first place he wants this letter to show to Estella Vincente—some foolish
+romance.  In the second place he hates me, and seeks promotion in the
+Royalist ranks.  These Englishmen are unscrupulous.  He tried to take my
+life—only last night.  I bear him no ill-feeling.  _A la guerre comme à
+la guerre_.  My only intention is to get him quietly out of Spain.  It
+can be managed easily enough.  Will you help me—to save my own life?’
+
+‘Yes,’ answered Julia.
+
+‘I want you to write a letter to Conyngham saying that you are tired of
+political intrigue.’
+
+‘Heaven knows that would be true enough,’ put in Julia.
+
+‘And that you will give him the letter he desires on the condition that
+he promises to show it to no one but Estella Vincente and return it to
+you.  That you will also swear that it is the identical letter that he
+handed to you in the General’s garden at Ronda.  If Conyngham agrees, he
+must meet you at the back of the Church of Santo Tome in the Calle Pedro
+Martir here, in Toledo, next Monday evening at seven o’clock.  Will you
+write this letter, Julia?’
+
+‘And Estella Vincente?’ inquired Julia.
+
+‘She will forget him in a week,’ laughed Larralde.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+CONCEPÇION TAKES THE ROAD
+
+
+                 ‘Who knows? the man is proven by the hour.’
+
+AFTER the great storm came a calm almost as startling.  It seemed indeed
+as if Nature stood abashed and silent before the results of her sudden
+rage.  Day after day the sun glared down from a cloudless sky, and all
+Castile was burnt brown as a desert.  In the streets of Madrid there
+arose a hot dust and the subtle odour of warm earth that rarely meets the
+nostrils in England.  It savoured of India and other sun-steeped lands
+where water is too precious to throw upon the roads.
+
+Those who could, remained indoors or in their shady patios until the heat
+of the day was past; and such as worked in the open lay unchallenged in
+the shade from midday till three o’clock.  During those days military
+operations were almost suspended, although the heads of departments were
+busy enough in their offices.  The confusion of war, it seemed, was past,
+and the sore-needed peace was immediately turned to good account.  The
+army of the Queen Regent was indeed in an almost wrecked condition, and
+among the field officers jealousy and backbiting, which had smouldered
+through the war-time, broke out openly.  General Vincente was rarely at
+home, and Estella passed this time in quiet seclusion.  Coming as she did
+from Andalusia, she was accustomed to an even greater heat, and knew how
+to avoid the discomfort of it.
+
+She was sitting one afternoon, with open windows and closed jalousies,
+during the time of the siesta, when the servant announced Father Concha.
+
+The old priest came into the room wiping his brow with simple ill
+manners.
+
+‘You have been hurrying and have no regard for the sun,’ said Estella.
+
+‘You need not find shelter for an old ox,’ replied Concha, seating
+himself.  ‘It is the young ones that expose themselves unnecessarily.’
+
+Estella glanced at him sharply but said nothing.  He sat, handkerchief in
+hand, and stared at a shaft of sunlight that lay across the floor from a
+gap in the jalousies.  From the street under the windows came the distant
+sounds of traffic and the cries of the vendors of water, fruit, and
+newspapers.
+
+Father Concha looked puzzled, and seemed to be seeking his way out of a
+difficulty.  Estella sat back in her chair, half hidden by her
+slow-waving, black fan.  There is no pride so difficult as that which is
+unconscious of its own existence, no heart so hard to touch as that which
+has thrown its stake and asks neither sympathy nor admiration from the
+outside world.  Concha glanced at Estella and wondered if he had been
+mistaken.  There was in the old man’s heart, as indeed there is in nearly
+all human hearts, a thwarted instinct.  How many are there with maternal
+instincts who have no children; how many a poet has been lost by the
+crying need of hungry mouths!  It was a thwarted instinct that made the
+old priest busy himself with the affairs of other people, and always of
+young people.
+
+‘I came hoping to see your father,’ he said at length, blandly
+untruthful.  ‘I have just seen Conyngham, in whom we are all interested,
+I think.  His lack of caution is singular.  I have been trying to
+persuade him not to do something most rash and imprudent.  You remember
+the incident in your garden at Ronda—a letter which he gave to Julia?’
+
+‘Yes,’ answered Estella quietly, ‘I remember.’
+
+‘For some reason which he did not explain I understand that he is
+desirous of regaining possession of that letter, and now Julia, writing
+from Toledo, tells him that she will give it to him if he will go there
+and fetch it.  The Toledo road, as you will remember, is hardly to be
+recommended to Mr. Conyngham.’
+
+‘But Julia wishes him no harm,’ said Estella.
+
+‘My child, rarely trust a political man and never a political woman.  If
+Julia wished him to have the letter she could have sent it to him by
+post.  But Conyngham, who is all eagerness, must needs refuse to listen
+to any argument, and starts this afternoon for Toledo—alone.  He has not
+even his servant Concepçion Vara, who has suddenly disappeared, and a
+woman who claims to be the scoundrel’s wife from Algeciras has been
+making inquiries at Conyngham’s lodging.  A hen’s eyes are where her eggs
+lie.  I offered to go to Toledo with Conyngham, but he laughed at me for
+a useless old priest, and said that the saddle would gall me.’
+
+He paused, looking at her beneath his shaggy brows, knowing, as he had
+always known, that this was a woman beyond his reach—cleverer, braver, of
+a higher mind than her sisters—one to whom he might perchance tender some
+small assistance, but nothing better.  For women are wiser in their
+generation than men, and usually know better what is for their own
+happiness.  Estella returned his glance with steady eyes.
+
+‘He has gone,’ said Concha.  ‘I have not been sent to tell you that he is
+going.’
+
+‘I did not think that you had,’ she answered.
+
+‘Conyngham has enemies in this country,’ continued the priest, ‘and
+despises them—a mistake to which his countrymen are singularly liable.
+He has gone off on this foolish quest without preparation or precaution.
+Toledo is, as you know, a hotbed of intrigue and dissatisfaction.  All
+the malcontents in Spain congregate there, and Conyngham would do well to
+avoid their company.  Who lies down with dogs gets up with fleas.’
+
+He paused, tapping his snuffbox, and at that moment the door opened to
+admit General Vincente.
+
+‘Oh! the Padre!’ cried the cheerful soldier.  ‘But what a sun, eh?  It is
+cool here, however, and Estella’s room is always a quiet one.’
+
+He touched her cheek affectionately, and drew forward a low chair wherein
+he sat, carefully disposing of the sword that always seemed too large for
+him.
+
+‘And what news has the Padre?’ he asked, daintily touching his brow with
+his pocket-handkerchief.
+
+‘Bad,’ growled Concha, and then told his tale over again in a briefer,
+blunter manner.  ‘It all arises,’ he concluded, ‘from my pestilential
+habit of interfering in the affairs of other people.’
+
+‘No,’ said General Vincente; ‘it arises from Conyngham’s pestilential
+habit of acquiring friends wherever he goes.’
+
+The door was opened again, and a servant entered.
+
+‘Excellency,’ he said, ‘a man called Concepçion Vara, who desires a
+moment.’
+
+‘What did I tell you?’ said the General to Concha.  ‘Another of
+Conyngham’s friends.  Spain is full of them.  Let Concepçion Vara come to
+this room.’
+
+The servant looked slightly surprised, and retired.  If, however, this
+manner of reception was unusual, Concepçion was too finished a man of the
+world to betray either surprise or embarrassment.  By good fortune he
+happened to be wearing a coat.  His flowing unstarched shirt was as usual
+spotless, he wore a flower in the ribbon of the hat carried jauntily in
+his hand, and about his person in the form of handkerchief and faja were
+those touches of bright colour by means of which he so irresistibly
+attracted the eye of the fair.
+
+‘Excellency,’ he murmured, bowing on the threshold; ‘Reverendo,’ with one
+step forward and a respectful semi-religious inclination of the head
+towards Concha; ‘Señorita!’  The ceremony here concluded with a profound
+obeisance to Estella full of gallantry and grave admiration.  Then he
+stood upright, and indicated by a pleasant smile that no one need feel
+embarrassed, that in fact this meeting was most opportune.
+
+‘A matter of urgency, Excellency,’ he said confidentially to Vincente.
+‘I have reason to suspect that one of my friends—in fact, the Señor
+Conyngham, with whom I am at the moment in service—happens to be in
+danger.’
+
+‘Ah! what makes you suspect that, my friend?’
+
+Concepçion waved his hand lightly, as if indicating that the news had
+been brought to him by the birds of the air.
+
+‘When one goes into the café,’ he said, ‘one is not always so
+particular—one associates with those who happen to be there—muleteers,
+diligencia-drivers, bull-fighters, all and sundry, even contrabandistas.’
+
+He made this last admission with a face full of pious toleration, and
+Father Concha laughed grimly.
+
+‘That is true, my friend,’ said the General, hastening to cover the
+priest’s little lapse of good manners, ‘and from these gentlemen—honest
+enough in their way, no doubt—you have learnt—?’
+
+‘That the Señor Conyngham has enemies in Spain.’
+
+‘So I understand; but he has also friends?’
+
+‘He has one,’ said Vara, taking up a fine, picturesque attitude, with his
+right hand at his waist where the deadly knife was concealed in the rolls
+of his faja.
+
+‘Then he is fortunate,’ said the General, with his most winning smile;
+‘why do you come to me, my friend.’
+
+‘I require two men,’ answered Concepçion airily, ‘that is all.’
+
+‘Ah!  What sort of men.  Guardias Civiles?’
+
+‘The Holy Saints forbid!  Honest soldiers, if it please your Excellency.
+The Guardia Civil!  See you, Excellency.’
+
+He paused, shaking his outspread hand from side to side, palm downwards,
+fingers apart, as if describing a low level of humanity.
+
+‘A brutal set of men,’ he continued; ‘with the finger ever on the trigger
+and the rifle ever loaded.  Pam! and a life is taken—many of my
+friends—at least, many persons I have met—in the café!’
+
+‘It is better to give him his two men,’ put in Father Concha, in his
+atrocious English, speaking to the General.  ‘The man is honest in his
+love of Conyngham, if in nothing else.’
+
+‘And if I accord you these two men, my friend,’ said the General, from
+whose face Estella’s eyes had never moved, ‘will you undertake that Mr.
+Conyngham comes to no harm?’
+
+‘I will arrange it,’ replied Concepçion, with an easy shrug of the
+shoulders.  ‘I will arrange it, never fear.’
+
+‘You shall have two men,’ said General Vincente, drawing a writing-case
+towards himself and proceeding to write the necessary order.  ‘Men who
+are known to me personally.  You can rely upon them at all times.’
+
+‘Since they are friends of his Excellency’s,’ interrupted Concepçion with
+much condescension, ‘that suffices.’
+
+‘He will require money,’ said Estella in English—her eyes bright and her
+cheeks flushed.  For she came of a fighting race, and her repose of
+manner, the dignity which sat rather strangely on her slim young
+shoulders, were only signs of that self-control which had been handed
+down to her through the ages.
+
+The General nodded as he wrote.
+
+‘Take that to headquarters,’ he said, handing the papers to Concepçion,
+‘and in less than half an hour your men will be ready.  Mr. Conyngham is
+a friend of mine, as you know, and any expenses incurred on his behalf
+will be defrayed by myself—’
+
+Concepçion held up his hand.
+
+‘It is unnecessary, Excellency,’ he said.  ‘At present Mr. Conyngham has
+funds.  Only yesterday he gave me money.  He liquidated my little
+account.  It has always been a jest between us—that little account.’
+
+He laughed pleasantly, and moved towards the door.
+
+‘Vara,’ said Father Concha.
+
+‘Yes, reverendo.’
+
+‘If I meet your wife in Madrid, what shall I say to her?’
+
+Concepçion turned and looked into the smiling face of the old priest.
+
+‘In Madrid, reverendo?  How can you think of such a thing?  My wife lives
+in Algeciras, and at times, see you—’ he stopped, casting his eyes up to
+the ceiling and fetching an exaggerated sigh, ‘at times my heart aches.
+But now I must get to the saddle.  What a thing is Duty, reverendo!
+Duty!  God be with your Excellencies.’
+
+And he hurried out of the room.
+
+‘If you would make a thief honest, trust him,’ said Concha, when the door
+was closed.
+
+In less than an hour Concepçion was on the road accompanied by two
+troopers, who were ready enough to travel in company with a man of his
+reputation.  For in Spain, if one cannot be a bull-fighter it is good to
+be a smuggler.  At sunset the great heat culminated in a thunderstorm,
+which drew a veil of heavy cloud across the sky, and night fell before
+its time.
+
+The horsemen had covered two-thirds of their journey when he whom they
+followed came in sight of the lights of Toledo, set upon a rock like the
+jewels in a lady’s ring, and almost surrounded by the swift Tagus.
+Conyngham’s horse was tired, and stumbled more than once on the hill by
+which the traveller descends to the great bridge and the gate that Wamba
+built thirteen hundred years ago.
+
+Through this gate he passed into the city, which was a city of the dead,
+with its hundred ruined churches, its empty palaces and silent streets.
+Ichabod is written large over all these tokens of a bygone glory; where
+the Jews flying from Jerusalem first set foot; where the Moor reigned
+unmolested for nearly four hundred years; where the Goth and the Roman
+and the great Spaniard of the middle ages have trod on each other’s
+heels.  Truly these worn stones have seen the greatness of the greatest
+nations of the world.
+
+A single lamp hung slowly swinging in the arch of Wamba’s Gate, and the
+streets were but ill lighted with an oil lantern at an occasional corner.
+Conyngham had been in Toledo before, and knew his way to the inn under
+the shadow of the great Alcazar, now burnt and ruined.  Here he left his
+horse; for the streets of Toledo are so narrow and tortuous, so ill-paved
+and steep, that wheel traffic is almost unknown, while a horse can with
+difficulty keep his feet on the rounded cobble stones.  In this city men
+go about their business on foot, which makes the streets as silent as the
+deserted houses.
+
+Julia had selected a spot which was easy enough to find, and Conyngham,
+having supped, made his way thither without asking for directions.
+
+‘It is at all events worth trying,’ he said to himself, ‘and she can
+scarcely have forgotten that I saved her life on the Garonne as well as
+at Ronda.’
+
+But there is often in a woman’s life one man who can make her forget all.
+The streets were deserted, for it was a cold night, and the cafés were
+carefully closed against the damp air.  No one stirred in the Calle Pedro
+Martir, and Conyngham peered into the shadow of the high wall of the
+Church of San Tome in vain.  Then he heard the soft tread of muffled
+feet, and turning on his heel realised Julia’s treachery in a flash of
+thought.  He charged to meet the charge of his assailants.  Two of them
+went down like felled trees, but there were others—four others—who fell
+on him silently like hounds upon a fox, and in a few moments all was
+quiet again in the Calle Pedro Martir.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+ON THE TALAVERA ROAD
+
+
+            ‘Les barrières servent à indiquer où il faut passer.’
+
+AN hour’s ride to the west of Toledo, on the road to Torrijos and
+Talavera, and in the immediate neighbourhood of the village of Galvez,
+two men sat in the shadow of a great rock, and played cards.  They played
+quietly and without vociferation, illustrating the advantages of a minute
+coinage.  They had gambled with varying fortune since the hour of the
+siesta, and a sprinkling of cigarette ends on the bare rocks around them
+testified to the indulgence in a kindred vice.
+
+The elder of the two men glanced from time to time over his shoulder, and
+down towards the dusty high road which lay across the arid plain beneath
+them like a tape.  The country here is barren and stone-ridden, but to
+the west, where Torrijos gleamed whitely on the plain, the earth was
+green with lush corn and heavy blades of maize, now springing into ear.
+Where the two soldiers sat the herbage was scant and of an aromatic
+scent, as it mostly is in hot countries and in rocky places.  That these
+men belonged to a mounted branch of the service was evident from their
+equipment, and notably from the great rusty spurs at their heels.  They
+were clad in cotton—dusky white breeches, dusky blue tunics—a sort of
+undress, tempered by the vicissitudes of a long war and the laxity of
+discipline engendered by political trouble at home.
+
+They had left their horses in the stable of a venta, hidden among ilex
+trees by the roadside, and had clambered to this point of vantage above
+the highway, to pass the afternoon after the manner of their race.  For
+the Spaniard will be found playing cards amid the wreck of the world and
+in the intervals between the stupendous events of the last day.
+
+‘He comes,’ said the elder man at length, as he leisurely shuffled the
+greasy cards.  ‘I hear his horse’s hoofs.’
+
+And, indeed, the great silence which seems to brood over the uplands of
+Spain—the silence, as it were, of an historic past and a dead present—was
+broken by the distant regular beat of hoofs.
+
+The trooper who had spoken was a bullet-headed Castilian, with square jaw
+and close-set eyes.  His companion, a younger man, merely nodded his
+head, and studied the cards which had just been dealt to him.  The game
+progressed, and Concepçion Vara, on the Toledo road, approached at a
+steady trot.  This man showed to greater advantage on horseback and
+beneath God’s open sky than in the streets of a city.  Here, in the open
+and among the mountains, he held his head erect and faced the world,
+ready to hold his own against it.  In the streets he wore a furtive air,
+and glanced from left to right fearing recognition.
+
+He now took his tired horse to the stable of the little venta, where,
+with his usual gallantry, he assisted a hideous old hag to find a place
+in the stalls.  While uttering a gay compliment, he deftly secured for
+his mount a feed of corn which was much in excess of that usually
+provided for the money.
+
+‘Ah!’ he said, as he tipped the measure; ‘I can always tell when a woman
+has been pretty; but with you, señora, no such knowledge is required.
+You will have your beauty for many years yet.’
+
+Thus Vara and his horse fared ever well upon the road.  He lingered at
+the stable door, knowing perhaps that corn poured into the manger may yet
+find its way back to the bin, and then turned his steps towards the
+mountain.
+
+The cards were still falling with a whispering sound upon the rock
+selected as a table, and, with the spirit of a true sportsman, Concepçion
+waited until the hand was played out before imparting his news.
+
+‘It is well,’ he said at length.  ‘A carriage has been ordered from a
+friend of mine in Toledo to take the road to-night to Talavera—and
+Talavera is on the way to Lisbon.  What did I tell you?’
+
+The two soldiers nodded.  One was counting his gains, which amounted to
+almost threepence.  The loser wore a brave air of indifference, as
+behoved a reckless soldier taking loss or gain in a Spartan spirit.
+
+‘There will be six men,’ continued Concepçion.  ‘Two on horseback, two on
+the box, two inside the carriage with their prisoner—my friend.’
+
+‘Ah!’ said the younger soldier thoughtfully.
+
+Concepçion looked at him.
+
+‘What have you in your mind?’ he asked.
+
+‘I was wondering how three men could best kill six.’
+
+‘Out of six,’ said the older man, ‘there is always one who runs away.  I
+have found it so in my experience.’
+
+‘And of five there is always one who cannot use his knife,’ added
+Concepçion.
+
+Still the younger soldier, who had medals all across his chest, shook his
+head.
+
+‘I am afraid,’ he said.  ‘I am always afraid before I fight.’
+
+Concepçion looked at the man whom General Vincente had selected from a
+brigade of tried soldiers, and gave a little upward jerk of the head.
+
+‘With me,’ he said, ‘it is afterwards—when all is over.  Then my hand
+shakes, and the wet trickles down my face.’
+
+He laughed, and spread out his hands.
+
+‘And yet,’ he said gaily, ‘it is the best game of all—is it not so?’
+
+The troopers shrugged their shoulders.  One may have too much of even the
+best game.
+
+‘The carriage is ordered for eight o’clock,’ continued the practical
+Concepçion, rolling a cigarette, which he placed behind his ear where a
+clerk would carry his pen.  ‘Those who take the road when the night-birds
+come abroad have something to hide.  We will see what they have in their
+carriage, eh?  The horses are hired for the journey to Galvez, where a
+relay is doubtless ordered.  It will be a fine night for a journey.
+There is a half moon, which is better than the full for those who use the
+knife; but the Galvez horses will not be required, I think.’
+
+The younger soldier, upon whose shoulder gleamed the stars of a rapid
+promotion, looked up to the sky, where a few fleecy clouds were beginning
+to gather above the setting sun like sheep about a gate.
+
+‘A half moon for the knife and a full moon for firearms,’ he said.
+
+‘Yes; and they will shoot quick enough if we give them the chance,’ said
+Concepçion.  ‘They are Carlists!  There is a river between this and
+Galvez—a little stream such as we have in Andalusia—so small that there
+is only a ford and no bridge.  The bed of the river is soft; the horses
+will stop, or, at all events, must go at the walking pace.  Across the
+stream are a few trees’ (he paused, illustrating his description with
+rapid gestures and an imaginary diagram drawn upon the rock with the
+forefinger), ‘ilex, and here, to the left, some pines.  The stream runs
+thus from north-east to south-west.  This bank is high, and over here are
+low-lying meadows where pigs feed.’
+
+He looked up, and the two soldiers nodded.  The position lay before them
+like a bird’s-eye view; and Concepçion, in whom Spain had perhaps lost a
+guerilla general, had only set eyes on the spot once as he rode past it.
+
+‘This matter is best settled on foot; is it not so?  We cross the stream,
+and tie our horses to the pine trees.  I will recross the water, and come
+back to meet the carriage at the top of the hill—here.  The horsemen will
+be in advance.  We will allow them to cross the stream.  The horses will
+come out of the water slowly, or I know nothing of horses.  As they step
+up the incline, you take their riders, and remember to give them the
+chance of running away.  In midstream I will attack the two on the box,
+pulling him who is not driving into the water by his legs, and giving him
+the blade in the right shoulder above the lung.  He will think himself
+dead, but should recover.  Then you must join me.  We shall be three to
+three, unless the Englishman’s hands are loose; then we shall be four to
+three, and need do no man any injury.  The Englishman is as strong as
+two, and quick with it, as big men rarely are.’
+
+‘Do you take a hand?’ asked the Castilian, fingering the cards.
+
+‘No; I have affairs.  Continue your game.’
+
+So the sun went down, and the two soldiers continued their game, while
+Concepçion sat beside them and slowly, lovingly sharpened his knife on a
+piece of slate which he carried in his pocket for the purpose.
+
+After sunset there usually arises a cold breeze which blows across the
+table-lands of Castile quite gently and unobtrusively.  A local proverb
+says of this wind that it will extinguish a man but not a candle.  When
+this arose, the three men descended the mountain-side and sat down to a
+simple if highly-flavoured meal provided by the ancient mistress of the
+venta.  At half-past eight, when there remained nothing of the day but a
+faint greenish light in the western sky, the little party mounted their
+horses and rode away towards Galvez.
+
+‘’Tis better,’ said Concepçion, with a meaning and gallant bow to the
+hostess.  ‘’Tis for my peace of mind.  I am but a man.’
+
+Then he haggled over the price of the supper.
+
+They rode forward to the ford described by Concepçion, and there made
+their preparations—carefully and coolly—as men recognising the odds
+against them.  The half moon was just rising as the soldiers splashed
+through the water leading Concepçion’s horse, he remaining on the Toledo
+side of the river.
+
+‘The saints protect us!’ said the nervous soldier, and his hand shook on
+the bridle.  His companion smiled at the recollection of former fights
+passed through together.  It is well, in love and war, to beware of him
+who says he is afraid.
+
+Shortly after nine o’clock the silence of that deserted plain was broken
+by a distant murmur, which presently shaped itself into the beat of
+horses’ feet.  To this was added soon the rumble of wheels.  The elder
+soldier put a whole cigarette into his mouth and chewed it.  The younger
+man made no movement now.  They crouched low at their posts one on each
+side of the ford.  Concepçion was across the river, but they could not
+see him.  In Andalusia they say that a contrabandist can conceal himself
+behind half a brick.
+
+The two riders were well in front of the carriage, and, as had been
+foreseen, the horses lingered on the rise of the bank as if reluctant to
+leave the water without having tasted it.  In a moment the younger
+soldier had his man out of the saddle, raising his own knee sharply as
+the man fell, so that the falling head and the lifted knee came into
+deadly contact.  It was a trick well known to the trooper, who let the
+insensible form roll to the ground, and immediately darted down the bank
+to the stream.  The other soldier was chasing his opponent up the hill,
+shelling him, as he rode away, with oaths and stones.
+
+In mid-stream the clumsy travelling carriage had come to a standstill.
+The driver on the box, having cast down his reins, was engaged in
+imploring the assistance of a black-letter saint, upon which assistance
+he did not hesitate to put a price, in candles.  There was a scurrying in
+the water, which was about two feet deep, where Concepçion was settling
+accounts with the man who had been seated by the driver’s side.  A
+half-choked scream of pain appeared to indicate that Concepçion had found
+the spot he sought, above the right lung, and that amiable smuggler now
+rose dripping from the flood and hurried to the carriage.
+
+‘Conyngham!’ he shouted, laying aside that ceremony upon which he never
+set great store.
+
+‘Yes,’ answered a voice from within.  ‘Is that you, Concepçion?’
+
+‘Of course; throw them out.’
+
+‘But the door is locked,’ answered Conyngham in a muffled voice.  And the
+carriage began to rock and crack upon its springs, as if an earthquake
+were taking place inside it.
+
+‘The window is good enough for such rubbish,’ said Concepçion.  As he
+spoke a man, violently propelled from within, came head foremost, and
+most blasphemously vociferous, into Concepçion’s arms, who immediately,
+and with the rapidity of a terrier, had him by the throat and forced him
+under water.
+
+‘You have hold of my leg—you, on the other side,’ shouted Conyngham from
+the turmoil within.
+
+‘A thousand pardons, señor!’ said the soldier, and took a new grip of
+another limb.
+
+Concepçion, holding his man under water, heard the sharp crack of another
+head upon the soldier’s kneecap, and knew that all was well.
+
+‘That is all?’ he inquired.
+
+‘That is all,’ replied the soldier, who did not seem at all nervous now.
+‘And we have killed no one.’
+
+‘Put a knife into that son of a mule who prays upon the box there,’ said
+Concepçion judicially.  ‘This is no time for prayer.  Just where the neck
+joins the shoulder—that is a good place.’
+
+And a sudden silence reigned upon the box.
+
+‘Pull the carriage to the bank,’ commanded Concepçion.  ‘There is no need
+for the English Excellency to wet his feet.  He might catch a cold.’
+
+They all made their way to the bank, where, in the dim moonlight, one man
+sat nursing his shoulder while another lay, at length, quite still, upon
+the pebbles.
+
+The young soldier laid a second victim to the same deadly trick beside
+him, while Concepçion patted his foe kindly on the back.
+
+‘It is well,’ he said, ‘you have swallowed water.  You will be sick, and
+then you will be well.  But if you move from that spot I will let the
+water out another way.’
+
+And, laughing pleasantly at this delicate display of humour, he turned to
+help Conyngham, who was clambering out of the carriage window.
+
+‘Whom have you with you?’ asked Conyngham.
+
+‘Two honest soldiers of General Vincente’s division.  You see, señor, you
+have good friends.’
+
+‘Yes, I see that.’
+
+‘One of them,’ said Concepçion meaningly, ‘is at Toledo at the moment,
+journeying after you.
+
+‘Ah!’
+
+‘The Señor Pleydell.’
+
+‘Then we will go back to meet him.’
+
+‘I thought so,’ said Concepçion.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+A CROSS-EXAMINATION
+
+
+            ‘Wherein I am false I am honest—not true to be true.’
+
+‘I WILL sing you a contrabandista song,’ said Concepçion, as the party
+rode towards Toledo in the moonlight.  ‘The song we—they sing when the
+venture has been successful.  You may hear it any dark night in the
+streets of Gaucin.’
+
+‘Sing,’ said the older soldier, ‘if it is in your lungs.  For us—we
+prefer to travel silent.’
+
+Conyngham, mounted on the horse from which the Carlist rider had been
+dragged unceremoniously enough, rode a few paces in front.  The carriage
+had been left behind at the venta, where no questions were asked, and the
+injured men revived readily enough.
+
+‘It is well,’ answered Concepçion, in no way abashed.  ‘I will sing.  In
+Andalusia we can all sing.  The pigs sing better there than the men of
+Castile.’
+
+It was after midnight when the party rode past the Church of the Cristo
+de la Vega, and faced the long hill that leads to the gate Del Cambron.
+Above them towered the city of Toledo—silent and dreamlike.  Concepçion
+had ceased singing now, and the hard breathing of the horses alone broke
+the silence.  The Tagus, emerging here from rocky fastness, flowed
+noiselessly away to the west—a gleaming ribbon laid across the breast of
+the night.  In the summer it is no uncommon thing for travellers to take
+the road by night in Spain, and although many doubtless heard the clatter
+of horses’ feet on the polished cobble stones of the city, none rose from
+bed to watch the horsemen pass.
+
+At that time Toledo possessed, and indeed to the present day can boast
+of, but one good inn—a picturesque old house in the Plaza de Zocodover,
+overhung by the mighty Alcazar.  Here Cervantes must have eaten and
+Lazarillo de Tormes no doubt caroused.  Here those melancholy men and
+mighty humorists must have delighted the idler by their talk.  Concepçion
+soon aroused the sleeping porter, and the great doors being thrown open,
+the party passed into the courtyard without quitting the saddle.
+
+‘It is,’ said Concepçion, ‘an English Excellency and his suite.’
+
+‘We have another such in the house,’ answered the sleepy doorkeeper,
+‘though he travels with but one servant.’
+
+‘We know that, my friend, which is the reason why we patronise your
+dog-hole of an inn.  See that the two Excellencies breakfast together at
+a table apart in the morning.’
+
+‘You will have matters to speak about with the Señor Pleydell in the
+morning,’ said Concepçion, as he unpacked Conyngham’s luggage a few
+minutes later.
+
+‘Yes, I should like to speak to Señor Pleydell.’
+
+‘And I,’ said Concepçion, turning round with a brush in his hand, ‘should
+like a moment’s conversation with Señor Larralde.’
+
+‘Ah!’
+
+‘Yes, Excellency, he is in this matter too.  But the Señor Larralde is so
+modest—so modest!  He always remains in the background.’
+
+In the tents of Kedar men sleep as sound as those who lie on soft
+pillows, and Conyngham was late astir the next morning.  Sir John
+Pleydell was, it transpired, already at his breakfast, and had ordered
+his carriage for an early hour to take the road to Talavera.  It was thus
+evident that Sir John knew nothing of the arrival of his
+fellow-countryman at midnight.
+
+The cold face of the great lawyer wore a look of satisfaction as he sat
+at a small table in the patio of the hotel and drank his coffee.
+Conyngham watched him for a moment from the balcony of the courtyard,
+himself unseen, while Concepçion stood within his master’s bedroom, and
+rubbed his brown hands together in anticipation of a dramatic moment.
+Conyngham passed down the stone steps and crossed the patio with a gay
+smile.  Sir John recognised him as he emerged from the darkness of the
+stairway, but his face betrayed neither surprise nor fear.  There was a
+look in the grey eyes, however, that seemed to betoken doubt.  Such a
+look a man might wear who had long travelled with assurance upon a road
+which he took to be the right one, and then at a turning found himself in
+a strange country with no landmark to guide him.
+
+Sir John Pleydell had always outwitted his fellows.  He had, in fact,
+been what is called a successful man—a little cleverer, a little more
+cunning than those around him.
+
+He looked up now at Conyngham, who was drawing forward a chair to the
+neighbouring table, and the cold eye, which had been the dread of many a
+criminal, wavered.
+
+‘The waiter has set my breakfast near to yours,’ said Conyngham,
+unconcernedly seating himself.
+
+And Concepçion in the balcony above cursed the English for a cold-blooded
+race.  This was not the sort of meeting he had anticipated.  He could
+throw a knife very prettily, and gave a short sigh of regret as he turned
+to his peaceful duties.
+
+Conyngham examined the simple fare provided for him, and then looked
+towards his companion with that cheerfulness which is too rare in this
+world; for it is born of a great courage, and outward circumstances
+cannot affect it.  Sir John Pleydell had lost all interest in his meal,
+and was looking keenly at Conyngham—dissecting, as it were, his face,
+probing his mind, searching through the outward manner of the man, and
+running helplessly against a motive which he failed to understand.
+
+‘I have in my long experience found that all men may be divided into two
+classes,’ he said acidly.
+
+‘Fools and knaves?’ suggested Conyngham.
+
+‘You have practised at the Bar,’ parenthetically.
+
+Conyngham shrugged his shoulders.
+
+‘Unsuccessfully—anybody can do that.’
+
+‘Which are you—a fool or a knave?’ asked Sir John.
+
+And suddenly Conyngham pitied him.  For no man is proof against the quick
+sense of pathos aroused by the sight of man, or dumb animal, baffled.  At
+the end of his life Sir John had engaged upon the greatest quest of it—an
+unworthy quest, no doubt, but his heart was in it—and he was an old man,
+though be bore his years well enough.
+
+‘Perhaps that is the mistake you have always made,’ said Conyngham
+gravely.  ‘Perhaps men are not to be divided into two classes.  There may
+be some who only make mistakes, Sir John.’
+
+Unconsciously he had lapsed into the advocate, as those who have once
+played the part are apt to do.  This was not his own cause, but Geoffrey
+Horner’s.  And he served his friend so thoroughly that for the moment he
+really was the man whose part he had elected to play.  Sir John Pleydell
+was no mean foe.  Geoffrey Horner had succeeded in turning aside the
+public suspicion, and in the eternal march of events, of which the sound
+is louder as the world grows older and hollower, the murder of Alfred
+Pleydell had been forgotten by all save his father.  Conyngham saw the
+danger, and never thought to avoid it.  What had been undertaken half in
+jest would be carried out in deadly earnest.
+
+‘Mistakes,’ said Sir John sceptically.  In dealing with the seamy side of
+life men come to believe that it is all stitches.
+
+‘Which they may pass the rest of their lives in regretting.’
+
+Sir John looked sharply at his companion, with suspicion dawning in his
+eyes again.  It was Conyngham’s tendency to overplay his part.  Later,
+when he became a soldier, and found that path in life for which he was
+best fitted, his superior officers and the cooler tacticians complained
+that he was over-eager, and in battle outpaced the men he led.
+
+‘Then you see now that it was a mistake?’ suggested Sir John.  In
+cross-examinations the suggestions of Sir John Pleydell are remembered in
+certain courts of justice to this day.
+
+‘Of course.’
+
+‘To have mixed yourself in such an affair at all?’
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+Sir John seemed to be softening, and Conyngham began to see a way out of
+this difficulty which had never suggested itself to him before.
+
+‘Such mistakes have to be paid for—and the law assesses the price.’
+
+Conyngham shrugged his shoulders.
+
+‘It is easy enough to say you are sorry—the law can make no allowance for
+regret.’
+
+Conyngham turned his attention to his breakfast, deeming it useless to
+continue the topic.
+
+‘It was a mistake to attend the meeting at Durham—you admit that?’
+continued Sir John.
+
+‘Yes—I admit that, if it is any satisfaction to you.’
+
+‘Then it was worse than a mistake to actually lead the men out to my
+house for the purpose of breaking the windows.  It was almost a crime.  I
+would suggest to you, as a soldier for the moment, to lead a charge up a
+steep hill against a body of farm labourers and others entrenched behind
+a railing.’
+
+‘That is a mere matter of opinion.’
+
+‘And yet you did that,’ said Sir John.  ‘If you are going to break the
+law you should insure success before embarking on your undertaking.’
+
+Conyngham made no answer.
+
+‘It was also a stupid error, if I may say so, to make your way back to
+Durham by Ravensworth, where you were seen and recognised.  You see I
+have a good case against you, Mr. Conyngham.’
+
+‘Yes, I admit you have a good case against me, but you have not caught me
+yet.’
+
+Sir John Pleydell looked at him coldly.
+
+‘You do not even take the trouble to deny the facts I have named.’
+
+‘Why should I, when they are true?’ asked Conyngham carelessly.
+
+Sir John Pleydell leant back in his chair.
+
+‘I have classified you,’ he said with a queer laugh.
+
+‘Ah!’ answered Conyngham, suddenly uneasy.
+
+‘Yes—as a fool.’
+
+He leant forward with a deprecating gesture of his thin white hand.
+
+‘Do not be offended,’ he said, ‘and do not reproach yourself for having
+given your case away.  You never had a case, Mr. Conyngham.  Chartists
+are not made of your material at all.  As soon as you gave me your card
+in Madrid, I had a slight suspicion.  I thought you were travelling under
+a false name.  It was plain to the merest onlooker that you were not the
+man I sought.  You are too easy-going, too much of a gentleman to be a
+Chartist.  You are screening somebody else.  You have played the part
+well, and with an admirable courage and fidelity.  I wish my boy Alfred
+had had a few such friends as you.  But you are a fool, Mr. Conyngham.
+No man on earth is worth the sacrifice that you have made.’
+
+Conyngham slowly stirred his coffee.  He was meditating.
+
+‘You have pieced together a very pretty tale,’ he said at length.  ‘Some
+new scheme to get me within the reach of the English law, no doubt.’
+
+‘It is a pretty tale—too pretty for practical life.  And if you want
+proofs I will mention the fact that the Chartist meeting was at
+Chester-le-Street, not Durham; that my house stands in a hollow and not
+on a hill; that you could not possibly go to Durham _viâ_ Ravensworth,
+for they lie in opposite directions.  No, Mr. Conyngham, you are not the
+man I seek.  And, strange to say, I took a liking to you when I first saw
+you.  I am no believer in instinct, or mutual sympathy, or any such
+sentimental nonsense.  I do not believe in much, Mr. Conyngham, and not
+in human nature at all.  I know too much about it for that.  But there
+must have been something in that liking for you at first sight.  I wish
+you no harm, Mr. Conyngham.  I am like Balaam—I came to curse, and now
+stay to bless.  Or, perhaps, I am more like Balaam’s companion and
+adviser—I bray too much.’
+
+He sat back again with a queer smile.
+
+‘You may go home to England to-morrow if you care to,’ he added, after a
+pause, ‘and if that affair is ever raked up against you I will be your
+counsel, if you will have me.’
+
+‘Thank you.’
+
+‘You do not want to go home to England?’ suggested Sir John, whose ear
+was as quick as his eye.
+
+‘No, I have affairs in Spain.’
+
+‘Or—perhaps a castle here.  Beware of such—I once had one.’
+
+And the cold grey face softened for an instant.  It seemed at times as if
+there were after all a man behind that marble casing.
+
+‘A man who can secure such a friendship as yours has proved itself to
+be,’ said Sir John after a short silence, ‘can scarcely be wholly bad.
+He may, as you say, have made a mistake.  I promise nothing; but perhaps
+I will make no further attempts to find him.’
+
+Conyngham was silent.  To speak would have been to admit.
+
+‘So far as I am concerned,’ said Sir John, rising, ‘you are safe in this
+or any country.  But I warn you—you have a dangerous enemy in Spain.’
+
+‘I know,’ answered Conyngham, with a laugh, ‘Mr. Esteban Larralde.  I
+once undertook to deliver a letter for him.  It was not what he
+represented it to be, and after I had delivered it he began to suspect me
+of having read it.  He is kind enough to consider me of some importance
+in the politics of this country owing to the information I am supposed to
+possess.  I know nothing of the contents of the letter, but I want to
+regain it—if only for a few moments.  That is the whole story, and that
+is how matters stand between Larralde and myself.’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+REPARATION
+
+
+    ‘Il s’en faut bien que l’innocence trouve autant de protection que le
+                                   crime.’
+
+FOR those minded to leave Spain at this time, there was but one route,
+namely, the south, for the northern exits were closed by the Carlists,
+still in power there, though thinning fast.  Indeed, Don Carlos was now
+illustrating the fact, which any may learn by the study of the world’s
+history, that it is not the great causes, but the great men, who have
+made and destroyed nations.  Nearly half of Spain was for Don Carlos.
+The Church sided with him, and the best soldiers were those who, unpaid,
+unfed, and half clad, fought on the southern slopes of the Pyrenees for a
+man who dared not lead them.
+
+Sir John Pleydell had intended crossing the frontier into Portugal,
+following the carriage conveying his prisoner to the seaport of Lisbon,
+where he anticipated no difficulty in finding a ship captain who would be
+willing to carry Conyngham to England.  All this, however, had been
+frustrated by so unimportant a person as Concepçion Vara, and the
+carriage ordered for nine o’clock to proceed to Talavera now stood in the
+courtyard of the hotel, while the Baronet in his lonely apartment sat and
+wondered what he should do next.  He had dealt with justice all his life,
+and had ensued it not from love, but as a matter of convenience and a
+means of livelihood.  From the mere habit, he now desired to do justice
+to Conyngham.
+
+‘See if you can find out for me the whereabouts of General Vincente at
+the moment, and let the carriage wait,’ he said to his servant, a
+valet-courier of taciturn habit.
+
+The man was absent about half an hour, and returned with a face that
+promised little.
+
+‘There is a man in the hotel, sir,’ he said, ‘the servant of Mr.
+Conyngham, who knows, but will not tell me.  I am told, however, that a
+lady living in Toledo, a Contessa Barenna, will undoubtedly have the
+information.  General Vincente was lately in Madrid, but his movements
+are so rapid and uncertain, that he has become a by-word in Spain.’
+
+‘So I understand.  I will call on this Contessa this afternoon, unless
+you can get the information elsewhere during the morning.  I shall not
+want the carriage.’
+
+Sir John walked slowly to the window, deep in thought.  He was interested
+in Conyngham, despite himself.  It is possible that he had not hitherto
+met a man capable of so far forgetting his own interests as to undertake
+a foolish and dangerous escapade without anything in the nature of gain
+or advantage to recommend it.  The windows of the hotel of the Comercio
+in Toledo look out upon the market-place, and Sir John, who was an indoor
+man, and mentally active enough to be intensely bored at times,
+frequently used this opportunity of studying Spanish life.
+
+He was looking idly through the vile panes, when an old priest passed by,
+and glanced up beneath shaggy brows.
+
+‘Seen that man before,’ said Sir John.
+
+‘Ah!’ muttered Father Concha, as he hurried on towards the Palazzo
+Barenna.  ‘So far, so good.  Where the fox is, will be found the stolen
+fowl.’
+
+Concepçion Vara, who was saddling his horse in the stable yard of the
+inn, saw the Padre pass.
+
+‘Ah, clever one!’ he muttered, ‘with your jokes about my wife.  Now you
+may make a false journey for all the help you receive from me.’
+
+And a few minutes later Concepçion rode across the Bridge of Alcantara,
+some paces behind Conyngham, who deemed it wise to return to his duties
+at Madrid without delay.
+
+Despite the great heat on the plains, which, indeed, made it almost
+dangerous to travel at midday, the streets of Toledo were cool and shady
+enough, as Sir John Pleydell traversed them in search of the Palazzo
+Barenna.  The Contessa was in, and the Englishman was ushered into a vast
+room, which even the taste of the day could not entirely deprive of its
+mediæval grandeur.  Sir John explained to the servant in halting Spanish
+that his name was unknown to the Señora Barenna, but that—a stranger in
+some slight difficulty—he had been recommended to seek her assistance.
+
+Sir John was an imposing-looking man, with that grand air which enables
+some men not only to look, but to get over a wall while an insignificant
+wight may not so much as approach the gate.  The señora’s curiosity did
+the rest.  In a few minutes the rustle of silk made Sir John turn from
+the contemplation of a suit of armour.
+
+‘Madame speaks French?’
+
+‘But yes, señor.’
+
+Madame Barenna glanced towards a chair, which Sir John hastened to bring
+forward.  He despised her already, and she admired his manner vastly.
+
+‘I have taken the immense liberty of intruding myself upon your notice,
+Madame.’
+
+‘Not to sell me a Bible?’ exclaimed Señora Barenna, with her fan upheld
+in warning.
+
+‘A Bible!  I believe I have one at home, in England, Madame, but—’
+
+‘It is well,’ said Madame sinking back and fanning herself rather
+faintly.  ‘Excuse my fears.  But there is an Englishman—what is his name?
+I forget.’
+
+‘Borrow.’
+
+‘Yes; that is it, Borrow.  And he sells Bibles; and Father Concha, my
+confessor, a bear, but a holy man—a holy bear, as one might say—has
+forbidden me to buy one.  I am so afraid of disobeying him, by
+heedlessness or forgetfulness.  There are, it appears, some things in the
+Bible which one ought not to read, and one naturally—’
+
+She finished the sentence with a shrug, and an expressive gesture of the
+fan.
+
+‘One naturally desires to read them,’ suggested Sir John.  ‘The privilege
+of all Eve’s daughters, Madame.’
+
+Señora Barenna treated the flatterer to what the French call a _fin
+sourire_, and wondered how long Julia would stay away.  This man would
+pay her a compliment in another moment.
+
+‘I merely called on the excuse of a common friendship, to ask if you can
+tell me the whereabouts of General Vincente,’ said Sir John, stating his
+business in haste and when the opportunity presented itself.
+
+‘Is it politics?’ asked the lady, with a hasty glance round the room.
+
+‘No, it is scarcely politics; but why do you ask?  You are surely too
+wise, Madame, to take part in such.  It is a woman’s mission to
+please—and when it is so easy!’
+
+He waved his thin white hand in completion of a suggestion which made his
+hearer bridle her stout person.
+
+‘No, no,’ she whispered, glancing over her shoulder at the door.  ‘No; it
+is my daughter.  Ah! señor, you can scarce imagine what it is to live
+upon a volcano!’
+
+And she pointed to the oaken floor with her fan.  Sir John deemed it wise
+to confine his display of sympathy to a glance of the deepest concern.
+
+‘No,’ he said; ‘it is merely a personal matter.  I have a communication
+to make to my friend General Vincente or to his daughter.’
+
+‘To Estella?’
+
+‘To the Señorita Estella.’
+
+‘Do you think her beautiful?  Some do, you know.  Eyes—I admit—yes,
+lovely.’
+
+‘I admire the señorita exceedingly.’
+
+‘Ah yes, yes.  You have not seen my daughter, have you, señor?  Julia—she
+rather resembles Estella.’
+
+Señora Barenna paused and examined her fan with a careless air.
+
+‘Some say,’ she went on, apparently with reluctance, ‘that Julia
+is—well—has some advantages over Estella.  But _I_ do not, of course.  I
+admire Estella, excessively—oh yes, yes.’
+
+And the señora’s dark eyes searched Sir John’s face.  They might have
+found more in sculptured marble.
+
+‘Do you know where she is?’ asked Sir John, almost bluntly.  Like a
+workman who has mistaken his material, he was laying aside his finer
+conversational tools.
+
+‘Well, I believe they arrive in Toledo this evening.  I cannot think why.
+But with General Vincente one never knows.  He is so pleasant, so
+playful—such a smile—but you know him.  Well, they say in Spain that he
+is always where he is wanted.  Ah!’ Madame paused and cast her eyes up to
+the ceiling, ‘what it is to be wanted somewhere, señor.’
+
+And she gave him the benefit of one of her deepest sighs.  Sir John
+mentally followed the direction of her glance, and wondered what the late
+Count thought about it.
+
+‘Yes, I am deeply interested in Estella—as indeed is natural, for she is
+my niece.  She has no mother, and the General has such absurd ideas.  He
+thinks that a girl is capable of choosing a husband for herself.  But to
+you—an Englishman—such an idea is naturally not astonishing.  I am told
+that in your country it is the girls who actually propose marriage.’
+
+‘Not in words, Madame—not more in England than elsewhere.’
+
+‘Ah,’ said Madame, looking at him doubtfully, and thinking, despite
+herself, of Father Concha.
+
+Sir John rose from the chair he had taken at the señora’s silent
+invitation.
+
+‘Then I may expect the General to arrive at my hotel this evening,’ he
+said.  ‘I am staying at the Comercio, the only hotel, as I understand, in
+Toledo.’
+
+‘Yes, he will doubtless descend there.  Do you know Frederick Conyngham,
+señor?’
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘But everyone knows him!’ exclaimed the lady vivaciously.  ‘Tell me how
+it is.  A most pleasant young man, I allow you—but without introductions
+and quite unconnected.  Yet he has friends everywhere.’
+
+She paused and, closing her fan, leant forward in an attitude of intense
+confidence and secrecy.
+
+‘And how about his little affair?’ she whispered.
+
+‘His little affair, Madame?’
+
+‘De cœur,’ explained the lady, tapping her own breast with an eloquent
+fan.
+
+‘Estella,’ she whispered after a pause.
+
+‘Ah!’ said Sir John, as if he knew too much about it to give an opinion.
+And he took his leave.
+
+‘That is the sort of woman to break one’s heart in the witness box,’ he
+said as he passed out into the deserted street, and Señora Barenna, in
+the great room with the armour, reflected complacently that the English
+lord had been visibly impressed.
+
+General Vincente and Estella arrived at the hotel in the evening, but did
+not of course appear in the public rooms.  The dusty old travelling
+carriage was placed in a quiet corner of the courtyard of the hotel, and
+the General appeared on this, as on all occasions, to court retirement
+and oblivion.  Unlike many of his brothers-in-arms, he had no desire to
+catch the public eye.
+
+‘There is doubtless something astir,’ said the waiter, who, in the
+intervals of a casual attendance on Sir John, spoke of these things,
+cigarette in mouth.  ‘There is doubtless something astir, since General
+Vincente is on the road.  They call him the Stormy Petrel, for when he
+appears abroad there usually follows a disturbance.’
+
+Sir John sent his servant to the General’s apartment about eight o’clock
+in the evening asking permission to present himself.  In reply, the
+General himself came to Sir John’s room.
+
+‘My dear sir,’ he cried, taking both the Englishman’s hands in an
+affectionate grasp, ‘to think that you were in the hotel and that we did
+not dine together.  Come, yes, come to our poor apartment, where Estella
+awaits the pleasure of renewing your acquaintance.’
+
+‘Then the señorita,’ said Sir John, following his companion along the
+dimly-lighted passage, ‘has her father’s pleasant faculty of forgetting
+any little _contretemps_ of the past?’
+
+‘Ask her,’ exclaimed the General in his cheery way.  ‘Ask her.’  And he
+threw open the door of the dingy salon they occupied.
+
+Estella was standing with her back to the window, and her attitude
+suggested that she had not sat down since she had heard of Sir John’s
+presence in the hotel.
+
+‘Señorita,’ said the Englishman, with that perfect knowledge of the world
+which usually has its firmest basis upon indifference to criticism,
+‘señorita, I have come to avow a mistake and to make my excuses.’
+
+‘It is surely unnecessary,’ said Estella, rather coldly.
+
+‘Say rather,’ broke in the General in his smoothest way, ‘that you have
+come to take a cup of coffee with us and to tell us your news.’
+
+Sir John took the chair which the General brought forward.
+
+‘At all events,’ he said, still addressing Estella, ‘it is probably a
+matter of indifference to you, as it is merely an opinion expressed by
+myself which I wish to retract.  When I first had the pleasure of meeting
+you, I took it upon myself to speak of a guest in your father’s house,
+fortunately in the presence of that guest himself, and I now wish to tell
+you that what I said does not apply to Frederick Conyngham himself, but
+to another whom Conyngham is screening.  He has not confessed so much to
+me, but I have satisfied myself that he is not the man I seek.  You,
+General, who know more of the world than the señorita, and have been in
+it almost as long as I have, can bear me out in the statement that the
+motives of men are not so easy to discern as younger folks imagine.  I do
+not know what induced Conyngham to undertake this thing; probably he
+entered into it in a spirit of impetuous and reckless generosity, which
+would only be in keeping with his character.  I only know that he has
+carried it out with a thoroughness and daring worthy of all praise.  If
+such a tie were possible between an old man and a young, I should like to
+be able to claim Mr. Conyngham as a friend.  There, señorita—thank you, I
+will take coffee.  I made the accusation in your presence.  I retract it
+before you.  It is, as you see, a small matter.’
+
+‘But it is of small matters that life is made up,’ put in the General in
+his deferential way.  ‘Our friend,’ he went on after a pause, ‘is
+unfortunate in misrepresenting himself.  We also have a little grudge
+against him—a little matter of a letter which has not been explained.  I
+admit that I should like to see that letter.’
+
+‘And where is it?’ asked Sir John.
+
+‘Ah!’ replied Vincente, with a shrug of the shoulders and a gay little
+laugh, ‘who can tell?  Perhaps in Toledo, my dear sir—perhaps in Toledo.’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+LARRALDE’S PRICE
+
+
+    ‘It is as difficult to be entirely bad as it is to be entirely good.’
+
+TO those who say that there is no Faith, Spain is in itself a palpable
+answer.  No country in the world can show such cathedrals as those of
+Granada, Cordova, Seville, Toledo, Burgos.  In any other land any one of
+these great structures would suffice.  But in Spain these huge monuments
+to that Faith which has held serenely through war and fashion, through
+thought and thoughtlessness, are to be found in all the great cities.
+And the queen of them all is Toledo.
+
+Father Concha, that sour-visaged philosopher, had a queer pride in his
+profession and in the history of that Church which is to-day seen in its
+purest form in the Peninsula, while it is so entangled with the national
+story of Spain that the two are but one tale told from a different point
+of view.  As a private soldier may take pleasure in standing on a great
+battlefield noting each spot of interest—here a valley of death, there
+the scene of a cavalry charge of which the thunder will echo down through
+all the ages—so Concha, a mere country priest, liked to pace the aisles
+of a great cathedral, indulging the while in a half-cynical pride.  He
+was no great general, no leader, of no importance in the ranks.  But he
+was of the army, and partook in a minute degree in those victories that
+belonged to the past.  It was his habit thus to pay a visit to Toledo
+Cathedral whensoever his journeys led him to Castile.  It was, moreover,
+his simple custom to attend the early mass which is here historical; and,
+indeed, to walk through the church, grey and cool, with the hush that
+seems to belong only to buildings of stupendous age, is in itself a
+religious service.
+
+Concha was passing across the nave, hat in hand, a gaunt, ill-clad, and
+somewhat pathetic figure, when he caught sight of Sir John Pleydell.  The
+Englishman paused involuntarily and looked at the Spaniard.  Concha
+bowed.
+
+‘We met,’ he said, ‘for a moment in the garden of General Vincente’s
+house at Ronda.’
+
+‘True,’ answered Sir John.  ‘Are you leaving the Cathedral?  We might
+walk a little way together.  One cannot talk idly—here.’
+
+He paused and looked up at the great oak screen—at the towering masonry.
+
+‘No,’ answered Concha gravely.  ‘One cannot talk idly here.’
+
+Concha held back the great leathern _portière_, and the Englishman passed
+out.
+
+‘This is a queer country, and you are a queer people,’ he said presently.
+‘When I was at Ronda I met a certain number of persons—I can count them
+on my fingers.  General Vincente, his daughter, Señora Barenna, Señorita
+Barenna, the Englishman Conyngham, yourself, Señor Concha.  I arrived in
+Toledo yesterday morning; in twenty-four hours I have caught sight of all
+the persons mentioned, here in Toledo.’
+
+‘And here, in Toledo, is another of whom you have not caught sight,’ said
+Concha.
+
+‘Ah?’
+
+‘Yes; Señor Larralde.’
+
+‘Is he here?’
+
+‘Yes,’ said Concha.
+
+They walked on in silence for some minutes.
+
+‘What are we all doing here, Padre?’ inquired Sir John, with his cold
+laugh.
+
+‘What are you doing here, señor?’
+
+Sir John did not answer at once.  They were walking leisurely.  The
+streets were deserted, as indeed the streets of Toledo usually are.
+
+‘I am putting two and two together,’ the great lawyer answered at length.
+‘I began doing so in idleness, and now I have become interested.’
+
+‘Ah!’
+
+‘Yes.  I have become interested.  They say, Padre, that a pebble set in
+motion at the summit of a mountain may gather other pebbles and increase
+in bulk and speed until, in the form of an avalanche, it overwhelms a
+city in the valley.’
+
+‘Yes, señor.’
+
+‘And I have conceived the strange fancy that Frederick Conyngham, when he
+first came to this country, set such a pebble in motion at the summit of
+a very high mountain.  It has been falling and falling silently ever
+since, and it is gaining in bulk.  And you, and General Vincente, and
+Estella Vincente, and Señorita Barenna, and Frederick Conyngham, and in a
+minor degree myself, are on the slope in the track of the avalanche, and
+are sliding down behind it.  And the General and Estella, and yourself
+and Conyngham, are trying to overtake it and stop it.  And, reverendo, in
+the valley below is the monarchy of Spain—the Bourbon cause.’
+
+Father Concha, remembering his favourite maxim that no flies enter a shut
+mouth, was silent.
+
+‘The pebble was a letter,’ said Sir John.
+
+‘And Larralde has it,’ he added after a pause.  ‘And that is why you are
+all in Toledo—why the air is thick with apprehension, and why all Spain
+seems to pause and wait breathlessly.  Will the avalanche be stopped, or
+will it not?  Will the Bourbons—than whom history has known no more
+interesting and more unsatisfactory race, except our own Stuarts—will the
+Bourbons fall, Señor Padre?’
+
+‘Ah!’ said Concha, whose furrowed face and pessimistic glance betrayed
+nothing.  ‘Ah!’
+
+‘You will not tell me, of course.  You know much that you will not tell
+me, and I merely ask you from curiosity.  You perhaps know one thing, and
+that I wish to learn from you—not out of curiosity, but because I, too,
+would fain overtake the avalanche and stop it.  I am no politician,
+señor, though of course I have my views.  When a man has reached my age,
+he knows assuredly that politics merely mean self-aggrandisement, and
+nothing else.  No—the Bourbons may fall; Spain may follow the lead of
+France and make an exhibition of herself before the world as a Republic.
+I am indifferent to these events.  But I wish to do Frederick Conyngham a
+good turn, and I ask you to tell me where I shall find Larralde—you who
+know everything, Señor Padre.’
+
+Concha reflected while they walked along on the shady side of the narrow
+street.  It happened to be the street where the saddlers live, and the
+sharp sound of their little hammers on leather and wood came from almost
+every darkened doorway.  The Padre had a wholesome fear of Esteban
+Larralde, and an exaggerated estimation of that schemer’s ability.  He
+was a humble-minded old man, and ever hesitated to pit his own brain
+against that of another.  He knew that Sir John was a cleverer man than
+Larralde, deeper versed in that side of human nature where the seams are
+and the knots and the unsightly stitches; older, more experienced, and
+probably no more scrupulous.
+
+‘Yes,’ said the priest, ‘I can tell you that.  Larralde lodges in the
+house of a malcontent, one Lamberto, a scribbling journalist, who is hurt
+because the world takes him at its own valuation and not at his.  The
+house is next to the little synagogue in the Calle de Madrid, a small
+stationer’s shop, where one may buy the curse of this generation—pens and
+paper.’
+
+‘Thank you,’ said Sir John, civilly and simply.  This man has no doubt
+been ill-painted, but some may have seen that with different companions
+he wore a different manner.  He was, as all successful men are, an
+unconscious actor, and in entering into the personality of the companion
+of the moment he completely sank his own.  He never sought to be all
+things to all men, and yet he came near to the accomplishment of that
+hard task.  Sir John was not a sympathetic man; he merely mistook life
+for a court of justice, and arraigned all human nature in the
+witness-box, with the inward conviction that this should by rights be
+exchanged for the felon’s dock.
+
+With Concha he was as simple, as direct, and as unsophisticated as the
+old priest himself, and now took his leave without attempting to disguise
+the fact that he had accomplished a foreset purpose.
+
+Without difficulty he found the small stationer’s shop next to the
+synagogue in the Calle de Madrid, and bade the stationer—a spectacled
+individual with upright hair and the air of seeking something in the
+world which is not usually behind a counter—take his card to Señor
+Larralde.  At first the stationer pretended ignorance of the name, but on
+discovering that Sir John had not sufficient Spanish to conduct a
+conversation of intrigue, disappeared into a back room, whence emanated a
+villanous smell of cooking.
+
+While Sir John waited in the little shop, Father Concha walked to the
+Plazuela de l’Iglesia Vieja, which small square, overhanging the Tagus
+and within reach of its murmuring voice, is deserted except at midday,
+when the boys play at bull-fighting and a few workmen engage in a grave
+game of bowls.  Concha sat, book in hand, opened honestly at the office
+of the day and hour, and read no word.  Instead, he stared across the
+gorge at the brown bank of land which commands the city and renders it
+useless as a fortress in the days of modern artillery.  He sat and stared
+grimly, and thought perhaps of those secret springs within the human
+heart that make one man successful and unhappy, while another, possessing
+brains and ability and energy, fails in life, yet is perhaps the happier
+of the two.  For it had happened to Father Concha, as it may happen to
+writer and reader at any moment, to meet one who in individuality bears a
+resemblance to that self which we never know and yet are ever conscious
+of.
+
+Sir John Pleydell, a few hundred yards away, obeyed the shopman’s
+invitation to step upstairs with something approaching alacrity.
+
+Larralde was seated at a table strewn with newspapers and soiled by
+cigarette ash.  He had the unkempt and pallid look of one who has not
+seen the sun or breathed fresh air for days.  For, as Concepçion had
+said, this was a conspirator who preferred to lurk in friendly shelter
+while others played the bolder game at the front.  Larralde had, in fact,
+not stirred abroad for nearly a week.
+
+‘Well, señor,’ he said, with a false air of bravado.  ‘How fares it with
+your little undertaking?’
+
+‘That,’ replied Sir John, ‘is past—and paid for.  And I have another
+matter for your consideration.  Conyngham is not, after all, the man I
+seek.’
+
+Sir John’s manner had changed.  He spoke as one having authority.  And
+Larralde shrugged his shoulders, remembering a past payment.
+
+‘Ah!’ he said, rolling a cigarette with a fine air of indifference.
+
+‘On the one hand,’ continued Sir John judicially, ‘I come to make you an
+offer which can only be beneficial to you; on the other hand, Señor
+Larralde, I know enough to make things particularly unpleasant for you.’
+
+Larralde raised his eyebrows and sought the matchbox.  His thoughts
+seemed to amuse him.
+
+‘I have reason to assume that a certain letter is now in your possession
+again.  I do not know the contents of this letter, and I cannot say that
+I am at all interested in it.  But a friend of mine is particularly
+anxious to have possession of it for a short space of time.  I have,
+unasked, taken upon myself the office of intermediary.’
+
+Larralde’s eyes flashed through the smoke.
+
+‘You are about to offer me money; be careful, señor,’ he said hotly, and
+Sir John smiled.
+
+‘Be careful, that it is enough,’ he suggested.  ‘Keep your grand airs for
+your fellows, Señor Larralde.  Yes, I am about to offer you two hundred
+pounds—say three thousand pesetas—for the loan of that letter for a few
+hours only.  I will guarantee that it is read by one person only, and
+that a lady.  This lady will probably glance at the first lines, merely
+to satisfy herself as to the nature of its contents.  Three thousand
+pesetas will enable you to escape to Cuba if your schemes fail.  If you
+succeed, three thousand pesetas will always be of use, even to a member
+of a Republican Government.’
+
+Larralde reflected.  He had lately realised the fact that the Carlist
+cause was doomed.  There is a time in the schemes of men, and it usually
+comes just before the crisis, when the stoutest heart hesitates and the
+most reckless conspirator thinks of his retreat.  Esteban Larralde had
+begun to think of Cuba during the last few days, and the mention of that
+haven for Spanish failures almost unnerved him.
+
+‘In a week,’ suggested Sir John again, ‘it may be—well—settled one way or
+the other.’
+
+Larralde glanced at him sharply.  This Englishman was either
+well-informed or very cunning.  He seemed to have read the thought in
+Larralde’s mind.
+
+‘No doubt,’ went on the Englishman, ‘you have divined for whom I want the
+letter and who will read it.  We have both mistaken our man.  We both owe
+Conyngham a good turn—I, in reparation, you, in gratitude; for he
+undoubtedly saved the Señorita Barenna from imprisonment for life.’
+
+Larralde shrugged his shoulders.
+
+‘Each man,’ he said, ‘must fight for himself.’
+
+‘And the majority of us for a woman as well,’ amended Sir John.  ‘At
+least, in Spain, chivalry is not dead.’
+
+Larralde laughed.  He was vain, and Sir John knew it.  He had a keen
+sight for the breach in his opponent’s armour.
+
+‘You have put your case well,’ said the Spaniard patronisingly, ‘and I do
+not see why, at the end of a week, I should not agree to your proposal.
+It is, as you say, for the sake of a woman.’
+
+‘Precisely.’
+
+Larralde leant back in his chair, remembering the legendary gallantry of
+his race, and wearing an appropriate expression.
+
+‘For a woman,’ he repeated with an eloquent gesture.
+
+‘Precisely.’
+
+‘Then I will do it, señor.  I will do it.’
+
+‘For two hundred pounds?’ inquired Sir John coldly.
+
+‘As you will,’ answered the Spaniard, with a noble indifference to such
+sordid matters.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+PRIESTCRAFT
+
+
+    ‘No man I fear can effect great benefits for his country without some
+    sacrifice of the minor virtues.’
+
+THE Señora Barenna was a leading social light in Toledo, insomuch as she
+never refused an invitation.
+
+‘One has one’s duties towards society,’ she would say with a sigh.
+‘Though the saints know that I take no pleasure in these affairs.’
+
+Then she put on her best Seville mantilla and bustled off to some
+function or another, where she talked volubly and without discretion.
+
+Julia had of late withdrawn more and more from that life of continued and
+mild festivity of which it is to be feared the existence of many women is
+composed.  This afternoon she sat alone in the great gloomy house in
+Toledo, waiting for Larralde.  For she, like thousands of her sisters,
+loved an unworthy object—_faute de mieux_—with open eyes and a queer
+philosophy that bade her love Larralde rather than love none.  She had
+lately spent a large part of her existence in waiting for Larralde, who,
+indeed, was busy enough at this time, and rarely stirred abroad while the
+sun was up.
+
+‘Julia,’ said Señora Barenna to Concha, ‘is no longer a companion to me.
+She does not even attempt to understand my sensitive organisation.  She
+is a mere statue, and thinks of nothing but politics.’
+
+‘For her, Madame, as for all women, there would be no politics if there
+were no politicians,’ the priest replied.
+
+This afternoon Julia was more restless than ever.  Larralde had not been
+to see her for many days, and had only written a hurried note from time
+to time in answer to her urgent request, telling her that he was well and
+in no danger.
+
+She now no longer knew whether he was in Toledo or not, but had
+sufficient knowledge of the schemes in which he was engaged to be aware
+of the fact that these were coming to a crisis.  Esteban Larralde had
+indeed told her more than was either necessary or discreet, and it was
+his vanity that led him into this imprudence.  We are all ready enough to
+impart information which will show our neighbours that we are more
+important than we appear.
+
+After a broiling day the sun was now beginning to lose a little of his
+terrific power, and, in the shade of the patio upon which the windows of
+Julia’s room opened, the air was quite cool and pleasant.  A fountain
+plashed continuously in a little basin that had been white six centuries
+ago, when the Moors had brought the marble across the Gulf of Lyons to
+build it.  The very sound of the water was a relief to overstrained
+nerves, and seemed to diminish the tension of the shimmering atmosphere.
+
+Julia was alone, and barely made pretence to read the book she held in
+her hand.  From her seat she could see the bell suspended on the opposite
+wall of the courtyard, of which the deep voice at any time of day or
+night had the power of stirring her heart to a sudden joy.  At last the
+desired sound broke the silence of the great house, and Julia stood
+breathless at the window while the servant leisurely crossed the patio
+and threw open the great door, large enough to admit a carriage and pair.
+It was not Larralde, but Father Concha, brought hither by a note he had
+received from Sir John Pleydell earlier in the afternoon.
+
+‘I shall have the letter in a week from now,’ the Englishman had written.
+
+‘Which will be too late,’ commented Concha pessimistically.
+
+The señora was out, they told him, but the señorita had remained at home.
+
+‘It is the señorita I desire to see.’
+
+And Julia, at the window above, heard the remark with a sinking heart.
+The air seemed to be weighted with the suggestion of calamity.  Concha
+had the manner of one bringing bad news.  She forgot that this was his
+usual mien.
+
+‘Ah, my child,’ he said, coming into the room a minute later and sitting
+down rather wearily.
+
+‘What?’ she asked, her two hands at her breast.
+
+He glanced at her beneath his brows.  The wind was in the north-east, dry
+and tingling.  The sun had worn a coppery hue all day.  Such matters
+affect women and those who are in mental distress.  After such a day as
+had at last worn to evening, the mind is at a great tension, the nerves
+are strained.  It is at such times that men fly into sudden anger and
+whip out the knife.  At such times women are reckless, and the stories of
+human lives take sudden turns.
+
+Concha knew that he had this woman at a disadvantage.
+
+‘What?’ he echoed.  ‘I wish I knew.  I wish at times I was no priest.’
+
+‘Why?’
+
+‘Because I could help you better.  Sometimes it is the man and not the
+priest who is the truest friend.’
+
+‘Why do you speak like this?’ she cried.  ‘Is there danger?  What has
+happened?’
+
+‘You know best, my child, if there is danger; you know what is likely to
+happen.’
+
+Julia stood looking at him with hard eyes—the eyes of one in mortal fear.
+
+‘You have always been my friend,’ she said slowly, ‘my best friend.’
+
+‘Yes.  A woman’s lover is never her best friend.’
+
+‘Has anything happened to Esteban?’
+
+The priest did not answer at once, but paused, reflecting, and dusting
+his sleeve, where there was always some snuff requiring attention at such
+moments.
+
+‘I know so little,’ he said.  ‘I am no politician.  What can I say?  What
+can I advise you when I am in the dark?  And the time is slipping
+by—slipping by.’
+
+‘I cannot tell you,’ she answered, turning away and looking out of the
+window.
+
+‘You cannot tell the priest—tell the man.’
+
+Then, suddenly, she reached the end of her endurance.  Standing with her
+back towards him, she told her story, and Concha listened with a still,
+breathless avidity as one who, having long sought knowledge, finds it at
+last when it seemed out of reach.  The little fountain plashed in the
+courtyard below; a frog in the basin among the water-lilies croaked
+sociably while the priest and the beautiful woman in the room above made
+history.  For it is not only in kings’ palaces nor yet in Parliaments
+that the story of the world is shaped.
+
+Concha spoke no word, and Julia, having begun, left nothing unsaid, but
+told him every detail in a slow mechanical voice, as if bidden thereto by
+a stronger will than her own.
+
+‘He is all the world to me,’ she said simply, in conclusion.
+
+‘Yes; and the happiest women are those who live in a small world.’
+
+A silence fell upon them.  The old priest surreptitiously looked at his
+watch.  He was essentially a man of action.
+
+‘My child,’ he said, rising, ‘when you are an old woman with children to
+harass you and make your life worth living, you will probably look back
+with thankfulness to this moment.  For you have done that which was your
+only chance of happiness.’
+
+‘Why do you always help me?’ she asked, as she had asked a hundred times.
+
+‘Because happiness is so rare that I hate to see it wasted,’ he answered,
+going towards the door with a grim laugh.
+
+He passed out of the room and crossed the patio slowly.  Then, when the
+great door had closed behind him, he gathered up the skirts of his
+cassock and hurried down the narrow street.  In such thoroughfares as
+were deserted he ran with the speed and endurance of a spare, hard-living
+man.  Woman-like, Julia had, after all, done things by half.  She had
+timed her confession too late.
+
+At the hotel they told the Padre that General Vincente was at dinner and
+could not be disturbed.
+
+‘He sees no one,’ the servant said.
+
+‘You do not know who I am,’ said Concha, in an irony which, under the
+circumstances, he alone could enjoy.  Then he passed up the stairs and
+bade the waiter begone.
+
+‘But I carry the General’s dessert,’ protested the man.
+
+‘No,’ said Concha half to himself, ‘I have that.’
+
+Vincente was indeed at table with Estella.  He looked up as the priest
+entered, fingering a cigarette delicately.
+
+‘How soon can you take the road?’ asked Concha abruptly.
+
+‘Ten minutes—the time for a cup of coffee,’ was the answer, given with a
+pleasant laugh.
+
+‘Then order your carriage.’
+
+Vincente looked at his old friend, and the smile never left his lips,
+though his eyes were grave enough.  It was hard to say whether aught on
+earth could disturb this man’s equanimity.  Then the General rose and
+went to the window which opened upon the courtyard.  In the quiet corner
+near the rain-tank, where a vine grows upon trellis-work, the dusty
+travelling-carriage stood, and upon the step of it, eating a simple meal
+of bread and dried figs, sat the man who had the reputation of being the
+fastest driver in Spain.
+
+‘In ten minutes, my good Manuel,’ said the General.
+
+‘Bueno,’ grumbled the driver, with his mouth full—a man of few words.
+
+‘Is it to go far?’ asked the General, turning on his heel and addressing
+Concha.
+
+‘A long journey.’
+
+‘To take the road, Manuel,’ cried Vincente, leaning out.  He closed the
+window before resuming his seat.
+
+‘And now, have you any more orders?’ he asked with a gay carelessness.
+‘I counted on sleeping in a bed to-night.’
+
+‘You will not do that,’ replied Concha, ‘when you hear my news.’
+
+‘Ah!’
+
+‘But first you must promise me not to make use of the information I give
+you against any suspected persons—to take, in fact, only preventive
+measures.’
+
+‘You have only to name it, my friend.  Proceed.’
+
+The old priest paused and passed his hand across his brow.  He was
+breathless still, and looked worn.
+
+‘It is,’ he said, ‘a very grave matter.  I have not had much experience
+in such things, for my path has always lain in small parochial
+affairs—dealings with children and women.’
+
+Estella was already pouring some wine into a glass.  With a woman’s
+instinct she saw that the old man was overwrought and faint.  It was a
+Friday, and in his simple way there was no more austere abstinent than
+Father Concha, who had probably touched little food throughout the long
+hot day.
+
+‘Take your time, my friend; take your time,’ said the General, who never
+hurried and was never too late.  ‘A pinch of snuff now—it stimulates the
+nerves.’
+
+‘It is,’ said Concha at length—breaking a biscuit in his long bony
+fingers and speaking unembarrassedly with his mouth full—’it is that I
+have by the merest accident lighted upon a matter of political
+importance.’
+
+The General nodded, and held his wine up to the light.
+
+‘There are matters of much political importance,’ he said, ‘in the air
+just now.’
+
+‘A plot,’ continued Concha, ‘spreading over all Spain; the devil is
+surely in it, and I know the Carlists are.  A plot, believe me, to
+assassinate and rob and kidnap.’
+
+‘Yes,’ said the General with his tolerant little smile.  ‘Yes, my dear
+Padre.  Some men are so bloodthirsty; is it not so?’
+
+‘This plot is directed against the little Queen; against the Queen
+Regent; against many who are notable Royalists occupying high posts in
+the Government or the army.’
+
+He glanced at Estella, and then looked meaningly at the General, who
+could scarcely fail to comprehend.  ‘Let us deal with the Queen and the
+Queen Regent,’ said Vincente; ‘the others are probably able to take care
+of themselves.’
+
+‘None can guard himself against assassination.’
+
+The General seemed for a moment inclined to dispute this statement, but
+shrugged his shoulders and finally passed it by.
+
+‘The Queen,’ he said.  ‘What of her?’
+
+In response, Concha took a newspaper from his pocket and spread it out on
+the table.  After a brief search up and down the ill-printed columns, he
+found the desired paragraph, and read aloud:
+
+‘The Queen is in Madrid.  The Queen Regent journeys from Seville to
+rejoin her daughter in the capital, prosecuting her journey by easy
+stages and accompanied by a small guard.  Her Majesty sleeps at Ciudad
+Real to-night, and at Toledo to-morrow night.’
+
+‘This,’ said Concha, folding the newspaper, ‘is a Carlist and
+revolutionary rag whose readers are scarcely likely to be interested for
+a good motive in the movements of the Queen Regent.’
+
+‘True, my dear Padre—true,’ admitted Vincente, half reluctantly.
+
+‘Many kiss hands they would fain see chopped off.  In the streets and on
+the Plaza I have seen many reading this newspaper and talking over it
+with unusual interest.  Like a bad lawyer, I am giving the confirmation
+of the argument before the argument itself.’
+
+‘No matter—no matter.’
+
+‘Ah! but we have no time to do things ill or carelessly,’ said the
+priest.  ‘My story is a long one, but I will tell it as quickly as I
+can.’
+
+‘Take your time,’ urged the General soothingly.  ‘This great plot, you
+say, which is to spread over all Spain—’
+
+‘Is for to-morrow night, my friend.’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+SWORDCRAFT
+
+
+    ‘Rien n’est plus courageux qu’un cœur patient, rien n’est plus sûr de
+    soi qu’un ésprit doux.’
+
+THE General set down his glass, and a queer light came into his eyes,
+usually so smiling and pleasant.
+
+‘Ah!  Then you are right, my friend.  Tell us your story as quickly as
+possible.’
+
+‘It appears,’ said Concha, ‘that there has been in progress for many
+months a plot to assassinate the Queen Regent and to seize the person of
+the little Queen, expelling her from Spain, and bringing in, not Don
+Carlos, who is a spent firework, but a Republic—a more dangerous
+firework, that usually bursts in the hands of those that light it.  This
+plot has been finally put into shape by a letter—’
+
+He paused, tapped on the table with his bony fingers, and glanced at
+Estella.
+
+‘A letter which has been going the round of all the malcontents in the
+Peninsula.  Each faction-leader, to show that he has read it and agrees
+to obey its commands, initials the letter.  It has then been returned to
+an intermediary, who sends it to the next—never by post, because the post
+is watched—always by hand, and usually by the hand of a person innocent
+of its contents.’
+
+‘Yes,’ murmured the General absently, and there was a queer little smile
+on Estella’s lips.
+
+‘To think,’ cried Concha, with a sudden fire less surprising in Spain
+than in England, ‘to think that we have all seen it—have touched it!
+Name of a saint!  I had it under my hand in the hotel at Algeciras, and I
+left it on the table.  And now it has been the round, and all the
+initials are placed upon it, and it is for to-morrow night.’
+
+‘Where have you learnt this?’ asked the General in a voice that made
+Estella look at him.  She had never seen him as his enemies had seen him,
+and even they confessed that he was always visible enough in action.
+Perhaps there was another man behind the personality of this deprecating,
+pleasant-spoken little sybarite—a man who only appeared (oh _rara avis_!)
+when he was wanted.
+
+‘No matter,’ replied Concha, in a voice as hard and sharp.
+
+‘No; after all, it is of no matter, so long as your information is
+reliable.’
+
+‘You may stake your life on that,’ said Concha, and remembered the words
+ever after.  ‘It has been decided to make this journey from Seville to
+Madrid the opportunity of assassinating the Queen Regent.’
+
+‘It will not be the first time they have tried,’ put in the General.
+
+‘No.  But this time they will succeed, and it is to be here—to-morrow
+night—in Toledo.  After the Queen Regent’s death, and in the confusion
+that will supervene, the little Queen will disappear, and then upon the
+rubbish-heap will spring up the mushrooms as they did in France; and this
+rubbish-heap, like the other, will foul the whole air of Europe.’
+
+He shook his head pessimistically till the long, wispy grey hair waved
+from side to side, and his left hand, resting on the wrist-bone on the
+table, made an indescribable gesture that showed a fœtid air tainted by
+darksome growths.
+
+There was a silence in the room broken by no outside sound but the chink
+of champed bits as the horses stood in their traces below.  Indeed, the
+city of Toledo seemed strangely still this evening, and the very air had
+a sense of waiting in it.  The priest sat and looked at his lifelong
+friend, his furrowed face the incarnation of cynical hopelessness.  ‘What
+is, is worst,’ he seemed to say.  His yellow, wise old eyes watched the
+quick face with the air of one who, having posed an insoluble problem,
+awaits with a sarcastic humour the admission of failure.
+
+General Vincente, who had just finished his wine, wiped his moustache
+delicately with his table-napkin.  He was thinking—quickly,
+systematically, as men learn to think under fire.  Perhaps, indeed, he
+had the thoughts half matured in his mind—as the greatest general the
+world has seen confessed that he ever had—that he was never taken quite
+by surprise.  Vincente smiled as he thought: a habit he had acquired on
+the field, where a staff, and perhaps a whole army, took its cue from his
+face and read the turn of fortune there.  Then he looked up straight at
+Estella, who was watching him.
+
+‘Can you start on a journey, now—in five minutes?’ he asked.
+
+‘Yes,’ she answered, rising and going towards the door.
+
+‘Have you a white mantilla among your travelling things?’ he asked again.
+
+Estella turned at the doorway and nodded.  ‘Yes,’ she said again.
+
+‘Then take it with you, and a cloak, but no heavy luggage.’
+
+Estella closed the door.
+
+‘You can come with us?’ said the General to Concha, half command, half
+interrogation.
+
+‘If you wish it.’
+
+‘You may be wanted.  I have a plan—a little plan,’ and he gave a short
+laugh.  ‘It may succeed.’
+
+He went to a side table, where some cold meats still stood, and, taking
+up a small chicken daintily with a fork, he folded it in a napkin.
+
+‘It will be Saturday,’ he said simply, ‘before we have reached our
+journey’s end, and you will be hungry.  Have you a pocket?’
+
+‘Has a priest a pocket?’ asked Concha, with a grim humour, and he slipped
+the provisions into the folds of his cassock.  He was still eating a
+biscuit hurriedly.
+
+‘I believe you have no money?’ said the General suddenly.
+
+‘I have only enough,’ admitted the old man, ‘to take me back to Ronda;
+whither, by the way, my duty calls me.’
+
+‘I think not.  Your Master can spare you for a while; my mistress cannot
+do without you.’
+
+At this moment Estella came back into the room ready for her journey.
+The girl had changed of late.  Her face had lost a little roundness and
+had gained exceedingly in expression.  Her eyes, too, were different.
+That change had come to them which comes to all women between the ages of
+twenty and thirty, quite irrespective of their state.  A certain
+restlessness, or a quiet content, are what one usually sees in a woman’s
+face.  Estella’s eyes wore that latter look, which seems to indicate a
+knowledge of the meaning of life and a contentment that it should be no
+different.
+
+Vincente was writing at the table.
+
+‘We shall want help,’ he said, without looking up.  ‘I am sending for a
+good man.’
+
+And he smiled as he shook the small sand-castor over the paper.
+
+‘May one ask,’ said Concha, ‘where we are going?’
+
+‘We are going to Ciudad Real, my dear friend, since you are so curious.
+But we shall come back—we shall come back.’
+
+He was writing another despatch as he spoke, and at a sign from him
+Estella went to the door and clapped her hands, the only method of
+summoning a servant in general use at that time in Spain.  The call was
+answered by an orderly, who stood at attention in the doorway for a full
+five minutes while the General wrote further orders in his neat, small
+calligraphy.  There were half a dozen letters in all—curt military
+despatches without preamble and without mercy.  For this soldier
+conducted military matters in a singularly domestic way, planning his
+campaigns by the fireside and bringing about the downfall of an enemy
+while sitting in his daughter’s drawing-room.  Indeed, Estella’s
+blotting-book bore the impress of more than one death warrant or an order
+as good as such, written casually on her stationery and with her pen.
+
+‘Will you have the goodness to despatch these at once?’ was the message
+taken by the orderly to the General’s aide-de-camp, and the gallopers,
+who were always in readiness, smiled as they heard the modest request.
+
+‘It will be pleasant to travel in the cool of the evening, provided that
+one guards against a chill,’ said the General, making his final
+preparations.  ‘I require but a moment to speak to my faithful
+aide-de-camp, and then we embark.’
+
+The moon was rising as the carriage rattled across the Bridge of
+Alcantara, and Larralde, taking the air between Wamba’s Gate and the
+little fort that guards the entrance to the city, recognised the equipage
+as it passed him.  He saw also the outline of Concha’s figure in the
+darkest corner of the carriage, with his back to the horses, his head
+bowed in meditation.  Estella he saw and recognised, while two mounted
+attendants clattering in the rear of the carriage testified by their
+presence to the fact that the General had taken the road again.
+
+‘It is well,’ said Larralde to himself.  ‘They are all going back to
+Ronda, and Julia will be rid of their influence.  Ronda will serve as
+well as Toledo so far as Vincente is concerned.  But I will wait to make
+sure that they are not losing sight of him.’
+
+So Señor Larralde, cloaked to the eyebrows, leant gracefully against the
+wall, and, like many another upon the bridge after that breathless day,
+drank in the cool air that rose from the river.  Presently—indeed, before
+the sound of the distant wheels was quite lost—two horsemen, cloaked and
+provided with such light luggage as the saddle can accommodate, rode
+leisurely through the gateway and up the incline that makes a short cut
+to the great road running southward to Ciudad Real.  Larralde gave a
+little nod of self-confidence and satisfaction, as one who, having
+conceived and built up a great scheme, is pleased to see each component
+part of it act independently, and slip into its place.
+
+The General’s first thought was for Estella’s comfort, and he utilised
+the long hill which they had to ascend on leaving the town to make such
+arrangements as space would allow for their common ease.
+
+‘You must sleep, my child,’ he said.  ‘We cannot hope to reach Ciudad
+Real before midday to-morrow, and it is as likely as not that we shall
+have but a few hours’ rest there.’
+
+And Estella, who had travelled vast distances over vile roads so long as
+her memory went back, who had never known what it is to live in a country
+that is at peace, leant back in her corner and closed her eyes.  Had she
+really been disposed to sleep, however, she could scarcely have done it,
+for the General’s solicitude manifested itself by a hundred little
+devices for her greater repose.  For her comfort he made Concha move.
+
+‘An old traveller like you must shift for yourself,’ he said gaily.
+
+‘No need to seek shelter for an old ox,’ replied Concha, moving into the
+other corner, where he carefully unfolded his pocket-handkerchief and
+laid it over his face, where his long nose, protruding, caused it to fall
+into fantastic folds.  He clasped his hands upon his hat, which lay on
+his knee, and, leaning back, presently began to snore gently and
+regularly—a peaceful, sleep-inducing sound, and an excellent example.
+The General, whose sword seemed to take up half the carriage, still
+watched Estella, and if the air made her mantilla flutter, drew up the
+window with the solicitude of a lover and a maternal noiselessness.
+Then, with one hand on hers, and the other grasping his sword, he leant
+back, but did not close his eyes.
+
+Thus they travelled on through the luminous night.  The roads were
+neither worse nor better than they are to-day in Spain—than they were in
+England in the Middle Ages—and their way lay over the hill ranges that
+lie between the watersheds of the Tagus and the Guadiana.  At times they
+passed through well-tended valleys, where corn and olives and vines
+seemed to grow on the same soil, but for the greater part of the night
+they ascended and descended the upper slopes, where herds of goats, half
+awakened as they slept in a ring about their guardian, looked at them
+with startled eyes.  The shepherds and goatherds, who, like those of old,
+lay cloaked upon the ground, and tended their flocks by night, did not
+trouble to raise their heads.
+
+Concha alone slept, for the General had a thousand thoughts that kept him
+awake and bright-eyed, while Estella knew from her father’s manner and
+restlessness that these were no small events that now stirred Spain, and
+seemed to close men’s mouths, so that near friends distrusted one
+another, and brother was divided against brother.  Indeed, others were on
+the road that night, and horsemen passed the heavy carriage from time to
+time.
+
+In the early morning a change of horses was effected at a large inn near
+the summit of a pass above Malagon, and here an orderly, who seemed to
+recognise the General, was climbing into the saddle as the Vincentes
+quitted their carriage and passed into the common room of the venta for a
+hasty cup of coffee.
+
+‘It is the Queen’s courier,’ said the innkeeper grandly, ‘who takes the
+road before her Majesty in order to secure horses.’
+
+‘Ah,’ said the General, breaking his bread and dropping it into his cup.
+‘Is that so?  The Queen Regent, you mean?’
+
+‘Queen or Queen Regent, she requires four horses this evening,
+Excellency—that is all my concern.’
+
+‘True, my friend; true.  That is well said.  And the horses will be
+forthcoming, no doubt.’
+
+‘They will be forthcoming,’ said the man.  ‘And the Excellency’s carriage
+is ready.’
+
+In the early morning light they drove on, now descending towards the
+great valley of the Guadiana, and at midday, as Vincente had foreseen,
+gained a sight of the ancient city of Ciudad Real lying amid trees below
+them.  Ciudad Real is less interesting than its name, and there is little
+that is royal about its dirty streets and ill-kept houses.  No one gave
+great heed to the travelling-carriage, for this is a great centre where
+travellers journeying east or west, north or south, must needs pause for
+a change of horses.  At the inn there were vacant rooms, and that hasty
+welcome accorded to the traveller at wayside houses where none stay
+longer than they can help.
+
+‘No,’ said the landlord, in answer to the General’s query.  ‘We are not
+busy, though we expect a lady who will pass the hour of the siesta here
+and then proceed northward.’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+WOMANCRAFT
+
+
+       ‘Il est rare que la tête des rois soit faite à la mesure de leur
+                                  couronne.’
+
+IN the best room of the inn where Vincente and his tired companions
+sought a few hours’ rest there sat alone, and in thought, a woman of
+middle age.  Somewhat stout, she yet had that air which arouses the
+attention without being worthy of the name of beauty.  This lady had
+doubtless swayed men’s hearts by a word or a glance, for she still
+carried herself with assurance, and a hundred little details of her dress
+would have told another woman that she still desired to please.  She wore
+a white mantilla.
+
+The hour of the siesta was over, and after the great heat of the day a
+cool air was swinging down on the bosom of the river to the parched
+lowlands.  It stirred the leaves of a climbing heliotrope which encircled
+the open windows, and wafted into the ill-furnished room a scent of
+stable-yard and dust.
+
+The lady, sitting with her chin resting in the palm of her small white
+hand, seemed to have lately roused herself from sleep, and now had the
+expectant air of one who awaits a carriage and is about to set out on a
+long journey.  Her eyes were dark and tired-looking, and their expression
+was not that of a good woman.  A sensual man is usually weak, but women
+are different; and this face, with its faded complexion and tired eyes,
+this woman of the majestic presence and beautiful hands, was both strong
+and sensual.  This, in a word, was a Queen who never forgot that she was
+a woman.  As it was said of the Princess Christina, so it has been spoken
+of the Queen, that many had killed themselves for hopeless love of her.
+For this was the most dangerous of the world’s creatures—a royal
+coquette.  Such would our own Queen Bess have been had not God, for the
+good of England, given her a plain face and an ungainly form.  For surely
+the devil is in it when a woman can command both love and men.  Queen
+Christina, since the death of a husband who was years older than herself
+(and, as some say, before that historic event), had played a woman’s game
+with that skill which men only half recognise, and had played it with the
+additional incentive that behind her insatiable vanity lay the heavier
+stake of a crown.
+
+She was not the first to turn the strong current of man’s passion to her
+own deliberate gain—nay, ninety-nine out of a hundred women do it.  But
+the majority only play for a suburban villa and a few hundred pounds a
+year; Queen Christina of Spain handled her cards for a throne and the
+continuance of an ill-starred dynasty.
+
+As she sat in the hotel chamber in Ciudad Real—that forlornest of royal
+cities—her face wore the pettish look of one who, having passed through
+great events, having tasted of great passions and moved amid the
+machinery of life and death, finds the ordinary routine of existence
+intolerably irksome.  Many faces wear such a look in this country; every
+second beautiful face in London has it.  And these women—heaven help
+them—find the morning hours dull, because every afternoon has not its
+great event and every evening the excitement of a social function.
+
+The Queen was travelling incognita, and that fact alone robbed her
+progress of a sense of excitement.  She had to do without the shout of
+the multitude—the passing admiration of the man in the street.  She knew
+that she was yet many hours removed from Madrid, where she had admirers,
+and the next best possession—enemies.  Ciudad Real was intolerably dull
+and provincial.  A servant knocked at the door.
+
+‘General Vincente, your Majesty, craves the favour of a moment.’
+
+‘Ah!’ exclaimed the Queen, the light returning to her eyes, a faint
+colour flushing her cheek.  ‘In five minutes I will receive him.’
+
+And there is no need to say how the Queen spent those minutes.
+
+‘Your Majesty,’ said the General, bending over her hand, which he touched
+with his lips, ‘I have news of the greatest importance.’
+
+The suggestion of a scornful smile flickered for a moment in the royal
+eyes.  It was surely news enough for any man that she was a
+woman—beautiful still—possessing still that intangible and fatal gift of
+pleasing.  The woman slowly faded from her eyes as they rested on the
+great soldier’s face, and the Queen it was who, with a gracious gesture,
+bade him be seated.  But the General remained standing.  He alone perhaps
+of all the men who had to deal with her—of all those military puppets
+with whom she played her royal game—had never crossed that vague boundary
+which many had overstepped to their own inevitable undoing.
+
+‘It concerns your Majesty’s life,’ said Vincente bluntly, and calm in the
+certainty of his own theory that good blood, whether it flow in the veins
+of man or woman, assuredly carries a high courage.
+
+‘Ah!’ said the Queen Regent, whose humour still inclined towards those
+affairs which interested her before the affairs of State.  ‘But with men
+such as you about me, my dear General, what need I fear?’
+
+‘Treachery, Madame,’ he answered, with his sudden smile and a bow.
+‘Treachery.’
+
+She frowned.  When a Queen stoops to dalliance a subject must not be too
+practical.
+
+‘Ah!  What is it that concerns my life?  Another plot?’ she inquired
+shortly.
+
+‘Another plot, but one of greater importance than those that exist in the
+republican cafés of every town in your Majesty’s kingdom.  This is a
+widespread conspiracy, and I fear that many powerful persons are
+concerned in it; but that, your Majesty, is not my department nor
+concern.’
+
+‘What is your concern, General?’ she asked, looking at him over her fan.
+
+‘To save your Majesty’s life to-night.’
+
+‘To-night!’ she echoed, her coquetry gone.
+
+‘To-night.’
+
+‘But how and where?’
+
+‘Assassination, Madame, in Toledo.  You are three hours late in your
+journey.  But all Toledo will be astir awaiting you, though it be till
+dawn.’
+
+The Queen Regent closed her fan slowly.  She was, as the rapid events of
+her reign and regency have proved, one of those women who rise to the
+occasion.
+
+‘Then one must act at once,’ she said.
+
+The General bowed.
+
+‘What have you done?’ she asked.
+
+‘I have sent to Madrid for a regiment that I know; they are as my own
+children.  I have killed so many of them that the remainder love me.  I
+have travelled from Toledo to meet your Majesty on the road, or here.’
+
+‘And what means have you of preventing this thing?’
+
+‘I have brought the means with me, Madame.’
+
+‘Troops?’ asked the Queen doubtfully, knowing where the canker-worm lay
+hidden.
+
+‘A woman and a priest, Madame.’
+
+‘And—’
+
+‘And I propose that your Majesty journey to Madrid in my carriage,
+attended only by my orderlies, by way of Aranjuez.  You will be safe in
+Madrid, where the Queen will require her mother’s care.’
+
+‘Yes.  And the remainder of your plan?’
+
+‘I will travel back to Toledo in your Majesty’s carriage with the woman
+and the priest and your bodyguard—just as your Majesty is in the habit of
+travelling.  Toledo wants a fight; nothing else will satisfy them.  They
+shall have it—before dawn.  The very best I have to offer them.’
+
+And General Vincente gave a queer, cheery little laugh, as if he were
+arranging a practical joke.
+
+‘But the fight will be round my carriage—’
+
+‘Possibly.  I would rather that it took place in the Calle de la Ciudad,
+or around the Casa del Ayuntamiento, where your Majesty is expected to
+sleep to-night.’
+
+‘And these persons—this woman who risks her life to save mine—who is
+she?’
+
+‘My daughter,’ answered the General gravely.
+
+‘She is here—in the hotel now?’
+
+The General bowed.
+
+‘I have heard that she is beautiful,’ said the Queen, with a quick glance
+towards her companion.  ‘How is it that you have never brought her to
+Court, you who come so seldom yourself?’
+
+Vincente made no reply.
+
+‘However, bring her to me now.’
+
+‘She has travelled far, Madame, and is not prepared for presentation to
+her Queen.’
+
+‘This is no time for formalities.  She is about to run a great risk for
+my sake, a greater risk than I could ever ask her to run.  Present her as
+one woman to another, General.’
+
+But General Vincente bowed gravely and made no reply.  The colour slowly
+rose to the Queen Regent’s face—a dull red.  She opened her fan, closed
+it again, and sat with furtive downcast eyes.  Suddenly she looked up and
+met his gaze.
+
+‘You refuse,’ she said, with an insolent air of indifference.  ‘You think
+that I am unworthy to—meet your daughter.’
+
+‘I think only of the exigency of the moment,’ was his reply.  ‘Every
+minute we lose is a gain to our enemies.  If our trick is discovered
+Aranjuez will be no safer for your Majesty than is Toledo.  You must be
+safely in Madrid before it is discovered in Toledo that you have taken
+the other route, and that the person they have mistaken for you is in
+reality my daughter.’
+
+‘But she may be killed,’ exclaimed the Queen.
+
+‘We may all be killed, Madame,’ he replied lightly.  ‘I beg that you will
+start at once in my carriage with your chaplain and the holy lady who is
+doubtless travelling with you.’
+
+The Queen glanced sharply at him.  It was known that although her own
+life was anything but exemplary, she loved to associate with women who,
+under the cloak of religion and an austere virtue, intrigued with all
+parties and condoned the Queen’s offences.
+
+‘I cannot understand you,’ she said, with that sudden lapse into
+familiarity which had led to the undoing of more than one ambitious
+courtier.  ‘You seem to worship the crown and despise the head it rests
+on.’
+
+‘So long as I serve your Majesty faithfully—’
+
+‘But you have no right to despise me,’ she interrupted passionately.
+
+‘If I despised you, should I be here now—should I be doing you this
+service?’
+
+‘I do not know.  I tell you I do not understand you.’
+
+And the Queen looked hard at the man who, for this very reason,
+interested one who had all her life dealt and intrigued with men of
+obvious motive and unblushing ambition.
+
+So strong is a ruling passion that even in sight of death (for the Queen
+Regent knew that Spain was full of her enemies and rendered callous to
+bloodshed by a long war) vanity was alert in this woman’s breast.  Even
+while General Vincente, that unrivalled strategist, detailed his plans,
+she kept harking back to the question that puzzled her, and but half
+listened to his instructions.
+
+Those desirous of travelling without attracting attention in Spain are
+wise to time their arrival and departure for the afternoon.  At this
+time, while the sun is yet hot, all shutters are closed, and the business
+of life, the haggling in the market-place, the bustle of the barrack
+yard, the leisurely labour of the fields, are suspended.  It was about
+four o’clock—indeed, the city clocks were striking that hour—when the two
+carriages in the inn yard at Ciudad Real were made ready for the road.
+Father Concha, who never took an active part in passing incidents while
+his old friend and comrade was near, sat in a shady corner of the patio
+and smoked a cigarette.  An affable ostler had in vain endeavoured to
+engage him in conversation.  Two small children had begged of him, and
+now he was left in meditative solitude.
+
+‘In a short three minutes,’ said the ostler, ‘and the Excellencies can
+then depart.  In which direction, reverendo, if one may ask?’
+
+‘One may always ask, my friend,’ replied the priest.  ‘Indeed, the holy
+books are of opinion that it cannot be overdone.  That chin strap is too
+tight.’
+
+‘Ah, I see the reverendo knows a horse.’
+
+‘And an ass,’ added Concha.
+
+At this moment the General emerged from the shadow of the staircase,
+which was open and of stone.  He was followed by Estella, as it would
+appear, and they hurried across the sunlighted patio, the girl carrying
+her fan to screen her face.
+
+‘Are you rested, my child?’ asked Concha at the carriage door.
+
+The lady lowered the fan for a moment and met his eyes.  A quick look of
+surprise flashed across Concha’s face and he half bowed.  Then he
+repeated his question in a louder voice:
+
+‘Are you rested, my child, after our long journey?’
+
+‘Thank you, my father, yes.’
+
+And the ostler watched with open-mouthed interest.
+
+The other carriage had been drawn up to that side of the courtyard where
+the open stairway was, and here also the bustle of departure and a
+hurrying female form, anxious to gain the shade of the vehicle, were
+discernible.  It was all done so quickly, with such a military
+completeness of detail, that the carriages had passed through the great
+doorway and the troopers—merely a general’s escort—had clattered after
+them before the few onlookers had fully realised that these were surely
+travellers of some note.
+
+The ostler hurried to the street to watch them go.
+
+‘They are going to the north,’ he said to himself, as he saw the
+carriages turn in the direction of the river and the ancient Puerta de
+Toledo.  ‘They go to the north—and assuredly the General has come to
+conduct her to Toledo.’
+
+Strange to say, although it was the hour of rest, many shutters in the
+narrow street were open, and more than one peeping face was turned
+towards the departing carriages.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+A NIGHT JOURNEY
+
+
+              ‘Let me but bear your love, I’ll bear your cares.’
+
+AT the cross-roads on the northern side of the river the two carriages
+parted company, the dusty equipage of General Vincente taking the road to
+Aranjuez that leads to the right and mounts steadily through olive
+groves.  The other carriage—which, despite its plain and sombre colours,
+still had an air of grandeur and almost of royalty, with its great wheels
+and curved springs—turned to the left and headed for Toledo.  Behind it
+clattered a dozen troopers, picked men, with huge swinging swords and
+travel-stained clothes.  The dust rose in a cloud under the horses’ feet
+and hovered in the sullen air.  There was no breath of wind, and the sun
+shone through a faint haze which seemed only to add to the heat.
+
+Concha lowered the window and thrust forward his long inquiring nose.
+
+‘What is it?’ asked the General.
+
+‘Thunder—I smell it.  We shall have a storm to-night.’  He looked out
+mopping his brow.  ‘Name of a saint! how thick the air is.’
+
+‘It will be clear before the morning,’ said Vincente the optimist.
+
+And the carriage rattled on towards the city of strife, where Jew, Goth
+and Roman, Moor and Inquisitor, have all had their day.  Estella was
+silent, drooping with fatigue.  The General alone seemed unmoved and
+heedless of the heat—a man of steel, as bright and ready as his own
+sword.
+
+There is no civilised country in the world so bare as Spain, and no part
+of the Peninsula so sparsely populated as the Castiles.  The road ran for
+the most part over brown and barren uplands, with here and there a valley
+where wheat and olives and vineyards graced the lower slopes.  The crying
+need of all nature was for shade; for the ilex is a small-leaved tree
+giving a thin shadow with no cool depths amid the branches.  All was
+brown and barren and parched.  The earth seemed to lie fainting and
+awaiting the rain.  The horses trotted with extended necks and open
+mouths, their coats wet with sweat.  The driver—an Andalusian, with a
+face like a Moorish pirate—kept encouraging them with word and rein,
+jerking and whipping only when they seemed likely to fall from sheer
+fatigue and sun-weariness.  At last the sun began to set in a glow like
+that of a great furnace, and the reflection lay over the land in ruddy
+splendour.
+
+‘Ah!’ said Concha, looking out, ‘it will be a great storm—and it will
+soon come.’
+
+Vast columns of cloud were climbing up from the sunset into a sullen sky,
+thrown up in spreading mares’ tails by a hundred contrary gusts of wind,
+as if there were explosive matter in the great furnace of the west.
+
+‘Nature is always on my side,’ said Vincente, with his chuckling laugh.
+He sat, watch in hand, noting the passage of the kilometres.
+
+At last the sun went down behind a distant line of hill—the watershed of
+the Tagus—and immediately the air was cool.  Without stopping, the driver
+wrapped his cloak round him, and the troopers followed his example.  A
+few minutes later a cold breeze sprung up suddenly, coming from the north
+and swirling the dust high in the air.
+
+‘It is well,’ said Vincente, who assuredly saw good in everything; ‘the
+wind comes first, and therefore the storm will be short.’
+
+As he spoke the thunder rolled among the hills.
+
+‘It is almost like guns,’ he added, with a queer look in his eyes
+suggestive of some memory.
+
+Then, preceded by a rushing wind, the rain came, turning to hail, and
+stopping suddenly in a breathless pause, only to recommence with a
+renewed and splashing vigour.  Concha drew up the windows, and the water
+streamed down them in a continuous ripple.  Estella, who had been
+sleeping, roused herself.  She looked fresh, and her eyes were bright
+with excitement.  She had brought home with her from her English school
+that air of freshness and a dainty vigour which makes Englishwomen
+different from all other women in the world, and an English schoolgirl
+one of the brightest, purest, and sweetest of God’s creatures.
+
+Concha looked at her with his grim smile—amused at a youthfulness which
+could enable her to fall asleep at such a time and wake up so manifestly
+refreshed.
+
+A halt was made at a roadside venta, where the travellers partook of a
+hurried meal.  Darkness came on before the horses were sufficiently
+rested, and by the light of an ill-smelling lamp the General had his
+inevitable cup of coffee.  The rain had now ceased, but the sky remained
+overcast and the night was a dark one.  The travellers took their places
+in the carriage, and again the monotony of the road, the steady trot of
+the horses, the sing-song words of encouragement of their driver,
+monopolised the thoughts of sleepy minds.  It seemed to Estella that life
+was all journeys, and that she had been on the road for years.  The swing
+of the carriage, the little varieties of the road, but served to add to
+her somnolence.  She only half woke up when, about ten o’clock, a halt
+was made to change horses, and the General quitted the carriage for a few
+minutes to talk earnestly with two horsemen, who were apparently awaiting
+their arrival.  No time was lost here, and the carriage went forward with
+an increased escort.  The two new-comers rode by the carriage, one on
+either side.
+
+When Estella woke up, the moon had risen and the carriage was making slow
+progress up a long hill.  She noticed that a horseman was on either side,
+close by the carriage window.
+
+‘Who is that?’ she asked.
+
+‘Conyngham,’ replied the General.
+
+‘You sent for him?’ inquired Estella, in a hard voice.
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+Estella was wakeful enough now, and sat upright, looking straight in
+front of her.  At times she glanced towards the window, which was now
+open, where the head of Conyngham’s charger appeared.  The horse trotted
+steadily, with a queer jerk of the head and that willingness to do his
+best which gains for horses a place in the hearts of all who have to do
+with them.
+
+‘Will there be fighting?’ asked Estella suddenly.
+
+The General shrugged his shoulders.
+
+‘One cannot call it fighting.  There may be a disturbance in the
+streets,’ he answered.
+
+Concha, quiet in his corner, with his back to the horses, watched the
+girl, and saw that her eyes were wide with anxiety now—quite suddenly.
+She, who had never thought of fear till this moment.  She moved uneasily
+in her seat, fidgeting as the young ever do when troubled.  It is only
+with years that we learn to bear a burden quietly.
+
+‘Who is that?’ she asked shortly, pointing to the other window, which was
+closed.
+
+‘Concepçion Vara—Conyngham’s servant,’ replied the General, who for some
+reason was inclined to curtness in his speech.
+
+They were approaching Toledo, and passed through a village from time to
+time, where the cafés were still lighted up, and people seemed to be
+astir in the shadow of the houses.  At last, in the main thoroughfare of
+a larger village within a stage of Toledo, a final halt was made to
+change horses.  The street, dimly lighted by a couple of oil lamps
+swinging from gibbets at the corners of a crossroad, seemed to be peopled
+by shadows surreptitiously lurking in doorways.  There was a false air of
+quiet in the houses, and peeping eyes looked out from behind the bars
+that covered every window, for even modern Spanish houses are barred as
+if for a siege, and in the ancient villages every man’s house is indeed
+his castle.
+
+The driver had left the box, and seemed to be having some trouble with
+the ostlers and stable-helps; for his voice could be heard raised in
+anger and urging them to greater haste.
+
+Conyngham, motionless in the saddle, touched his horse with his heel,
+advancing a few paces so as to screen the window.  Concepçion, on the
+other side, did the same, so that the travellers in the interior of the
+vehicle saw but the dark shape of the horses and the long cloaks of their
+riders.  They could perceive Conyngham quickly throw back his cape in
+order to have a free hand.  Then there came the sound of scuffling feet
+and an indefinable sense of strife in the very air.
+
+‘But we will see—we will see who is in the carriage!’ cried a shrill
+voice, and a hoarse shout from many bibulous throats confirmed the
+desire.
+
+‘Quick!’ said Conyngham’s voice.  ‘Quick—take your reins—never mind the
+lamps.’
+
+And the carriage swayed as the man leapt to his place.  Estella made a
+movement to look out of the window, but Concha had stood up against it,
+opposing his broad back alike to curious glances or a knife or a bullet.
+At the other window the General, better versed in such matters, held the
+leather cushion upon which he had been sitting across the sash.  With his
+left hand he restrained Estella.
+
+‘Keep still,’ he said.  ‘Sit back.  Conyngham can take care of himself.’
+
+The carriage swayed forward, and a volley of stones rattled on it like
+hail.  It rose jerkily on one side, and bumped over some obstacle.
+
+‘One who has his quietus,’ said Concha; ‘these royal carriages are
+heavy.’
+
+The horses were galloping now.  Concha sat down rubbing his back.
+Conyngham was galloping by the window, and they could see his spur
+flashing in the moonlight as he used it.  The reins hung loose, and both
+his hands were employed elsewhere, for he had a man half across the
+saddle in front of him, who held to him with one arm thrown round his
+neck, while the other was raised and a gleam of steel was at the end of
+it.  Concepçion, from the other side, threw a knife over the roof of the
+carriage—he could hit a cork at twenty paces but he missed this time.
+
+The General, from within, leant across Estella, sword in hand, with
+gleaming eyes.  But Conyngham seemed to have got the hold he desired, for
+his assailant came suddenly swinging over the horse’s neck, and one of
+his flying heels crashed through the window by Concha’s head, making that
+ecclesiastic swear like any layman.  The carriage was lifted on one side
+again, and bumped heavily.
+
+‘Another,’ said Concha, looking for broken glass in the folds of his
+cassock.  ‘That is a pretty trick of Conyngham’s.’
+
+‘And the man is a horseman,’ added the General, sheathing his sword—‘a
+horseman.  It warms the heart to see it.’
+
+Then he leant out of the window and asked if any were hurt.
+
+‘I am afraid, Excellency, that I hurt one,’ answered Vara.  ‘Where the
+neck joins the shoulder.  It is a pretty spot for the knife—nothing to
+turn a point.’
+
+He rubbed a sulphur match on the leg of his trouser, and lighted a
+cigarette as he rode along.
+
+‘On our side no accidents,’ continued Vara, with a careless grandeur,
+‘unless the reverendo received a kick in the face.’
+
+‘The reverendo received a stone in the small of the back,’ growled Concha
+pessimistically, ‘where there was already a corner of lumbago.’
+
+Conyngham, standing in his stirrups, was looking back.  A man lay
+motionless on the road, and beyond, at the cross-roads, another was
+riding up a hill to the right at a hand gallop.
+
+‘It is the road to Madrid,’ said Concepçion, noting the direction of the
+Englishman’s glance.
+
+The General, leaning out of the carriage window, was also looking back
+anxiously.
+
+‘They have sent a messenger to Madrid, Excellency, with the news that the
+Queen is on the road to Toledo,’ said Concepçion.
+
+‘It is well,’ answered Vincente, with a laugh.
+
+As they journeyed, although it was nearly midnight, there appeared from
+time to time, and for the most part in the neighbourhood of a village,
+one who seemed to have been awaiting their passage, and immediately set
+out on foot or horseback by one of the shorter bridle-paths that abound
+in Spain.  No one of these spies escaped the notice of Concepçion, whose
+training amid the mountains of Andalusia had sharpened his eyesight and
+added keenness to every sense.
+
+‘It is like a cat walking down an alley full of dogs,’ he muttered.
+
+At last the lights of Toledo hove in sight, and across the river came the
+sound of the city clocks tolling the hour.
+
+‘Midnight,’ said Concha.  ‘And all respectable folk are in their beds.
+At night all cats are grey.’
+
+No one heeded him.  Estella was sitting upright, bright-eyed and wakeful.
+The General looked out of the window at every moment.  Across the river
+they could see lights moving, and many houses that had been illuminated
+were suddenly dark.
+
+‘See,’ said the General, leaning out of the window and speaking to
+Conyngham, ‘they have heard the sound of our wheels.’
+
+At the farther end of the Bridge of Alcantara, on the road which now
+leads to the railway station, two horsemen were stationed, hidden in the
+shadow of the trees that border the pathway.
+
+‘Those should be Guardias Civiles,’ said Concepçion, who had studied the
+ways of those gentry all his life.  ‘But they are not.  They have horses
+that have never been taught to stand still.’
+
+As he spoke the men vanished, moving noiselessly in the thick dust which
+lay on the Madrid road.
+
+The General saw them go—and smiled.  These men carried word to their
+fellows in Madrid for the seizure of the little Queen.  But before they
+could reach the capital the Queen Regent herself would be there—a woman
+in a thousand, of inflexible nerve, of infinite resource.
+
+The carriage rattled over the narrow bridge which rings hollow to the
+sound of wheels.  It passed under the gate that Wamba built and up the
+tree-girt incline to the city.  The streets were deserted, and no window
+showed a light.  A watchman in his shelter, at the corner by the
+synagogue, peered at them over the folds of his cloak, and noting the
+clank of scabbard against spur, paid no further heed to a traveller who
+took the road with such outward signs of authority.
+
+‘It is still enough—and quiet,’ said Concha, looking out.
+
+‘As quiet as a watching cat,’ replied Vincente.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+THE CITY OF STRIFE
+
+
+                   ‘What lot is mine
+    Whose foresight preaches peace, my heart so slow
+    To feel it!’
+
+THROUGH these quiet streets the party clattered noisily enough, for the
+rain had left the rounded stones slippery, and the horses were too tired
+for a sure step.  There were no lights at the street corners, for all had
+been extinguished at midnight, and the only glimmer of a lamp that
+relieved the darkness was shining through the stained-glass windows of
+the Cathedral, where the sacred oil burnt night and day.
+
+The Queen was evidently expected at the Casa del Ayuntamiento, for at the
+approach of the carriage the great doors were thrown open and a number of
+servants appeared in the patio, which was but dimly lighted.  By the
+General’s orders the small body-guard passed through the doors, which
+were then closed, instead of continuing their way to the barracks in the
+Alcazar.
+
+This Casa del Ayuntamiento stands, as many travellers know, in the Plaza
+of the same name, and faces the Cathedral, which is without doubt the
+oldest, as it assuredly is the most beautiful, church in the world.  The
+mansion-house of Toledo, in addition to some palatial halls which are of
+historic renown, has several suites of rooms used from time to time by
+great personages passing through or visiting the city.  The house itself
+is old, as we esteem age in England, while in comparison to the buildings
+around it it is modern.  Built, however, at a period when beauty of
+architecture was secondary to power of resistance, the palace is strong
+enough, and General Vincente smiled happily as the great doors were
+closed.  He was the last to look out into the streets and across the
+little Plaza del Ayuntamiento, which was deserted and looked peaceful
+enough in the light of a waning moon.
+
+The carriage door was opened by a lacquey, and Conyngham gave Estella his
+hand.  All the servants bowed as she passed up the stairs, her face
+screened by the folds of her white mantilla.  There was a queer hush in
+this great house, and in the manner of the servants.  The cathedral clock
+rang out the half-hour.  The General led the way to the room on the first
+floor that overlooks the Plaza del Ayuntamiento.  It is a vast apartment,
+hung with tapestries and pictures such as men travel many miles to see.
+The windows, which are large in proportion to the height of the room,
+open upon a stone balcony, which runs the length of the house and looks
+down upon the Plaza and across this to the great façade of the Cathedral.
+Candles, hurriedly lighted, made the room into a very desert of shadows.
+At the far end, a table was spread with cold meats and lighted by high
+silver candelabra.
+
+‘Ah!’ said Concha, going towards the supper-table.
+
+Estella turned, and for the first time met Conyngham’s eyes.  His face
+startled her.  It was so grave.
+
+‘Were you hurt?’ she asked sharply.
+
+‘Not this time, señorita.’
+
+Then she turned with a sudden laugh towards her father.  ‘Did I play my
+part well?’ she asked.
+
+‘Yes, my child.’  And even he was grave.
+
+‘Unless I am mistaken,’ he continued, glancing at the shuttered windows,
+‘we have only begun our task.’  He was reading, as he spoke, some
+despatches which a servant had handed to him.
+
+‘There is one advantage in a soldier’s life,’ he said, smiling at
+Conyngham, ‘which is not, I think, sufficiently recognised—namely, that
+one’s duty is so often clearly defined.  At the present moment it is a
+question of keeping up the deception we have practised upon these good
+people of Toledo sufficiently long to enable the Queen Regent to reach
+Madrid.  In order to make certain of this we must lead the people to
+understand that the Queen is in this house until, at least, daylight.
+Given so much advantage, I think that her Majesty can reach the capital
+an hour before any messenger from Toledo.  Two horsemen quitted the
+Bridge of Alcantara as we crossed it, riding towards Madrid; but they
+will not reach the capital—I have seen to that.’
+
+He paused and walked to one of the long windows, which he opened.  The
+outer shutters remained closed, and he did not unbar them, but stood
+listening.
+
+‘All is still as yet,’ he said, returning to the table, where Father
+Concha was philosophically cutting up a cold chicken.  ‘That is a good
+idea of yours,’ he said.  ‘We may all require our full forces of mind and
+body before the dawn.’
+
+He drew forward a chair, and Estella, obeying his gesture, sat down and
+so far controlled her feelings as to eat a little.
+
+‘Do queens always feed on old birds such as this?’ asked Concha
+discontentedly; and Vincente, spreading out his napkin, laughed with gay
+good humour.
+
+‘Before the dawn,’ he said to Conyngham, ‘we may all be great men, and
+the good Concha here on the high road to a bishopric.’
+
+‘He would rather be in bed,’ muttered the priest, with his mouth full.
+
+It was a queer scene, such as we only act in real life.  The vast room,
+with its gorgeous hangings, the flickering candles, the table spread with
+delicacies, and the strange party seated at it—Concha eating steadily,
+the General looking round with his domesticated little smile, Estella
+with a new light in her eyes and a new happiness on her face, Conyngham,
+a giant among these southerners, in his dust-laden uniform—all made up a
+picture that none forgot.
+
+‘They will probably attack this place,’ said the General, pouring out a
+glass of wine; ‘but the house is a strong one.  I cannot rely on the
+regiments stationed at Toledo, and have sent to Madrid for cavalry.
+There is nothing like cavalry—in the streets.  We can stand a siege—till
+the dawn.’
+
+He turned, looking over his shoulder towards the door; for he had heard a
+footstep unnoticed by the others.  It was Concepçion Vara who came into
+the room, coatless, his face grey with dust, adding a startling and
+picturesque incongruity to the scene.
+
+‘Pardon, Excellency,’ he said, with that easy grasp of the situation
+which always made an utterly unabashed smuggler of him, ‘but there is one
+in the house whom I think his Excellency should speak with.’
+
+‘Ah!’
+
+‘The Señorita Barenna.’
+
+The General rose from the table.
+
+‘How did she get in here?’ he asked sharply.
+
+‘By the side door in the Calle de la Ciudad.  The keeper of that door,
+Excellency, is a mule.  The señorita forced him to admit her.  The sex
+can do so much,’ he added, with a tolerant shrug of the shoulders.
+
+‘And the other—this Larralde?’
+
+Concepçion raised his hand with outspread fingers, and shook it slowly
+from side to side from the wrist, with the palm turned towards his
+interlocutor—a gesture which seemed to indicate that the subject was an
+unpleasant, almost an indelicate, one.
+
+‘Larralde, Excellency,’ he said, ‘is one of those who are never found at
+the front.  He will not be in Toledo to-night—that Larralde.’
+
+‘Where is the Señorita Barenna?’ asked the General.
+
+‘She is downstairs—commanding his Excellency’s soldiers to let her pass.’
+
+‘You go down, my friend, and bring her here.  Then take that door
+yourself.’
+
+Concepçion bowed ceremoniously and withdrew.  He might have been an
+ambassador, and his salutation was worthy of an Imperial Court.
+
+A moment later Julia Barenna came into the room, her dark eyes wide with
+terror, her face pale and drawn.
+
+‘Where is the Queen Regent?’ she asked, looking from one face to the
+other, and seeing all her foes assembled as if by magic before her.
+
+‘Her Majesty is on the road between Aranjuez and Madrid—in safety, my
+dear Julia,’ replied the General soothingly.
+
+‘But they think she is here.  The people are in the streets.  Look out of
+the window.  They are in the Plaza.’
+
+‘I know it, my dear,’ said the General.
+
+‘They are armed—they are going to attack this house.’
+
+‘I am aware of it.’
+
+‘Their plan is to murder the Queen.’
+
+‘So we understand,’ said the General gently.  He had a horror of anything
+approaching sensation or a scene, a feeling which Spaniards share with
+Englishmen.  ‘That is the Queen for the time being,’ added Vincente,
+pointing to Estella.
+
+Julia stood looking from one to the other—a self-contained woman made
+strong by love.  For there is nothing in life or human experience that
+raises and strengthens man or woman so much as a great and abiding love.
+But Julia Barenna was driven and almost panic-stricken.  She held herself
+in control by an effort that was drawing lines in her face never to be
+wiped out.
+
+‘But you will tell them?  I will do it.  Let me go to them.  I am not
+afraid.’
+
+‘No one must leave this house now,’ said the General.  ‘You have come to
+us, my dear, you must now throw in your lot with ours.’
+
+‘But Estella must not take this risk,’ exclaimed Julia.  ‘Let me do it.’
+
+And some woman’s instinct sent her to Estella’s side—two women alone in
+that great house amid this man’s work, this strife of reckless
+politicians.
+
+‘And you, and Señor Conyngham,’ she cried, ‘you must not run this great
+risk.’
+
+‘It is what we are paid for, my dear Julia,’ answered the General,
+holding out his arm and indicating the gold stripes upon it.
+
+He walked to the window and opened the massive shutters, which swung back
+heavily.  Then he stepped out on to the balcony without fear or
+hesitation.
+
+‘See,’ he said, ‘the square is full of them.’
+
+He came back into the room, and Conyngham, standing beside him, looked
+down into the moonlit Plaza.  The square was, indeed, thronged with dark
+and silent shadows, while others, stealing from the doorways and narrow
+alleys with which Toledo abounds, joined the groups with stealthy steps.
+No one spoke, though the sound of their whispering arose in the still
+night air like the murmur of a breeze through reeds.  A hundred faces
+peered upwards through the darkness at the two intrepid figures on the
+balcony.
+
+‘And these are Spaniards, my dear Conyngham,’ whispered the General.  ‘A
+hundred of them against one woman.  Name of God!  I blush for them.’
+
+The throng increased every moment, and withal the silence never lifted,
+but brooded breathlessly over the ancient town.  Instead of living men,
+these might well have been the shades of the countless and forgotten dead
+who had come to a violent end in the streets of a city where Peace has
+never found a home since the days of Nebuchadnezzar.  Vincente came back
+into the room, leaving shutter and window open.
+
+‘They cannot see in,’ he said, ‘the building is too high.  And across the
+Plaza there is nothing but the Cathedral, which has no windows accessible
+without ladders.’
+
+He paused, looking at his watch.
+
+‘They are in doubt,’ he said, speaking to Conyngham.  ‘They are not sure
+that the Queen is here.  We will keep them in doubt for a short time.
+Every minute lost by them is an inestimable gain to us.  That open window
+will whet their curiosity, and give them something to whisper about.  It
+is so easy to deceive a crowd.’
+
+He sat down and began to peel a peach.  Julia looked at him, wondering
+wherein this man’s greatness lay, and yet perceiving dimly that, against
+such as he, men like Esteban Larralde could do nothing.
+
+Concha, having supped satisfactorily, was now sitting back in his chair
+seeking for something in the pockets of his cassock.
+
+‘It is to be presumed,’ he said, ‘that one may smoke—even in a palace.’
+
+And under their gaze he quietly lighted a cigarette with the deliberation
+of one in whom a long and solitary life had bred habits only to be broken
+at last by death.
+
+Presently the General rose and went to the window again.
+
+‘They are still doubtful,’ he said, returning, ‘and I think their numbers
+have decreased.  We cannot allow them to disperse.’
+
+He paused, thinking deeply.
+
+‘My child,’ he said suddenly to Estella, ‘you must show yourself on the
+balcony.’
+
+Estella rose at once; but Julia held her back.
+
+‘No,’ she said; ‘let me do it.  Give me the white mantilla.’
+
+There was a momentary silence while Estella freed herself from her
+cousin’s grasp.  Conyngham looked at the woman he loved while she stood,
+little more than a child, with something youthful and inimitably graceful
+in the lines of her throat and averted face.  Would she accept Julia’s
+offer?  Conyngham bit his lip and awaited her decision.  Then, as if
+divining his thought, she turned and looked at him gravely.
+
+‘No,’ she said; ‘I will do it.’
+
+She went towards the window.  Her father and Conyngham had taken their
+places, one on each side, as if she were the Queen indeed.  She stood for
+a moment on the threshold, and then passed out into the moonlight, alone.
+Immediately there arose the most terrifying of all earthly sounds—the
+dull, antagonistic roar of a thousand angry throats.  Estella walked to
+the front of the balcony and stood, with an intrepidity which was worthy
+of the royal woman whose part she played, looking down on the upturned
+faces.  A red flash streaked the darkness of a far corner of the square,
+and a bullet whistled through the open window into the woodwork of a
+mirror.
+
+‘Come back,’ whispered General Vincente.  ‘Slowly, my child—slowly.’
+
+Estella stood for a moment looking down with a royal insolence, then
+turned, and with measured steps approached the window.  As she passed in
+she met Conyngham’s eyes, and that one moment assuredly made two lives
+worth living.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+MIDNIGHT AND DAWN
+
+
+          ‘I have set my life upon a cast
+    And I will stand the hazard of the die.’
+
+‘EXCELLENCY,’ reported a man who entered the room at this moment, ‘they
+are bringing carts of fuel through the Calle de la Ciudad to set against
+the door and burn it.’
+
+‘To set against which door, my honest friend?’
+
+‘The great door on the Plaza, Excellency; the other is an old door of
+iron.’
+
+‘And they cannot burn it or break it open?’
+
+‘No, Excellency.  And, besides, there are loopholes in the thickness of
+the wall at the side.’
+
+The General smiled on this man as being after his own heart.
+
+‘One may not shoot to-night, my friend.  I have already given the order.’
+
+‘But one may prick them with the sword, Excellency?’ suggested the
+trooper, with a sort of suppressed enthusiasm.
+
+The General shrugged his shoulders, wisely tolerant.
+
+‘Oh yes,’ he answered, ‘I suppose one may prick them with the sword.’
+
+Conyngham, who had been standing half in and half out of the open window,
+listening to this conversation, now came forward.
+
+‘I think,’ he said, ‘that I can clear the Plaza from time to time if you
+give me twenty men.  We can thus gain time.’
+
+‘Street-fighting,’ answered the General gravely.  ‘Do you know anything
+of it?  It is nasty work.’
+
+‘I know something of it.  One has to shout very loud.  I studied it—at
+Dublin University.’
+
+‘To be sure—I forgot.’
+
+Julia and Estella watched and listened.  Their lot had been cast in the
+paths of war, and since childhood they had remembered naught else.  But
+neither had yet been so near to the work, nor had they seen and heard men
+talk and plan with a certain grim humour—a curt and deliberate scorn of
+haste or excitement—as these men spoke and planned now.  Conyngham and
+Concepçion Vara were altered by these circumstances—there was a light in
+their eyes which women rarely see, but the General was the same little
+man of peace and of a high domestic virtue, who seemed embarrassed by a
+sword which was obviously too big for him.  Yet in all their voices there
+rang alike a queer note of exultation.  For man is a fighting animal, and
+from St. Paul down to the humblest little five-foot-one recruit, would
+find life a dull affair were there no strife in it.
+
+‘Yes,’ said the General, after a moment’s reflection, ‘that is a good
+idea, and will gain time.  But let them first bring their fuel and set it
+up.  Every moment is a gain.’
+
+At this instant some humorist in the crowd threw a stone in at the open
+window.  The old priest picked up the missile and examined it curiously.
+
+‘It is fortunate,’ he said, ‘that the stones are fixed in Toledo.  In
+Xeres they are loose, and are always in the air.  I wonder if I can hit a
+citizen.’  And he threw the stone back.
+
+‘Close the shutters,’ said the General.  ‘Let us avoid arousing
+ill-feeling.’
+
+The priest drew the jalousies together, but did not quite shut them.
+Vincente stood and looked out through the aperture at the moonlit square
+and the dark shadows moving there.
+
+‘I wish they would shout,’ he said.  ‘It is unnatural.  They are like
+children.  When there is noise there is little mischief.’
+
+Then he remained silent for some minutes, watching intently.  All in the
+room noted his every movement.  At length he turned on his heel.
+
+‘Go, my friend,’ he said to Conyngham.  ‘Form your men in the Calle de la
+Ciudad, and charge round in line.  Do not place yourself too much in
+advance of your men, or you will be killed, and remember—the point!
+Resist the temptation to cut—the point is best.’
+
+He patted Conyngham on the arm affectionately, as if he were sending him
+to bed with a good wish, and accompanied him to the door.
+
+‘I knew,’ he said, returning to the window and rubbing his hands
+together, ‘that that was a good man the first moment I saw him.’
+
+He glanced at Estella, and then, turning, opened another window, setting
+the shutters ajar so as to make a second point of observation.
+
+‘My poor child,’ he whispered, as she went to the window and looked out,
+‘it is an ill-fortune to have to do with men whose trade this is.’
+
+Estella smiled—a little whitely—and said nothing.  The moon was now
+shining from an almost cloudless sky.  The few fleecy remains of the
+storm sailing towards the east only added brightness to the night.  It
+was almost possible to see the faces of the men moving in the square
+below, and to read their expressions.  The majority stood in a group in
+the centre of the Plaza, while a daring few, reckoning on the Spanish
+aversion to firearms, ran forward from time to time and set a bundle of
+wood or straw against the door beneath the balcony.
+
+Some, who appeared to be the leaders, looked up constantly and curiously
+at the windows, wondering if any resistance would be made.  Had they
+known that General Vincente was in that silent house they would probably
+have gone home to bed, and the crowd would have dispersed like smoke.
+
+Suddenly there arose a roar to the right hand of the square where the
+Calle de la Ciudad was situated, and Conyngham appeared for a moment
+alone, running towards the group, with the moonlight flashing on his
+sword.  At his heels an instant later a single line of men swung round
+the corner and charged across the square.
+
+‘Dear, dear,’ muttered the General; ‘too quick, my friend, too quick!’
+
+For Conyngham was already among the crowd, which broke and surged back
+towards the Cathedral.  He paused for a moment to draw his sword out of a
+dark form that lay upon the ground, as a cricketer draws a stump.  He
+had, at all events, remembered the point.  The troopers swept across the
+square like a broom, sending the people as dust before them, and leaving
+the clean, moonlit square behind.  They also left behind one or two
+shadows, lying stark upon the around.  One of these got upon its knees
+and crawled painfully away, all one-sided, like a beetle that has been
+trodden underfoot.  Those watching from the windows saw with a gasp of
+horror that part of him—part of an arm—had been left behind, and a sigh
+of relief went up when he stopped crawling and lay quite still.
+
+The troopers were now retreating slowly towards the Calle de la Ciudad.
+
+‘Be careful, Conyngham,’ shouted the General from the balcony.  ‘They
+will return.’
+
+And as he spoke a rattling fire was opened upon them from the far corner
+of the square, where the crowd had taken refuge in the opening of the
+Calle del Arco.  Immediately, the people, having noted that the troopers
+were few in number, charged down upon them.  The men fought in line,
+retreating step by step, their swords gleaming in the moonlight.
+Estella, hearing footsteps in the room behind her, turned in time to see
+her father disappearing through the doorway.  Concepçion Vara, coatless,
+as he loved to work, his white shirtsleeves fluttering as his arm swung,
+had now joined the troopers, and was fighting by Conyngham’s side.
+
+Estella and Julia were out on the balcony now, leaning over and
+forgetting all but the breathless interest of battle.  Concha stood
+beside them, muttering and cursing like any soldier.
+
+They saw Vincente appear at the corner of the Calle de la Ciudad and
+throw away his scabbard as he ran.
+
+‘Now, my children!’ he cried in a voice that Estella had never heard
+before, which rang out across the square, and was answered by a yell that
+was nothing but a cry of sheer delight.  The crowd swayed back as if
+before a gust of wind, and the General, following it, seemed to clear a
+space for himself as a reaper clears away the standing corn before him.
+It was, however, only for a moment.  The crowd surged back, those in
+front against their will, and on to the glittering steel—those behind
+shouting encouragement.
+
+‘Name of God!’ shouted Concha, and was gone.  They saw him a minute later
+appear in the square, having thrown aside his cassock.  He made a strange
+lean figure of a man with his knee-breeches and dingy purple stockings,
+his grey flannel shirt, and the moonlight shining on his tonsured head.
+He fought without skill, and heedless of danger, swinging a great sword
+that he had picked up from the hand of a fallen trooper, and each blow
+that he got home killed its victim.  The metal of the man had suddenly
+shown itself after years of suppression.  This, as Vincente had
+laughingly said, was no priest, but a soldier.  Concepçion, in the thick
+of it, using the knife now with a deadly skill, looked over his shoulder
+and laughed.
+
+Suddenly the crowd swayed.  The faint sound of a distant bugle came to
+the ears of all.
+
+‘It is nothing,’ shouted Concha, in English.  ‘It is nothing.  It is I
+who sent the bugler round.’
+
+And his great sword whistled into a man’s brain.  In another moment the
+square was empty, for the politicians who came to murder a woman had had
+enough steel.  The sound of the bugle, intimating, as they supposed, the
+arrival of troops, completed the work of demoralisation which the
+recognition of General Vincente had begun.
+
+The little party—the few defenders of the Casa del Ayuntamiento—were left
+in some confusion in the Plaza, and Estella saw with a sudden cold fear
+that Conyngham and Concha were on their knees in the midst of a little
+group of hesitating men.  It was Concha who rose first and held up his
+hand to the watchers on the balcony, bidding them stay where they were.
+Then Conyngham rose to his feet slowly, as one bearing a burden.  Estella
+looked down in a sort of dream, and saw her lover carrying her father
+towards the house, her mind only half comprehending, in that
+semi-dreamlike reception of sudden calamity which is one of Heaven’s
+deepest mercies.
+
+It was Concepçion who came into the room first, his white shirt dyed with
+blood in great patches like the colour on a piebald horse.  A cut in his
+cheek was slowly dripping.  He went straight to a sofa covered in
+gorgeous yellow satin, and set the cushions in order.
+
+‘Señorita,’ he said, and spread out his hands.  The tears were in his
+eyes, ‘Half of Spain,’ he added, ‘would rather that it had been the
+Queen—and the world is poorer.’
+
+A moment later Concha came into the room dragging on his cassock.
+
+‘My child, we are in God’s hand,’ he said, with a break in his gruff
+voice.
+
+And then came the heavy step of one carrying sorrow.
+
+Conyngham laid his burden on the sofa.  General Vincente was holding his
+handkerchief to his side, and his eyes, which had a thoughtful look, saw
+only Estella’s face.
+
+‘I have sent for a doctor,’ said Conyngham.  ‘Your father is wounded.’
+
+‘Yes,’ said Vincente immediately; ‘but I am in no pain, my dear child.
+There is no reason, surely, for us to distress ourselves.’
+
+He looked round and smiled.
+
+‘And this good Conyngham,’ he added, ‘carried me like a child.’
+
+Julia was on her knees at the foot of the sofa, her face hidden in her
+hands.
+
+‘My dear Julia,’ he said, ‘why this distress?’
+
+‘Because all of this is my doing,’ she answered, lifting her drawn and
+terror-stricken face.
+
+‘No, no!’ said Vincente, with a characteristic pleasantry.  ‘You take too
+much upon yourself.  All these things are written down for us beforehand.
+We only add the punctuation—delaying a little or hurrying a little.’
+
+They looked at him silently, and assuredly none could mistake the shadows
+that were gathering on his face.  Estella, who was holding his hand,
+knelt on the floor by his side, quiet and strong, offering silently that
+sympathy which is woman’s greatest gift.
+
+Concepçion, who perhaps knew more of this matter than any present, looked
+at Concha and shook his head.  The priest was buttoning his cassock, and
+began to seek something in his pocket.
+
+‘Your breviary?’ whispered Concepçion; ‘I saw it lying out there—among
+the dead.’
+
+‘It is a comfort to have one’s duty clearly defined,’ said the General
+suddenly, in a clear voice.  He was evidently addressing Conyngham.  ‘One
+of the advantages of a military life.  We have done our best, and this
+time we have succeeded.  But—it is only deferred.  It will come at
+length, and Spain will be a republic.  It is a failing cause—because, at
+the head of it, is a bad woman.’
+
+Conyngham nodded, but no one spoke.  No one seemed capable of following
+his thoughts.  Already he seemed to look at them as from a distance, as
+if he had started on a journey and was looking back.  During this silence
+there came a great clatter in the streets, and a sharp voice cried
+‘Halt!’  The General turned his eyes towards the window.
+
+‘The cavalry,’ said Conyngham, ‘from Madrid.’
+
+‘I did not expect—them,’ said Vincente slowly, ‘before the dawn.’
+
+The sound of the horses’ feet and the clatter of arms died away as the
+troop passed on towards the Calle de la Ciudad, and the quiet of night
+was again unbroken.
+
+Then Concha, getting down on to his knees, began reciting from memory the
+office—which, alas! he knew too well.
+
+When it was finished, and the gruff voice died away, Vincente opened his
+eyes.
+
+‘Every man to his trade,’ he said, with a little laugh.
+
+Then suddenly he made a grimace.
+
+‘A twinge of pain,’ he said deprecatingly, as if apologising for giving
+them the sorrow of seeing it.  ‘It will pass—before the dawn.’
+
+Presently he opened his eyes again and smiled at Estella, before he moved
+with a tired sigh and turned his face towards that Dawn which knows no
+eventide.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX
+THE DAWN OF PEACE
+
+
+                           ‘Quien no ama, no vive.’
+
+THE fall of Morella had proved to be, as many anticipated, the knell of
+the Carlist cause.  Cabrera, that great general and consummate leader,
+followed Don Carlos, who had months earlier fled to France.  General
+Espartero—a man made and strengthened by circumstances—was now at the
+height of his fame, and for the moment peace seemed to be assured to
+Spain.  It was now a struggle between Espartero and Queen Christina.  But
+with these matters the people of Spain had little to do.  Such warfare of
+the council-chamber and the boudoir is carried on quietly, and the sound
+of it rarely reaches the ear, and never the heart, of the masses.
+Politics, indeed, had been the daily fare of the Spaniards for so long
+that their palates were now prepared to accept any sop so long as it was
+flavoured with peace.  Aragon was devastated, and the northern provinces
+had neither seed nor labourers for the coming autumn.  The peasants who,
+having lost faith in Don Carlos, rallied round Cabrera, now saw
+themselves abandoned by their worshipped leader, and turned hopelessly
+enough homewards.  Thus gradually the country relapsed into quiet, and
+empty garners compelled many to lay aside the bayonet and take up the
+spade who, having tasted the thrill of battle, had no longer any taste
+for the ways of peace.
+
+Frederick Conyngham was brought into sudden prominence by the part he
+played in the disturbance at Toledo—which disturbance proved, as history
+tells, to be a forerunner of the great revolution a year later in Madrid.
+Promotion was at this time rapid, and the Englishman made many strides in
+a few months.  Jealousy was so rife among the Spanish leaders, Christinos
+distrusted so thoroughly the reformed Carlists, that one who was outside
+these petty considerations received from both sides many honours on the
+sole recommendation of his neutrality.
+
+‘And besides,’ said Father Concha, sitting in the sunlight on his church
+steps at Ronda, reading to the barber, and the shoemaker, and other of
+his parishioners, the latest newspaper, ‘and besides—he is clever.’
+
+He paused, slowly taking a pinch of snuff.
+
+‘Where the river is deepest it makes least noise,’ he added.
+
+The barber wagged his head after the manner of one who will never admit
+that he does not understand an allusion.  And before any could speak the
+clatter of horses in the narrow street diverted attention.  Concha rose
+to his feet.
+
+‘Ah!’ he said, and went forward to meet Conyngham, who was riding with
+Concepçion at his side.
+
+‘So you have come, my son,’ he said, shaking hands.  He looked up into
+the Englishman’s face, which was burnt brown by service under a merciless
+sun.  Conyngham looked lean and strong, but his eyes had no rest in them.
+This was not a man who had all he wanted.
+
+‘Are you come to Ronda, or are you passing through?’ asked the priest.
+
+‘To Ronda.  As I passed the Casa Barenna I made inquiries.  The ladies
+are in the town, it appears.’
+
+‘Yes; they are with Estella in the house you know—unless you have
+forgotten it.’
+
+‘No,’ answered Conyngham getting out of the saddle.  ‘No; I have
+forgotten nothing.’
+
+Concepçion came forward and led the horse away.
+
+‘I will walk to the Casa Vincente.  Have you the time to accompany me?’
+said Conyngham.
+
+‘I have always time—for my neighbour’s business,’ replied Concha.  And
+they set off together.
+
+‘You walk stiffly,’ said Concha.  ‘Have you ridden far?’
+
+‘From Osuna—forty miles since daybreak.’
+
+‘You are in a hurry.’
+
+‘Yes, I am in a hurry.’
+
+Without further comment he extracted from inside his smart tunic a
+letter—the famous letter in a pink envelope—which he handed to Concha.
+
+‘Yes,’ said the priest, turning it over.  ‘You and I first saw this in
+the Hotel de la Marina at Algeciras, when we were fools not to throw it
+into the nearest brazier.  We should have saved a good man’s life, my
+friend.’
+
+He handed the letter back, and thoughtfully dusted his cassock where it
+was worn and shiny with constant dusting, so that the snuff had nought to
+cling to.
+
+‘And you have got it—at last.  Holy saints—these Englishmen!  Do you
+always get what you want, my son?’
+
+‘Not always,’ replied Conyngham, with an uneasy laugh.  ‘But I should be
+a fool not to try.’
+
+‘Assuredly,’ said Concha, ‘assuredly.  And you have come to Ronda—to
+try?’
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+They walked on in silence, on the shady side of the street, and presently
+passed and saluted a priest—one of Concha’s colleagues in this city of
+the South.
+
+‘There walks a tragedy,’ said Concha, in his curt way.  ‘Inside every
+cassock there walks a tragedy—or a villain.’
+
+After a pause it was Concha who again broke the silence.  Conyngham
+seemed to be occupied with his own thoughts.
+
+‘And Larralde—?’ said the priest.
+
+‘I come from him—from Barcelona,’ answered Conyngham, ‘where he is in
+safety.  Catalonia is full of such as he.  Sir John Pleydell, before
+leaving Spain, bought this letter for two hundred pounds—a few months
+ago—when I was a poor man and could not offer a price for it.  But
+Larralde disappeared when the plot failed, and I have only found him
+lately in Barcelona.’
+
+‘In Barcelona?’ echoed Concha.
+
+‘Yes; where he can take a passage to Cuba, and where he awaits Julia
+Barenna.’
+
+‘Ah!’ said Concha, ‘so he also is faithful—because life is not long, my
+son.  That is the only reason.  How wise was the great God when He made a
+human life short! ‘
+
+‘I have a letter,’ continued Conyngham, ‘from Larralde to the Señorita
+Barenna.’
+
+‘So you parted friends in Barcelona—after all—when his knife has been
+between your shoulders?’
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘God bless you, my son!’ said the priest, in Latin, with his careless,
+hurried gesture of the Cross.
+
+After they had walked a few paces he spoke again.
+
+‘I shall go to Barcelona with her,’ he said, ‘and marry her to this man.
+When one has no affairs of one’s own there always remain—for old women
+and priests—the affairs of one’s neighbour.  Tell me—’ he paused and
+looked fiercely at him under shaggy brows—‘tell me why you came to
+Spain.’
+
+‘You want to know who and what I am—before we reach the Calle Mayor?’
+said Conyngham.
+
+‘I know what you are, _amigo mio_, better than yourself, perhaps.’
+
+As they walked through the narrow streets Conyngham told his simple
+history, dwelling more particularly on the circumstances preceding his
+departure from England, and Concha listened with no further sign of
+interest than a grimace or a dry smile here and there.
+
+‘The mill gains by going, and not by standing still,’ he said, and added,
+after a pause, ‘But it is always a mistake to grind another’s wheat for
+nothing.’
+
+They were now approaching the old house in the Calle Mayor, and Conyngham
+lapsed into a silence which his companion respected.  They passed under
+the great doorway into the patio, which was quiet and shady at this
+afternoon hour.  The servants, of whom there are a multitude in all great
+Spanish houses, had apparently retired to the seclusion of their own
+quarters.  One person alone was discernible amid the orange trees and in
+the neighbourhood of the murmuring fountain.  She was asleep in a
+rocking-chair, with a newspaper on her lap.  She preferred the patio to
+the garden, which was too quiet for one of her temperament.  In the patio
+she found herself better placed to exchange a word with those engaged in
+the business of the house, to learn, in fact, from the servants the
+latest gossip, to ask futile questions of them, and to sit in that
+idleness which will not allow others to be employed.  In a word, this was
+the Señora Barenna, and Concha, seeing her, stood for a moment in
+hesitation.  Then, with a signal to Conyngham, he crept noiselessly
+across the tessellated pavement to the shadow of the staircase.  They
+passed up the broad steps without sound and without awaking the sleeping
+lady.  In the gallery above, the priest paused and looked down into the
+courtyard, his grim face twisted in a queer smile.  Then, at the woman
+sitting there—at life and all its illusions, perhaps—he shrugged his
+shoulders and passed on.
+
+In the drawing-room they found Julia, who leapt to her feet and hurried
+across the floor when she saw Conyngham.  She stood looking at him
+breathlessly, her whole history written in her eyes.
+
+‘Yes,’ she whispered, as if he had called her.  ‘Yes—what is it?  Have
+you come to tell me—something?’
+
+‘I have come to give you a letter, señorita,’ he answered, handing her
+Larralde’s missive.  She held out her hand, and never took her eyes from
+his face.
+
+Concha walked to the window—the window whence the Alcalde of Ronda had
+seen Conyngham hand Julia Barenna another letter.  The old priest stood
+looking down into the garden, where, amid the feathery foliage of the
+pepper trees and the bamboos, he could perceive the shadow of a black
+dress.  Conyngham also turned away, and thus the two men who held this
+woman’s happiness in the hollow of their hands stood listening to the
+crisp rattle of the paper as she tore the envelope and unfolded her
+lover’s letter.  A great happiness and a great sorrow are alike
+impossible of realisation.  We only perceive their extent when their
+importance has begun to wane.
+
+Julia Barenna read the letter through to the end, and it is possible (for
+women are blind in such matters) failed to perceive the selfishness in
+every line of it.  Then, with the message of happiness in her hand, she
+returned to the chair she had just quitted, with a vague wonder in her
+mind, and the very human doubt that accompanies all possession, as to
+whether the price paid has not been too high.
+
+Concha was the first to move.  He turned and crossed the room towards
+Conyngham.
+
+‘I see,’ he said, ‘Estella in the garden.’
+
+And they passed out of the room together, leaving Julia Barenna alone
+with her thoughts.  On the broad stone balcony Concha paused.
+
+‘I will stay here,’ he said.  He looked over the balustrade.  Señora
+Barenna was still asleep.
+
+‘Do not awake her,’ he whispered.  ‘Let all sleeping things sleep.’
+
+Conyngham passed down the stairs noiselessly, and through the doorway
+into the garden.
+
+‘And at the end—the Gloria is chanted,’ said Concha, watching him go.
+
+The scent of the violets greeted Conyngham as he went forward beneath the
+trees planted there in the Moslems’ day.  The running water murmured
+sleepily as it hurried in its narrow channel towards the outlet through
+the grey wall, whence it leapt four hundred feet into the Tajo below.
+
+Estella was seated in the shade of a gnarled fig tree, where tables and
+chairs indicated the Spanish habit of an out-of-door existence.  She rose
+as he came towards her, and met his eyes gravely.  A gleam of sun
+glancing through the leaves fell on her golden hair, half hidden by the
+mantilla, and showed that she was pale with some fear or desire.
+
+‘Señorita,’ he said, ‘I have brought you the letter.’  He held it out,
+and she took it, turning over the worn envelope absent-mindedly.
+
+‘I have not read it myself, and am permitted to give it to you on one
+condition—namely, that you destroy it as soon as you have read it.’
+
+She looked at it again.
+
+‘It contains the lives of many men—their lives and the happiness of those
+connected with them,’ said Conyngham.  ‘That is what you hold in your
+hand, señorita—as well as my life and happiness.’
+
+She raised her dark eyes to his for a moment, and their tenderness was
+not of earth or of this world at all.  Then she tore the envelope and its
+contents slowly into a hundred pieces, and dropped the fluttering papers
+into the stream pacing in its marble bed towards the Tajo and the
+oblivion of the sea.
+
+‘There—I have destroyed the letter,’ she said, with a thoughtful little
+smile.  Then, looking up, she met his eyes.
+
+‘I did not want it.  I am glad you gave it to me.  It will make a
+difference to our lives.  Though—I never wanted it.’
+
+Then she came slowly towards him.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                   Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
+                            Edinburgh & London
+
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+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" />
+<title>In Kedar's Tents, by Henry Seton Merriman</title>
+    <style type="text/css">
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg eBook, In Kedar's Tents, by Henry Seton Merriman
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
+other parts of the world 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.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
+to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
+
+
+
+
+Title: In Kedar's Tents
+
+
+Author: Henry Seton Merriman
+
+
+
+Release Date: January 27, 2015  [eBook #5987]
+[This file was first posted on October 8, 2002]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN KEDAR'S TENTS***
+</pre>
+<p>Transcribed from the 1909 Smith, Elder and Co. edition by Les
+Bowler.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/coverb.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"Book cover"
+title=
+"Book cover"
+ src="images/covers.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<h1>IN<br />
+KEDAR&rsquo;S TENTS</h1>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/tpb.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"Decorative graphic"
+title=
+"Decorative graphic"
+ src="images/tps.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br
+/>
+HENRY SETON MERRIMAN</p>
+
+<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
+<p style="text-align: center"><span
+class="GutSmall">LONDON</span><br />
+SMITH, ELDER, &amp; CO.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">15 WATERLOO PLACE</span><br />
+<span class="GutSmall">1909</span></p>
+
+<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
+<p style="text-align: center">Printed by <span
+class="smcap">Ballantyne</span>, <span
+class="smcap">Hanson</span> &amp; <span
+class="smcap">Co</span>.<br />
+At the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh</p>
+
+<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+<table>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span
+class="GutSmall">CHAPTER</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p>&nbsp;</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span
+class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">I.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">One Soweth</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page1">1</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">II.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">Another Reapeth</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page11">11</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">III.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">Like Ships upon the Sea</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page23">23</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">IV.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">Le Premier Pas</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page34">34</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">V.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">Contraband</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page48">48</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">VI.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">At Ronda</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page59">59</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">VII.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">In a Moorish Garden</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page70">70</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">VIII.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">The Love Letter</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page82">82</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">IX.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">A War of Wit</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page94">94</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">X.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">The City of Discontent</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page105">105</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XI.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">A Tangled Web</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page117">117</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XII.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">On the Toledo Road</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page129">129</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XIII.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">A Wise Ignoramus</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page140">140</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XIV.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">A Weight of Evidence</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page151">151</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XV.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">An Ultimatum</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page163">163</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XVI.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">In Honour</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page174">174</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XVII.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">In Madrid</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page185">185</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XVIII.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">In Toledo</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page197">197</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XIX.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">Concep&ccedil;ion takes the
+Road</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page208">208</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XX.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">On the Talavera Road</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page220">220</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XXI.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">A Cross-Examination</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page231">231</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XXII.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">Reparation</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page242">242</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XXIII.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">Larralde&rsquo;s Price</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page254">254</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XXIV.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">Priestcraft</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page265">265</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XXV.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">Swordcraft</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page276">276</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XXVI.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">Womancraft</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page287">287</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XXVII.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">A Night Journey</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page298">298</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XXVIII.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">The City of Strife</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page309">309</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XXIX.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">Midnight and Dawn</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page320">320</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XXX.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">The Dawn of Peace</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page331">331</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 1</span>CHAPTER
+I<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">ONE SOWETH</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;If it be a duty to respect other
+men&rsquo;s claims, so also is it a duty to maintain our
+own.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><span class="smcap">It</span> is in the staging of her
+comedies that fate shows herself superior to mere human
+invention.&nbsp; While we, with careful regard to scenery, place
+our conventional puppets on the stage and bid them play their old
+old parts in a manner as ancient, she rings up the curtain and
+starts a tragedy on a scene that has obviously been set by the
+carpenter for a farce.&nbsp; She deals out the parts with a fine
+inconsistency, and the jolly-faced little man is cast to play
+Romeo, while the poetic youth with lantern jaw and an impaired
+digestion finds no Juliet to match his love.</p>
+<p>Fate, with that playfulness which some take too seriously or
+quite amiss, set her queer stage as long ago as 1838 for the
+comedy of certain lives, and rang up the curtain one dark evening
+on no fitter scene than the high road from Gateshead to
+Durham.&nbsp; It was raining hard, and a fresh breeze from the
+south-east swept a salt rime from the North Sea across a tract of
+land as bare and bleak as the waters of that grim ocean.&nbsp; A
+hard, cold land this, where the iron that has filled men&rsquo;s
+purses has also entered their souls.</p>
+<p>There had been a great meeting at Chester-le-Street of those
+who were at this time beginning to be known as Chartists, and,
+the Act having been lately passed that torchlight meetings were
+illegal, this assembly had gathered by the light of a waning moon
+long since hidden by the clouds.&nbsp; Amid the storm of wind and
+rain, orators had expounded views as wild as the night itself, to
+which the hard-visaged sons of Northumbria had listened with
+grunts of approval or muttered words of discontent.&nbsp; A
+dangerous game to play&mdash;this stirring up of the
+people&rsquo;s heart, and one that may at any moment turn to the
+deepest earnest.</p>
+<p>Few thought at this time that the movement awakening in the
+working centres of the North and Midlands was destined to spread
+with the strange rapidity of popular passion&mdash;to spread and
+live for a decade.&nbsp; Few of the Chartists expected to see the
+fulfilment of half of their desires.&nbsp; Yet, to-day, a moiety
+of the People&rsquo;s Charter has been granted.&nbsp; These
+voices crying in the night demanded an extended suffrage, vote by
+ballot, and freedom for rich and poor alike to sit in
+Parliament.&nbsp; Within the scope of one reign these demands
+have been granted.</p>
+<p>The meeting at Chester-le-Street was no different from a
+hundred others held in England at the same time.&nbsp; It was
+illegal, and yet the authorities dared not to pronounce it
+so.&nbsp; It might prove dangerous to those taking part in
+it.&nbsp; Lawyers said that the leaders laid themselves open to
+the charge of high treason.&nbsp; In this assembly as in others
+there were wirepullers&mdash;men playing their own game, and from
+the safety of the rear pushing on those in front.&nbsp; With one
+of these we have to do.&nbsp; With his mistake Fate raised the
+curtain, and on the horizon of several lives arose a cloud no
+bigger than a man&rsquo;s hand.</p>
+<p>Geoffrey Horner lived before his time, insomuch as he was a
+gentleman-Radical.&nbsp; He was clever, and the world heeded
+not.&nbsp; He was brilliant, well educated, capable of great
+achievements, and the world refused to be astonished.&nbsp; Here
+were the makings of a malcontent.&nbsp; A well-born Radical is
+one whom the world has refused to accept at his own
+valuation.&nbsp; A wise man is ready to strike a bargain with
+Fate.&nbsp; The wisest are those who ask much and then take
+half.&nbsp; It is the coward who asks too little, and the fool
+who imagines that he will receive without demanding.</p>
+<p>Horner had thrown in his lot with the Chartists in that spirit
+of pique which makes a man marry the wrong woman because the
+right one will have none of him.&nbsp; At the Chester-le-Street
+meeting he had declared himself an upholder of moral persuasion,
+while in his heart he pandered to those who knew only of physical
+force and placed their reliance thereon.&nbsp; He had come from
+Durham with a contingent of malcontents, and was now returning
+thither on foot in company with the local leaders.&nbsp; These
+were intelligent mechanics seeking clumsily and blindly enough
+what they knew to be the good of their fellows.&nbsp; At their
+heels tramped the rank and file of the great movement.&nbsp; The
+assembly was a subtle foreshadowing of things to come&mdash;of
+Newport and the march of twenty thousand men, of violence and
+bloodshed, of strife between brethren, and of justice nonplussed
+and hesitating.</p>
+<p>The toil-worn miners were mostly silent, their dimly
+enlightened intellects uneasily stirred by the words they had
+lately heard&mdash;their stubborn hearts full of a great hope
+with a minute misgiving at the back of it.&nbsp; With this
+dangerous material Geoffrey Horner proposed to play his game.</p>
+<p>Suddenly a voice was raised.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Mates,&rsquo; it cried, at the cross-roads,
+&lsquo;let&rsquo;s go and smash Pleydell&rsquo;s
+windows!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And a muttered acquiescence to the proposal swept through the
+moving mass like a sullen breeze through reeds.</p>
+<p>The desire for action rustled among these men of few words and
+mighty arms.</p>
+<p>Horner hurriedly consulted his colleagues.&nbsp; Was it wise
+to attempt to exert an authority which was merely nominal?&nbsp;
+The principles of Chartism were at this time to keep within the
+limits of the law, and yet to hint, when such a course was safe,
+that stronger measures lay behind mere words.&nbsp; Their fatal
+habit was to strike softly.</p>
+<p>In peace and war, at home and abroad, there is but one humane
+and safe rule: Hesitate to strike&mdash;strike hard.</p>
+<p>Sir John Pleydell was a member of that Parliament which had
+treated the Charter with contempt.&nbsp; He was one of those who
+had voted with the majority against the measures it embodied.</p>
+<p>In addition to these damnatory facts, he was a local Tory of
+some renown&mdash;an ambitious man, the neighbours said, who
+wished to leave his son a peerage.</p>
+<p>To the minds of the rabble this magnate represented the
+tyranny against which their protest was raised.&nbsp; Geoffrey
+Horner looked on him as a political opponent and a dangerous
+member of the winning party.&nbsp; The blow was easy to
+strike.&nbsp; Horner hesitated&mdash;at the cross roads of other
+lives than his own&mdash;and held his tongue.</p>
+<p>The suggestion of the unknown humorist in the crowd commended
+itself to the more energetic of the party, who immediately turned
+towards the by-road leading to Dene Hall.&nbsp; The
+others&mdash;the minority&mdash;followed as minorities do,
+because they distrusted themselves.&nbsp; Some one struck up a
+song with words lately published in the &lsquo;Northern
+Liberator&rsquo; and set to a well-known local air.</p>
+<p>The shooting party assembled at Dene Hall was still at the
+dinner table when the malcontents entered the park, and the talk
+of coverts and guns ceased suddenly at the sound of their rough
+voices.&nbsp; Sir John Pleydell, an alert man still, despite his
+grey hair and drawn, careworn face, looked up sharply.&nbsp; He
+had been sitting silently fingering the stem of his
+wineglass&mdash;a habit of his when the ladies quitted the
+room&mdash;and, although he had shot as well as, perhaps better
+than, any present, had taken but little part in the
+conversation.&nbsp; He had, in fact, only half listened, and when
+a rare smile passed across his grey face it invariably owed its
+existence to some sally made by his son, Alfred Pleydell, gay,
+light-hearted, <i>d&eacute;bonnaire</i>, at the far end of the
+table.&nbsp; When Sir John&rsquo;s thoughtful eyes rested on his
+motherless son, a dull and suppressed light gleamed momentarily
+beneath his heavy lids.&nbsp; Superficial observers said that
+John Pleydell was an ambitious man; &lsquo;not for
+himself,&rsquo; added the few who saw deeper.</p>
+<p>When his quick mind now took in the import of the sound that
+broke the outer silence of the night, Sir John&rsquo;s glance
+sought his son&rsquo;s face.&nbsp; In moments of alarm the glance
+flies to where the heart is.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What is that?&rsquo; asked Alfred Pleydell, standing
+up.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Chartists,&rsquo; said Sir John.</p>
+<p>Alfred looked round.&nbsp; He was a soldier, though the ink
+had hardly dried upon the parchment that made him one&mdash;the
+only soldier in the room.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We are eleven here,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;and two men
+downstairs&mdash;some of you fellows have your valets
+too&mdash;say fifteen in all.&nbsp; We cannot stand this, you
+know.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>As he spoke the first volley of stones crashed through the
+windows, and the broken glass rattled to the floor behind the
+shutters.&nbsp; The cries of the ladies in the drawing-room could
+be heard, and all the men sprang to their feet.&nbsp; With
+blazing eyes Alfred Pleydell ran to the door, but his father was
+there before him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not you,&rsquo; said the elder man, quiet but a little
+paler than usual; &lsquo;I will go and speak to them.&nbsp; They
+will not dare to touch me.&nbsp; They are probably running away
+by this time.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then we&rsquo;ll run after &rsquo;em,&rsquo; answered
+Alfred with a fine spirit, and something in his attitude, in the
+ring of his voice, awoke that demon of combativeness which lies
+dormant in men of the Anglo-Saxon race.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come on, you fellows!&rsquo; cried the boy with a queer
+glad laugh, and without knowing that he did it Sir John stood
+aside, his heart warm with a sudden pride, his blood stirred by
+something that had not moved it these thirty years.&nbsp; The
+guests crowded out of the room&mdash;old men who should have
+known better&mdash;laughing as they threw aside their dinner
+napkins.&nbsp; What a strange thing is man, peaceful through long
+years, and at a moment&rsquo;s notice a mere fighting devil.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come on, we&rsquo;ll teach them to break
+windows!&rsquo; repeated Alfred Pleydell, running to the stick
+rack.&nbsp; The rain rattled on the skylight of the square hall,
+and the wind roared down the open chimney.&nbsp; Among the men
+hastily arming themselves with heavy sticks and cramming caps
+upon their heads were some who had tasted of rheumatism, but they
+never thought of an overcoat.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We&rsquo;ll know each other by our shirt fronts,&rsquo;
+said a quiet man who was standing on a chair in order to reach an
+Indian club suspended on the wall.</p>
+<p>Alfred was at the door leading through to the servants&rsquo;
+quarters, and his summons brought several men from the pantry and
+kitchens.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come on!&rsquo; he cried, &lsquo;take anything you can
+find&mdash;stick or poker&mdash;yes, and those old guns, use
+&rsquo;em like a club, hit very hard and very often.&nbsp;
+We&rsquo;ll charge the devils&mdash;there&rsquo;s nothing like a
+charge&mdash;come on!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And he was already out of the door with a dozen at his
+heels.</p>
+<p>The change from the lighted rooms to the outer darkness made
+them pause a moment, during which time the defenders had leisure
+to group themselves around Alfred Pleydell.&nbsp; A hoarse shout,
+which indeed drowned Geoffrey Horner&rsquo;s voice, showed where
+the assailants stood.&nbsp; Horner had found his tongue after the
+first volley of stones.&nbsp; It was the policy of the Chartist
+leaders and wirepullers to suggest rather than demonstrate
+physical force.&nbsp; Enough had been done to call attention to
+the Chester-le-Street meeting, and give it the desired prominence
+in the eyes of the nation.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Get back, go to your homes!&rsquo; he was shouting,
+with upraised arms, when the hoarse cry of his adherents and the
+flood of light from the opened door made him turn hastily.&nbsp;
+In a moment he saw the meaning of this development, but it was
+too late.</p>
+<p>With a cheer, Alfred Pleydell, little more than a boy, led the
+charge, and seeing Horner in front, ran at him with upraised
+stick.&nbsp; Horner half warded the blow, which came whistling
+down his own stick and paralysed his thumb.&nbsp; He returned the
+stroke with a sudden fury, striking Pleydell full on the
+head.&nbsp; Then, because he had a young wife and child at home,
+he pushed his way through the struggling crowd, and ran away in
+the darkness.&nbsp; As he ran he could hear his late adherents
+dispersing in all directions, like sheep before a dog.&nbsp; He
+heard a voice calling:</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Alfred!&nbsp; Alfred!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And Horner, who an hour&mdash;nay, ten minutes&mdash;earlier
+had had no thought of violence, ran his fastest along the road by
+which he had lately come.&nbsp; His heart was as water within his
+breast, and his staring eyes played their part
+mechanically.&nbsp; He did not fall, but he noted nothing, and
+had no knowledge whither he was running.</p>
+<p>Alfred Pleydell lay quite still on the lawn in front of his
+father&rsquo;s house.</p>
+<h2><a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+11</span>CHAPTER II<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">ANOTHER REAPETH</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">&lsquo;Attempt the end,
+and never stand to doubt.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><span class="smcap">During</span> the course of a harum-scarum
+youth in the city of Dublin certain persons had been known to
+predict that Mr. Frederick Conyngham had a future before
+him.&nbsp; Mostly pleasant-spoken Irish persons these, who had
+the racial habit of saying that which is likely to be
+welcome.&nbsp; Many of them added, &lsquo;the young divil,&rsquo;
+under their breath, in a pious hope of thereby cleansing their
+souls from guilt.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I suppose I&rsquo;m idle, and what is worse, I know
+I&rsquo;m a fool,&rsquo; said Conyngham himself to his tutor when
+that gentleman, with a toleration which was undeserved, took him
+severely to task before sending him up for the Bar
+examination.&nbsp; The tutor said nothing, but he suspected that
+this, his wildest pupil, was no fool.&nbsp; Truth to tell,
+Frederick Conyngham had devoted little thought to the matter of
+which he spoke, namely, himself, and was perhaps none the worse
+for that.&nbsp; A young man who thinks too often usually falls
+into the error of also thinking too much, of himself.</p>
+<p>The examination was, however, safely passed, and in due course
+Frederick was called to the Irish Bar, where a Queen&rsquo;s
+Counsel, with an accent like rich wine, told him that he was now
+a gintleman, and entitled so to call himself.</p>
+<p>All these events were left behind, and Conyngham, sitting
+alone in his rooms in Norfolk Street, Strand, three days after
+the breaking of Sir John Pleydell&rsquo;s windows, was engaged in
+realising that the predicted future was still in every sense
+before him, and in nowise nearer than it had been in his
+mother&rsquo;s lifetime.</p>
+<p>This realisation of an unpleasant fact appeared in no way to
+disturb his equanimity, for, as he knocked his pipe against the
+bars of the fire, he murmured a popular air in a careless
+voice.&nbsp; The firelight showed his face to be pleasant enough
+in a way that left the land of his birth undoubted.&nbsp; Blue
+eyes, quick and kind; a square chin, closely curling hair, and
+square shoulders bespoke an Irishman.&nbsp; Something, however,
+in the cut of his lips&mdash;something close and
+firm&mdash;suggested an admixture of Anglo-Saxon blood.&nbsp; The
+man looked as if he might have had an English mother.&nbsp; It
+was perhaps this formation of the mouth that had led those
+pleasant-spoken persons to name to his relatives their conviction
+that Conyngham had a future before him.&nbsp; The best liars are
+those who base their fancy upon fact.&nbsp; They knew that the
+ordinary thoroughbred Irishman has usually a cheerful enough life
+before him, but not that which is vaguely called a future.&nbsp;
+Fred Conyngham looked like a man who could hold to his purpose,
+but at this moment he also had the unfortunate appearance of not
+possessing one to hold to.</p>
+<p>He knocked the ashes from his pipe, and held the hot briar
+bowl against the ear of a sleeping fox terrier, which animal
+growled, without moving, in a manner that suggested its
+possession of a sense of humour and a full comprehension of the
+harmless practical joke.</p>
+<p>A moment later the dog sat up and listened with an interest
+that gradually increased until the door opened and Geoffrey
+Horner came into the room.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Faith, it&rsquo;s Horner!&rsquo; said Conyngham.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Where are you from?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The North.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah&mdash;sit down.&nbsp; What have you been doing up
+there&mdash;tub-thumping?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Horner came forward and sat down in the chair indicated.&nbsp;
+He looked five years older than when he had last been
+there.&nbsp; Conyngham glanced at his friend, who was staring
+into the fire.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Edith all right?&rsquo; he asked carelessly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And&mdash;the little chap?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham glanced at his companion again.&nbsp; Horner&rsquo;s
+eyes had the hard look that comes from hopelessness; his lips
+were dry and white.&nbsp; He wore the air of one whose stake in
+the game of life was heavy, who played that game nervously.&nbsp;
+For this was an ambitious man with wife and child whom he
+loved.&nbsp; Conyngham&rsquo;s attitude towards Fate was in
+strong contrast.&nbsp; He held his head up and faced the world
+without encumbrance, without a settled ambition, without any
+sense of responsibility at all.&nbsp; The sharp-eyed dog on the
+hearthrug looked from one to the other.&nbsp; A moment before,
+the atmosphere of the room had been one of ease and comfortable
+assurance&mdash;an atmosphere that some men, without any warrant
+or the justification of personal success or distinction, seem to
+carry with them through life.&nbsp; Since Horner had crossed the
+threshold the ceaseless hum of the streets seemed to be nearer,
+the sound of it louder in the room; the restlessness of that
+great strife stirred the air.&nbsp; The fox terrier laid himself
+on the hearthrug again, but instead of sleeping watched his two
+human companions.</p>
+<p>Conyngham filled his pipe.&nbsp; He turned to the table where
+the matchbox stood at his elbow, took it up, rattled it, and laid
+it down.&nbsp; He pressed the tobacco hard with his thumb, and,
+turning to Horner, said sharply:</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What is it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know yet; ruin, I think.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nonsense, man!&rsquo; said Conyngham cheerily.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;There is no such thing in this world.&nbsp; At least, the
+jolliest fellows I know are bankrupts, or no better.&nbsp; Look
+at me: never a brief; literary contributions returned with
+thanks; balance at the bank, seventeen pounds ten shillings;
+balance in hand, none; debts, the Lord only knows!&nbsp; Look at
+me!&nbsp; I&rsquo;m happy enough.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, you&rsquo;re a lonely devil.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham looked at his friend with inquiry in his gay
+eyes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah! perhaps so.&nbsp; I live alone, if that is what you
+mean.&nbsp; But as for being lonely&mdash;no, hang it!&nbsp; I
+have plenty of friends, especially at dividend time.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have nobody depending on you,&rsquo; said Horner
+with the irritability of sorrow.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Because nobody is such a fool.&nbsp; On the other hand,
+I have nobody to care a twopenny curse what becomes of me.&nbsp;
+Same thing, you see, in the end.&nbsp; Come, man, cheer up.&nbsp;
+Tell me what is wrong.&nbsp; Seventeen pounds ten shillings is
+not exactly wealth, but if you want it you know it is there,
+eh?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do not want it, thanks,&rsquo; replied the
+other.&nbsp; &lsquo;Seventeen hundred would be no good to
+me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused, biting his under lip and staring with hard eyes
+into the fire.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Read that,&rsquo; he said at length, and handed
+Conyngham a cutting from a daily newspaper.</p>
+<p>The younger man read, without apparent interest, an account of
+the Chester-le-Street meeting, and the subsequent attack on Sir
+John Pleydell&rsquo;s house.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; he commented, &lsquo;the usual thing.&nbsp;
+Brave words followed by a cowardly deed.&nbsp; What in the name
+of fortune you were doing in that <i>gal&egrave;re</i> you
+yourself know best.&nbsp; If these are politics, Horner, I say
+drop them.&nbsp; Politics are a stick, clean enough at the top,
+but you&rsquo;ve got hold of the wrong end.&nbsp; Young Pleydell
+was hurt, I see&mdash;&ldquo;seriously, it is
+feared.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said Horner significantly; and his
+companion, after a quick look of surprise, read the slip of paper
+carefully a second time.&nbsp; Then he looked up and met
+Horner&rsquo;s eyes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Gad!&rsquo; he exclaimed in a whisper.</p>
+<p>Horner said nothing.&nbsp; The dog moved restlessly, and for a
+moment the whole world&mdash;that sleepless world of the
+streets&mdash;seemed to hold its breath.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And if he dies,&rsquo; said Conyngham at length.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Exactly so,&rsquo; answered the other with a
+laugh&mdash;of scaffold mirth.</p>
+<p>Conyngham turned in his chair and sat with his elbows on his
+knees, his face resting on his closed fists, staring at the worn
+old hearthrug.&nbsp; Thus they remained for some minutes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What are you thinking about?&rsquo; asked Horner at
+length.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nothing&mdash;got nothing to think with.&nbsp; You know
+that, Geoffrey.&nbsp; Wish I had&mdash;never wanted it as I do at
+this moment.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m no good, you know that.&nbsp; You
+must go to some one with brains&mdash;some clever
+devil.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>As he spoke he turned and took up the paper again, reading the
+paragraph slowly and carefully.&nbsp; Horner looked at him with a
+breathless hunger in his eyes.&nbsp; At some moments it is a
+crime to think, for we never know but that thought may be
+transmitted without so much as a whisper.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&ldquo;The miners were accompanied by a gentleman from
+London,&rdquo;&rsquo; Conyngham read aloud, &lsquo;&ldquo;a
+barrister, it is supposed, whose speech was a feature of the
+Chester le-Street meeting.&nbsp; This gentleman&rsquo;s name is
+quite unknown, nor has his whereabouts yet been discovered.&nbsp;
+His sudden disappearance lends likelihood to the report that this
+unknown agitator actually struck the blow which injured Mr.
+Alfred Pleydell.&nbsp; Every exertion is being put forth by the
+authorities to trace the man who is possibly a felon and
+certainly a coward.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham laid aside the paper and again looked at Horner, who
+did not meet his glance nor ask now of what he was
+thinking.&nbsp; Horner, indeed, had his own thoughts, perhaps of
+the fireside&mdash;modest enough, but happy as love and health
+could make it&mdash;upon which his own ambition had brought down
+the ruins of a hundred castles in the air&mdash;thoughts he
+scarce could face, no doubt, and yet had no power to drive away,
+of the young wife whose world was that same fireside; of the
+child, perhaps, whose coming had opened for a time the door of
+Paradise.</p>
+<p>Conyngham broke in upon these meditations with a laugh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have it!&rsquo; he cried.&nbsp; &lsquo;It&rsquo;s as
+simple as the alphabet.&nbsp; This paper says it was a
+barrister&mdash;a man from London&mdash;a malcontent, a felon, a
+coward.&nbsp; Dammy, Geoff&mdash;that&rsquo;s me!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He leapt to his feet.&nbsp; &lsquo;Get out of the way,
+Tim!&rsquo; he cried to the dog, pushing the animal aside and
+standing on the hearthrug.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Listen to this,&rsquo; he went on.&nbsp; &lsquo;This
+thing, like the others, will blow over.&nbsp; It will be
+forgotten in a week.&nbsp; Another meeting will be held&mdash;say
+in South Wales, more windows will be broken, another young
+man&rsquo;s head cracked, and Chester-le-Street (God-forsaken
+place, never heard of it!) will be forgotten.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Horner sat looking with hollow eyes at the young Irishman, his
+lips twitching, his fingers interlocked&mdash;there is nothing
+makes so complete a coward of a man as a woman&rsquo;s
+love.&nbsp; Conyngham laughed as the notion unfolded itself in
+his mind.&nbsp; He might, as he himself had said, be of no great
+brain power, but he was at all events a man and a brave
+one.&nbsp; He stood a full six foot, and looked down at his
+companion, who sat whitefaced and shrinking.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is quite easy,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;for me to
+disappear in such a manner as to arouse suspicion.&nbsp; I have
+nothing to keep me here; my briefs&mdash;well, the
+Solicitor-General can have &rsquo;em!&nbsp; I have no
+ties&mdash;nothing to keep me in any part of the world.&nbsp;
+When young Pleydell is on his feet again, and a few more windows
+have been broken, and nine days have elapsed, the wonder will
+give place to another, and I can return to
+my&mdash;practice.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I couldn&rsquo;t let you do it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh yes, you could,&rsquo; said Conyngham with the
+quickness of his race to spy out his neighbour&rsquo;s vulnerable
+point.&nbsp; &lsquo;For the sake of Edith and the little
+devil.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Horner sat silent, and after a moment Conyngham went on.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;All we want to do is to divert suspicion from you
+now&mdash;to put them on a false scent, for they must have one of
+some sort.&nbsp; When they find that they cannot catch me they
+will forget all about it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Horner shuffled in his seat.&nbsp; This was nothing but
+detection of the thoughts that had passed through his own
+mind.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is easily enough done,&rsquo; went on the
+Irishman.&nbsp; &lsquo;A paragraph here and there in some of the
+newspapers; a few incriminating papers left in these rooms, which
+are certain to be searched.&nbsp; I have a bad name&mdash;an
+Irish dog goes about the world with a rope round his neck.&nbsp;
+If I am caught it will not be for some time, and then I can get
+out of it somehow&mdash;an alibi or something.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll
+get a brief at all events.&nbsp; By that time the scent will be
+lost, and it will be all right.&nbsp; Come, Geoff, cheer
+up!&nbsp; A man of your sort ought not to be thrown by a
+mischance like this.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He stood with his legs apart, his hands thrust deep into his
+pockets, a gay laugh on his lips, and much discernment in his
+eyes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, d&mdash;n Edith!&rsquo; he added after a pause,
+seeing that his efforts met with no response.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;D&mdash;n that child!&nbsp; You used to have some pluck,
+Horner.&rsquo;&nbsp; Horner shook his head and made no answer,
+but his very silence was a point gained.&nbsp; He no longer
+protested nor raised any objection to his companion&rsquo;s
+hare-brained scheme.&nbsp; The thing was feasible, and he knew
+it.</p>
+<p>Conyngham went on to set forth his plans, which with
+characteristic rapidity of thought he evolved as he spoke.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Above all,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;we must be
+prompt.&nbsp; I must disappear to-night, the paragraphs must be
+in to-morrow&rsquo;s papers.&nbsp; I think I&rsquo;ll go to
+Spain.&nbsp; The Carlists seem to be making things lively
+there.&nbsp; You know, Horner, I was never meant for a wig and
+gown&mdash;there&rsquo;s no doubt about that.&nbsp; I shall have
+a splendid time of it out there&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He stopped, meeting a queer look in Horner&rsquo;s eyes, who
+sat leaning forward and searching his face with jealous
+glance.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I was wondering,&rsquo; said the other, with a pale
+smile, &lsquo;if you were ever in love with Edith.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, my good soul, I was not,&rsquo; answered Conyngham,
+with perfect carelessness, &lsquo;though I knew her long before
+you did.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused, and a quick thought flashed through his mind that
+some men are seen at their worst in adversity.&nbsp; He was ready
+enough to find excuses for Horner, for men are strange in the
+gift of their friendship, often bestowing it where they know it
+is but ill deserved.</p>
+<p>He rattled on with unbroken gaiety, unfolding plans which in
+their perfection of detail suggested a previous experience in
+outrunning the constable.</p>
+<p>While they were still talking a mutual friend came in&mdash;a
+quick-spoken man already beginning to be known as a journalist of
+ability.&nbsp; They talked on indifferent topics for some
+time.&nbsp; Then the new-comer said jerkily:</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Heard the news?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; answered Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Alfred Pleydell&mdash;young fellow who resisted the
+Chartist rioters at Durham&mdash;died yesterday
+morning.&rsquo;&nbsp; Frederick Conyngham had placed himself in
+front of Horner, who was still seated in the low chair by the
+fire.&nbsp; He found Horner&rsquo;s toe with his heel.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is that so?&rsquo; he said gravely.&nbsp; &lsquo;Then
+I&rsquo;m off.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What do you mean?&rsquo; asked the journalist with a
+quick look&mdash;the man had the manner of a ferret.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nothing, only I&rsquo;m off, that&rsquo;s all, old
+man.&nbsp; And I cannot ask you to stay this evening, you
+understand, because I have to pack.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He turned slowly on Horner, who had recovered himself, but
+still had his hand over his face.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Got any money, Geoff?&rsquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, I have twenty pounds if you want it,&rsquo;
+answered the other in a hoarse voice.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do want it&mdash;badly.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The journalist had taken up his hat and stick.&nbsp; He moved
+slowly towards the door, and, there pausing, saw Horner pass the
+bank-notes to Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You had better go too,&rsquo; said the Irishman.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;You two are going in the same direction, I
+know.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Horner rose, and, half laughing, Conyngham pushed him towards
+the door.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;See him home, Blake,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Horner has the blues to-night.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2><a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+23</span>CHAPTER III<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">LIKE SHIPS UPON THE SEA</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">&lsquo;No one can be
+more wise than destiny.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&lsquo;<span class="smcap">What</span> are we waiting for?
+why, two more passengers&mdash;grand ladies as they tell
+me&mdash;and the captain has gone ashore to fetch them,&rsquo;
+the first mate of the &lsquo;Granville&rsquo; barque, of London,
+made answer to Frederick Conyngham, and he breathed on his
+fingers as he spoke, for the north-west wind was blowing across
+the plains of the Medoc, and the sun had just set behind the
+smoke of Bordeaux.</p>
+<p>The &lsquo;Granville&rsquo; was lying at anchor in the middle
+of the Garonne river, having safely discharged her deck cargo of
+empty claret casks and landed a certain number of
+passengers.&nbsp; There are few colder spots on the Continent
+than the sunny town of Bordeaux when the west wind blows from
+Atlantic wastes in winter time.&nbsp; A fine powder of snow
+scudded across the flat land, which presented a bleak brown face,
+patched here and there with white.&nbsp; There were two more
+passengers on board the &lsquo;Granville,&rsquo; crouching in the
+cabin&mdash;two French gentlemen who had taken passage from
+London to Algeciras in Spain, on their way to Algiers.</p>
+<p>Conyngham, with characteristic good-nature, had made himself
+so entirely at home on board the Mediterranean trader that his
+presence was equally welcomed in the forecastle and the
+captain&rsquo;s cabin.&nbsp; Even the first mate, his present
+interlocutor, a grim man given to muttered abuse of his calling
+and a pious pessimism in respect to human nature, gradually
+thawed under the influence of so cheerful an acceptance of heavy
+weather and a clumsy deck cargo.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The ladies will be less trouble than the empty casks,
+at all events,&rsquo; said Conyngham, &lsquo;because they will
+keep below.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The sailor shook his head forebodingly and took an heroic
+pinch of snuff.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One&rsquo;s as capable of carrying mischief as the
+other,&rsquo; he muttered in the bigoted voice of a married
+teetotaller.</p>
+<p>The ship was ready for sea, and this mariner&rsquo;s spirit
+was ever uneasy and restless till the anchor was on deck and the
+hawser stowed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There&rsquo;s a boat leaving the quay now,&rsquo; he
+added.&nbsp; &lsquo;Seems she&rsquo;s lumbered up forr&rsquo;ard
+wi&rsquo; women&rsquo;s hamper.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And indeed the black form of a skiff so laden could be seen
+approaching through the driving snow and gloom.&nbsp; The mate
+called to the steward to come on deck, and this bearded servitor
+of dames emerged from the galley with uprolled sleeves and a fine
+contempt for cold winds.&nbsp; A boy went forward with a coil of
+rope on his arm, for the tide was running hard and the Garonne is
+no ladies&rsquo; pleasure stream.&nbsp; It is not an easy matter
+to board a ship in mid-current when tide and wind are at
+variance, and the fingers so cold that a rope slips through them
+like a log-line.&nbsp; The &lsquo;Granville,&rsquo; having still
+on board her cargo of coals for Algeciras, lay low in the water
+with both her anchors out and the tide singing round her
+old-fashioned hempen hawsers.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Now see ye throw a clear rope,&rsquo; shouted the mate
+to the boy who had gone forward.&nbsp; The proximity of the land
+and the approach of women&mdash;a <i>b&ecirc;te noire</i> no less
+dreaded&mdash;seemed to flurry the brined spirit of the
+Granville&rsquo;s&rsquo; mate.</p>
+<p>Perhaps the knowledge that the end of a rope, not judged
+clear, would inevitably be applied to his own person, shook the
+nerve of the boy on the forecastle&mdash;perhaps his hands were
+cold and his faculties benumbed.&nbsp; He cast a line which
+seemed to promise well at first.&nbsp; Two coils of it unfolded
+themselves gracefully against the grey sky, and then Confusion
+took the others for herself.&nbsp; A British oath from the deck
+of the ship went out to meet a fine French explosion of profanity
+from the boat, both forestalling the splash of the tangled rope
+into the water under the bows of the ship, and a full ten yards
+out of the reach of the man who stood, boathook in hand, ready to
+catch it.&nbsp; There were two ladies in the stern of the boat,
+muffled up to the eyes, and betokening by their attitude the
+hopeless despair and misery which seize the southern fair the
+moment they embark in so much as a ferry boat.&nbsp; The fore
+part of the heavy craft was piled up with trunks and other
+impedimenta of a feminine incongruity.&nbsp; A single boatman had
+rowed the boat from the shore, guiding it into mid-stream, and
+there describing a circle calculated to insure a gentle approach
+on the lee side.&nbsp; This man, having laid aside his oars, now
+stood, boathook in hand, awaiting the inevitable crash.&nbsp; The
+offending boy in the bows was making frantic efforts to haul in
+his misguided rope, but the possibility of making a second cast
+was unworthy of consideration.&nbsp; The mate muttered such a
+string of foreboding expletives as augured ill for the
+delinquent.&nbsp; The boatman was preparing to hold on and fend
+off at the same moment&mdash;a sudden gust of wind gave the boat
+a sharp buffet just as the man grappled the
+mizzen-chains&mdash;he overbalanced himself, fell, and recovered
+himself, but only to be jerked backwards into the water by the
+boathook, which struck him in the chest.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;<i>&Agrave; moi</i>!&rsquo; cried the man, and
+disappeared in the muddy water.&nbsp; He rose to the surface
+under the ship&rsquo;s quarter, and the mate, quick as lightning,
+dumped the whole coil of the slack of the main sheet on to the
+top of him.&nbsp; In a moment he was at the level of the rail,
+the mate and the steward hauling steadily on the rope, to which
+he clung with the tenacity and somewhat the attitude of a
+monkey.&nbsp; At the same instant a splash made the rescuers turn
+in time to see Conyngham, whose coat lay thrown on the deck
+behind them, rise to the surface ten yards astern of the
+&lsquo;Granville&rsquo; and strike out towards the boat, now
+almost disappearing in the gloom of night.</p>
+<p>The water, which had flowed through the sunniest of the sunny
+plains of France, was surprisingly warm, and Conyngham, soon
+recovering from the shock of his dive, settled into a quick
+side-stroke.&nbsp; The boat was close in front of him, and in the
+semi-darkness he could see one of the women rise from her seat
+and make her way forward, while her companion crouched lower and
+gave voice to her dismay in a series of wails and groans.&nbsp;
+The more intrepid lady was engaged in lifting one of the heavy
+oars, when Conyngham called out in French:</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Courage, mesdames!&nbsp; I will be with you in a
+moment.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Both turned, and the pallor of their faces shone whitely
+through the gloom.&nbsp; Neither spoke, and in a few strokes
+Conyngham came alongside.&nbsp; He clutched the gunwale with his
+right hand, and drew himself breast high.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If these ladies,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;will kindly go
+to the opposite side of the boat, I shall be able to climb in
+without danger of upsetting.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If mama inclines that way I think it will be
+sufficient,&rsquo; answered the muffled form which had made its
+way forward.&nbsp; The voice was clear and low, remarkably
+self-possessed, and not without a suggestion that its possessor
+bore a grudge against some person present.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Perhaps mademoiselle is right,&rsquo; said Conyngham
+with becoming gravity, and the lady in the stern obeyed her
+daughter&rsquo;s suggestion, with the result anticipated.&nbsp;
+Indeed, the boat heeled over with so much goodwill that Conyngham
+was lifted right out of the water.&nbsp; He clambered on board
+and immediately began shivering, for the wind cut like a
+knife.</p>
+<p>The younger lady made her way cautiously back to the seat
+which she had recently quitted, and began at once to speak very
+severely to her mother.&nbsp; This stout and emotional person was
+swaying backwards and forwards, and, in the intervals of wailing
+and groaning, called in Spanish upon several selected saints to
+assist her.&nbsp; At times, and apparently by way of a change,
+she appealed to yet higher powers to receive her soul.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My mother,&rsquo; said the young lady to Conyngham, who
+had already got the oars out, &lsquo;has the heart of a rabbit,
+but&mdash;yes&mdash;of a very young rabbit.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Madame may rest assured that there is no danger,&rsquo;
+said Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Monsieur is an Englishman&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, and a very cold one at the moment.&nbsp; If madame
+could restrain her religious enthusiasm so much as to sit still,
+we should make better progress.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He spoke rather curtly, as if refusing to admit the
+advisability of manning the boat with a crew of black-letter
+saints.&nbsp; The manner in which the craft leapt forward under
+each stroke of the oars testified to the strength of his arms,
+and madame presently subsided into whispers of thankfulness,
+having reason, it would seem, to be content with mere earthly aid
+in lieu of that heavenly intervention which ladies of her species
+summon at every turn of life.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I wish I could help you,&rsquo; said the younger woman
+presently, in a voice and manner suggestive of an energy unusual
+to her countrywomen.&nbsp; She spoke in French, but with an
+accent somewhat round and full, like an English accent, and
+Conyngham divined that she was Spanish.&nbsp; He thought also
+that under their outer wraps the ladies wore the mantilla, and
+had that graceful carriage of the head which is only seen in the
+Peninsula.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thank you, mademoiselle, but I am making good progress
+now.&nbsp; Can you see the ship?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She rose and stood peering into the darkness ahead&mdash;a
+graceful, swaying figure.&nbsp; A faint scent as of some flower
+was wafted on the keen wind to Conyngham, who had already decided
+with characteristic haste that this young person was as beautiful
+as she was intrepid.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; she answered, &lsquo;it is quite
+close.&nbsp; They are also showing lights to guide us.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She stood looking apparently over his head towards the
+&lsquo;Granville,&rsquo; but when she spoke it would seem that
+her thoughts had not been fixed on that vessel.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is monsieur a sailor?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, but I fortunately have a little knowledge of such
+matters&mdash;fortunate, since I have been able to turn it to the
+use of these ladies.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But you are travelling in the
+&ldquo;Granville.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes; I am travelling in the
+&ldquo;Granville.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Over his oars Conyngham looked hard at his interlocutrice, but
+could discern nothing of her features.&nbsp; Her voice interested
+him, however, and he wondered whether there were ever calms on
+the coast of Spain at this time of the year.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Our sailors,&rsquo; said the young lady, &lsquo;in
+Spain are brave, but they are very cautious.&nbsp; I think none
+of them would have done such a thing as you have just done for
+us.&nbsp; We were in danger.&nbsp; I knew it.&nbsp; Was it not
+so?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The boat might have drifted against some ship at anchor
+and been upset.&nbsp; You might also have been driven out to
+sea.&nbsp; They had no boat on board the &ldquo;Granville&rdquo;
+ready to put out and follow you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes; and you saved us.&nbsp; But you English are of a
+great courage.&nbsp; And my mother, instead of thanking you, is
+offering her gratitude to James and John the sons of Zebedee, as
+if they had done it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am no relation to Zebedee,&rsquo; said Conyngham with
+a gay laugh.&nbsp; &lsquo;Madame may rest assured of
+that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Julia,&rsquo; said the elder lady severely, and in a
+voice that seemed to emanate from a chest as deep and hollow as
+an octave cask, &lsquo;I shall tell Father Concha, who will
+assuredly reprove you.&nbsp; The saints upon whom I called were
+fishermen, and therefore the more capable of understanding our
+great danger.&nbsp; As for monsieur, he knows that he shall
+always be in my prayers.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thank you, madame,&rsquo; said Conyngham gravely.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And at a fitter time I hope to be able to tender him my
+thanks.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>At this moment a voice from the &lsquo;Granville&rsquo; hailed
+the boat, asking whether all was well and Mr. Conyngham on
+board.&nbsp; Being reassured on this point, the mate apparently
+attended to another matter requiring his attention, the mingled
+cries and expostulations of the cabin boy sufficiently indicating
+its nature.</p>
+<p>The boat, under Conyngham&rsquo;s strong and steady strokes,
+now came slowly and without mishap alongside the great black hull
+of the vessel, and it soon became manifest that, although all
+danger was past, there yet remained difficulty ahead; for when
+the boat was made fast and the ladder lowered, the elder of the
+two ladies firmly and emphatically denied her ability to make the
+ascent.&nbsp; The French boatman, shivering in a borrowed great
+coat, and with a vociferation which flavoured the air with
+cognac, added his entreaties to those of the mate and
+steward.&nbsp; In the small boat Conyngham, in French, and the
+lady&rsquo;s daughter, in Spanish, represented that at least half
+of the heavenly host, having intervened to save her from so great
+a peril as that safely passed through, could surely accomplish
+this smaller feat with ease.&nbsp; But the lady still hesitated,
+and the mate, having clambered down into the boat, grabbed
+Conyngham&rsquo;s arm with a large and not unkindly hand, and
+pushed him forcibly towards the ladder.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You hadn&rsquo;t got no business, Mr. Conyngham,&rsquo;
+he said gruffly, &lsquo;to leave the ship like that, and like as
+not you&rsquo;ve got your death of cold.&nbsp; Just you get
+aboard and leave these women to me.&nbsp; You get to your bunk,
+mister, and stooard&rsquo;ll bring you something hot.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>There was nought but obedience in the matter, and Conyngham
+was soon between the blankets, alternately shivering and burning
+in the first stages of a severe chill.</p>
+<p>The captain having come on board, the &lsquo;Granville&rsquo;
+presently weighed anchor, and on the bosom of an ebbing tide
+turned her blunt prow towards the winter sea.&nbsp; The waves out
+there beat high, and before the lights of Pauillac, then a mere
+cluster of fishers&rsquo; huts, had passed away astern, the good
+ship was lifting her bow with a sense of anticipation, while her
+great wooden beams and knees began to strain and creak.</p>
+<p>During the following days, while the sense of spring and
+warmth slowly gave life to those who could breathe the air on
+deck, Conyngham lay in his little cabin and heeded nothing; for
+when the fever left him he was only conscious of a great
+lassitude, and scarce could raise himself to take such
+nourishment as the steward, with a rough but kindly skill,
+prepared for him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why the deuce I ever came&mdash;why the deuce I ever
+went overboard after a couple of se&ntilde;oras&mdash;I
+don&rsquo;t know,&rsquo; he repeated to himself during the hours
+of that long watch below.</p>
+<p>Why, indeed? except that youth must needs go forth into the
+world and play the only stake it owns there.&nbsp; Nor is
+Frederick Conyngham the first who, having no knowledge of the
+game of life, throws all upon the board to wait upon the hazard
+of a die.</p>
+<h2><a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+34</span>CHAPTER IV<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">LE PREMIER PAS</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;Be as one that knoweth and yet holdeth his
+tongue.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><span class="smcap">The</span> little town of Algeciras lies,
+as many know, within sight of Gibraltar, and separated from that
+stronghold by a broad bay.&nbsp; It is on the mainland of Spain,
+and in direct communication by road with the great port of
+Cadiz.&nbsp; Another road, little better than a bridle-path, runs
+northward to Ximena and through the corkwood forests of that
+plain towards the mountain ranges that rise between Ronda and the
+sea.</p>
+<p>By this bridle-path, it is whispered, a vast smuggled commerce
+has ever found passage to the mainland, and scarce a boatman or
+passenger lands at Algeciras from Gibraltar but carries somewhere
+on his person as much tobacco as he may hope to conceal with
+safety.&nbsp; Algeciras, with its fair white houses, its prim
+church, and sleepy quay, where the blue waters lap and sparkle in
+innocent sunlight, is, it is to be feared, a town of small virtue
+and the habitation of scoundrels.&nbsp; For this is the
+stronghold of those contrabandistas whom song and legend have
+praised as the boldest, the merriest, and most romantic of
+law-breakers.&nbsp; Indeed, in this country the man who can boast
+of a smuggling ancestry holds high his head and looks down on
+honest folk.</p>
+<p>The &lsquo;Granville&rsquo; having dropped anchor to the north
+of the rough stone pier, was soon disburdened of her
+passengers&mdash;the ladies going ashore with undisguised
+delight, and leaving behind them many gracious messages of thanks
+to the gentleman whose gallantry had resulted so disastrously;
+for Conyngham was still in bed, though now nearly
+recovered.&nbsp; Truth to tell, he did not hurry to make his
+appearance in the general cabin, and came on deck a few hours
+after the departure of the ladies, whose gratitude he desired to
+avoid.</p>
+<p>Two days of the peerless sunshine of these southern waters
+completely restored him to health, and he prepared to go
+ashore.&nbsp; It was afternoon when his boat touched the beach,
+and the idlers, without whom no Mediterranean seaboard is
+complete, having passed the heat of the day in a philosophic
+apathy amounting in many cases to a siesta, now roused themselves
+sufficiently to take a dignified and indifferent interest in the
+new arrival.&nbsp; A number of boys, an old soldier, several
+artillerymen from the pretty and absolutely useless fort, a
+priest and a female vendor of oranges put themselves out so much
+as to congregate in a little knot at the spot where Conyngham
+landed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Body of Bacchus!&rsquo; said the priest, with a pinch
+of snuff poised before his long nose, &lsquo;an
+Englishman&mdash;see his gold watch chain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>This remark called forth several monosyllabic sounds, and the
+onlookers watched the safe discharge of Conyngham&rsquo;s
+personal effects with a characteristic placidity of demeanour
+which was at once tolerant and gently surprised.&nbsp; That any
+one should have the energy to come ashore when he was comfortable
+on board, or leave the shore when amply provided there with
+sunshine, elbowroom, and other necessaries of life, presented
+itself to them as a fact worthy of note but not of
+emulation.&nbsp; The happiest man is he who has reduced the
+necessities of life to a minimum.</p>
+<p>No one offered to assist Conyngham.&nbsp; In Spain the
+onlooker keeps his hands in his pockets.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The English, see you, travel for pleasure,&rsquo; said
+the old soldier, nodding his head in the direction of Gibraltar,
+pink and shimmering across the bay.</p>
+<p>The priest brushed some stray grains of snuff from the front
+of his faded cassock&mdash;once black, but now of a greeny
+brown.&nbsp; He was a singularly tall man, gaunt and grey, with
+deep lines drawn downwards from eye to chin.&nbsp; His mouth was
+large and tender, with a humorous corner ever awaiting a
+jest.&nbsp; His eyes were sombre and deeply shaded by grey brows,
+but one of them had a twinkle lurking and waiting, as in the
+corner of his mouth.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Everyone stretches his legs according to the length of
+his coverlet,&rsquo; he said, and, turning, he courteously raised
+his hat to Conyngham, who passed at that moment on his way to the
+hotel.&nbsp; The little knot of onlookers broke up, and the boys
+wandered towards the fort, before the gate of which a game at
+bowls was in progress.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Padre has a hungry look,&rsquo; reflected
+Conyngham.&nbsp; &lsquo;Think I&rsquo;ll invite him to
+dinner.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>For Geoffrey Horner had succeeded in conveying more money to
+the man who had taken his sins upon himself, and while Conyngham
+possessed money he usually had the desire to spend it.</p>
+<p>Conyngham went to the Fonda de la Marina, which stands
+to-day&mdash;a house of small comfort and no great outward
+cleanliness; but, as in most Spanish inns, the performance was
+better than the promise, and the bedroom offered to the traveller
+was nothing worse than bare and ill furnished.&nbsp; With what
+Spanish he at this time possessed the Englishman made known his
+wants, and inquired of the means of prosecuting his journey to
+Ronda.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You know the Captain-General Vincente of Ronda?&rsquo;
+he asked.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But . . . yes&mdash;by reputation.&nbsp; Who does not
+in Andalusia?&rsquo; replied the host, a stout man, who had once
+cooked for a military mess at Gibraltar, and professed himself
+acquainted with the requirements of English gentlemen.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have a letter to General Vincente, and must go to
+Ronda as soon as possible.&nbsp; These are stirring times in
+Spain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The man&rsquo;s bland face suddenly assumed an air of cunning,
+and he glanced over his shoulder to see that none overheard.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Your Excellency is right,&rsquo; he answered.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;But for such as myself one side is as good as
+another&mdash;is it not so?&nbsp; Carlist or Christino&mdash;the
+money is the same.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But here in the South there are no Carlists.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who knows?&rsquo; said the innkeeper with outspread
+hands.&nbsp; &lsquo;Anything that his Excellency requires shall
+be forthcoming,&rsquo; he added grandiosely.&nbsp; &lsquo;This is
+the dining-room, and here at the side a little saloon where the
+ladies sit.&nbsp; But at present we have only gentlemen in the
+hotel&mdash;it being the winter time.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then you have other guests?&rsquo; inquired
+Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But . . . yes&mdash;always.&nbsp; In Algeciras there
+are always travellers.&nbsp; Noblemen&mdash;like his
+Excellency&mdash;for pleasure.&nbsp; Others&mdash;for commerce,
+the Government&mdash;the politics.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No flies enter a shut mouth, my friend,&rsquo; said a
+voice at the door, and both turned to see standing in the doorway
+the priest who had witnessed Conyngham&rsquo;s arrival.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Pardon, se&ntilde;or,&rsquo; said the old man, coming
+forward with his shabby hat in his hand.&nbsp; &lsquo;Pardon my
+interruption.&nbsp; I came at an opportune moment, for I heard
+the word politics.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He turned and shook a lean finger at the innkeeper, who was
+backing towards the door with many bows.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, bad Miguel,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;will you make it
+impossible for gentlemen to put up at your execrable inn?&nbsp;
+The man&rsquo;s cooking is superior to his discretion,
+se&ntilde;or.&nbsp; I, too, am a traveller, and for the moment a
+guest here.&nbsp; I have the honour.&nbsp; My name is
+Concha&mdash;the Padre Concha&mdash;a priest, as you
+see.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham nodded, and laughed frankly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Glad to meet you,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;I saw
+you as I came along.&nbsp; My name is Conyngham, and I am an
+Englishman, as you hear.&nbsp; I know very little
+Spanish.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That will come&mdash;that will come,&rsquo; said the
+priest, moving towards the window.&nbsp; &lsquo;Perhaps too soon,
+if you are going to stay any length of time in this
+country.&nbsp; Let me advise you&mdash;do not learn our language
+too quickly.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He shook his head and moved towards the open window.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;See to your girths before you mount, eh?&nbsp; Here is
+the verandah, where it is pleasant in the afternoon.&nbsp; Shall
+we be seated?&nbsp; That chair has but three legs&mdash;allow me!
+this one is better.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He spoke with the grave courtesy of his countrymen.&nbsp; For
+every Spaniard, even the lowest muleteer, esteems himself a
+gentleman, and knows how to act as such.&nbsp; The Padre Concha
+had a pleasant voice, and a habit of gesticulating slowly with
+one large and not too clean hand, that suggested the
+pulpit.&nbsp; He had led the way to a spacious verandah, where
+there were small tables and chairs, and at the outer corners
+orange trees in square green boxes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We will have a bottle of wine&mdash;is it not
+so?&mdash;yes,&rsquo; he said, and gravely clapped his hands
+together to summon the waiter&mdash;an Oriental custom still in
+use in the Peninsula.</p>
+<p>The wine was brought and duly uncorked, during which ceremony
+the priest waited and watched with the preoccupied air of a host
+careful for the entertainment of his guest.&nbsp; He tasted the
+wine critically.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It might be worse,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;I beg
+you to excuse it not being better.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>There was something simple in the old man&rsquo;s manner that
+won Conyngham&rsquo;s regard.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The wine is excellent,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;It
+is my welcome to Spain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&nbsp; Then this is your first visit to this
+country,&rsquo; the priest said indifferently, his eyes wandering
+to the open sea, where a few feluccas lay becalmed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham turned and looked towards the sea also.&nbsp; It was
+late in the afternoon, and a certain drowsiness of the atmosphere
+made conversation, even between comparative strangers, a slower,
+easier matter than with us in the brisk North.&nbsp; After a
+moment the Englishman turned with, perhaps, the intention of
+studying his companion&rsquo;s face, only to find the deep grey
+eyes fixed on his own.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Spain,&rsquo; said the Padre, &lsquo;is a wonderful
+country, rich, beautiful, with a climate like none in Europe; but
+God and the devil come to closer quarters here than
+elsewhere.&nbsp; Still for a traveller, for pleasure, I think
+this country is second to none.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am not exactly a traveller for pleasure, my
+father.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; and Concha drummed idly on the table with
+his fingers.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I left England in haste,&rsquo; added Conyngham
+lightly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And it will be inexpedient for me to return for some
+months to come.&nbsp; I thought of taking service in the army,
+and have a letter to General Vincente, who lives at Ronda, as I
+understand, sixty miles from here across the
+mountains.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the priest thoughtfully, &lsquo;Ronda
+is sixty miles from here&mdash;across the mountains.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He was watching a boat which approached the shore from the
+direction of Gibraltar.&nbsp; The wind having dropped, the
+boatmen had lowered the sail and were now rowing, giving voice to
+a song which floated across the smooth sea sleepily.&nbsp; It was
+an ordinary Algeciras wherry built to carry a little cargo, and
+perhaps a dozen passengers, a fishing boat that smelt strongly of
+tobacco.&nbsp; The shore was soon reached, and the passengers,
+numbering half a dozen, stepped over the gunwale on to a small
+landing stage.&nbsp; One of them was better dressed than his
+companions, a smart man with a bright flower in the buttonhole of
+his jacket, carrying the flowing cloak brightly lined with
+coloured velvet without which no Spaniard goes abroad at
+sunset.&nbsp; He looked towards the hotel, and was evidently
+speaking of it with a boatman whose attitude was full of promise
+and assurance.</p>
+<p>The priest rose and emptied his glass.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I must ask you to excuse me.&nbsp; Vespers wait for no
+man, and I hear the bell,&rsquo; he said with a grave bow, and
+went indoors.</p>
+<p>Left to himself, Conyngham lapsed into the easy reflections of
+a man whose habit it is to live for the present, leaving the
+future and the past to take care of themselves.&nbsp; Perhaps he
+thought, as some do, that the past dies&mdash;which is a
+mistake.&nbsp; The past only sleeps, and we carry it with us
+through life, slumbering.&nbsp; Those are wise who bear it gently
+so that it may never be aroused.</p>
+<p>The sun had set, and Gibraltar, a huge couchant lion across
+the bay, was fading into the twilight of the East when a footstep
+in the dining-room made Conyngham turn his head, half expecting
+the return of Father Concha.&nbsp; But in the doorway, and with
+the evident intention of coming towards himself, Conyngham
+perceived a handsome dark-faced man of medium height, with a
+smart moustache brushed upward, clever eyes, and the carriage of
+a soldier.&nbsp; This stranger unfolded his cloak, for in Spain
+it is considered ill-mannered to address a stranger and remain
+cloaked.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Se&ntilde;or,&rsquo; he said, with a gesture of the
+hat, courteous and yet manly enough to savour more of the camp
+than the court, &lsquo;se&ntilde;or, I understand you are
+journeying to Ronda.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I, too, intended to go across the mountains, and hoped
+to arrive here in time to accompany friends who I learn have
+already started on their journey.&nbsp; But I have received
+letters which necessitate my return to Malaga.&nbsp; You have
+already divined that I come to ask a favour.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He brought forward a chair and sat down, drawing from his
+pocket a silver cigarette case, which he offered to the
+Englishman.&nbsp; There was a certain picturesqueness in the
+man&rsquo;s attitude and manner.&nbsp; His face and movements
+possessed a suggestion of energy which seemed out of place here
+in the sleepy South, and stamped him as a native not of dreamy
+Andalusia, but of La Mancha perhaps, where the wit of Spain is
+concentrated, or of fiery Catalonia, where discontent and unrest
+are in the very atmosphere of the brown hills.&nbsp; This was a
+Spanish gentleman in the best sense of the word, as scrupulous in
+personal cleanliness as any Englishman, polished, accomplished,
+bright and fascinating, and yet carrying with him a subtle air of
+melancholy and romance which lingers still among the men and
+women of aristocratic Spain.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&rsquo;Tis but to carry a letter,&rsquo; he explained,
+&lsquo;and to deliver it into the hand of the person to whom it
+is addressed.&nbsp; Ah, I would give five years of life to touch
+that hand with my lips.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He sighed, gave a little laugh which was full of meaning, and
+yet quite free from self-consciousness, and lighted a fresh
+cigarette.&nbsp; Then, after a little pause, he produced the
+letter from an inner pocket and laid it on the table in front of
+Conyngham.&nbsp; It was addressed, &lsquo;To the Se&ntilde;orita
+J. B.,&rsquo; and had a subtle scent of mignonette.&nbsp; The
+envelope was of a delicate pink.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A love letter,&rsquo; said Conyngham bluntly.</p>
+<p>The Spaniard looked at him and shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah! you do not understand,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;in
+that cold country of the North.&nbsp; If you stay in Spain,
+perhaps some dark-eyed one will teach you.&nbsp; But,&rsquo; and
+his manner changed with theatrical rapidity, as he laid his slim
+hand on the letter, &lsquo;if, when you see her you love her, I
+will kill you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham laughed and held out his hand for the letter.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is insufficiently addressed,&rsquo; he said
+practically.&nbsp; &lsquo;How shall I find the lady?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Her name is Barenna, the Se&ntilde;orita Barenna; that
+is sufficient in Ronda.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham took up the letter and examined it.&nbsp; &lsquo;It
+is of importance?&rsquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of the utmost.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And of value?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of the greatest value in the world to me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The Spaniard rose and took up his cloak, which he had thrown
+over the back of the nearest chair, not forgetting to display a
+picturesque corner of its bright lining.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You swear you will deliver it, only with your own hand,
+only to the hand of the Se&ntilde;orita Barenna?&nbsp;
+And&mdash;you will observe the strictest secrecy?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, yes,&rsquo; answered Conyngham carelessly,
+&lsquo;if you like.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The Spaniard turned, and, leaning one hand on the table,
+looked almost fiercely into his companion&rsquo;s face.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;You are an Englishman,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;and an
+Englishman&rsquo;s word&mdash;is it not known all the world
+over?&nbsp; In the North, in my country, where Wellington fought,
+the peasants still say &ldquo;word of an Englishman&rdquo;
+instead of an oath.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He threw his cloak over his shoulder, and stood looking down
+at his companion with a little smile as if he were proud of
+him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There!&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;Adios.&nbsp; My
+name is Larralde, but that is of no consequence.&nbsp;
+Adios!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>With a courteous bow he took his leave, and Conyngham
+presently saw him walking down to the landing stage.&nbsp; It
+seemed that this strange visitor was about to depart as abruptly
+as he had come.&nbsp; Conyngham rose and walked to the edge of
+the verandah, where he stood watching the departure of the boat
+in which his new friend had taken passage.</p>
+<p>While he was standing there, the old priest came quietly out
+of the open window of the dining room.&nbsp; He saw the letter
+lying on the table where Conyngham had left it.&nbsp; He
+approached, his shabby old shoes making no sound on the wooden
+flooring, and read the address written on the pink and scented
+envelope.&nbsp; When the Englishman at length turned, he was
+alone on the verandah, with the wine bottle, the empty glasses,
+and the letter.</p>
+<h2><a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+48</span>CHAPTER V<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">CONTRABAND</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;What rights are his that dares not strike
+for them?&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><span class="smcap">An</span> hour before sunrise two horses
+stood shuffling their feet and chewing their bits before the
+hotel of the Marina at Algeciras, while their owner, a short and
+thick-set man of an exaggeratedly villanous appearance, attended
+to such straps and buckles as he suspected of latent flaws.&nbsp;
+The horses were lean and loose of ear, with a melancholy
+thoughtfulness of demeanour that seemed to suggest the deepest
+misgivings as to the future.&nbsp; Their saddles and other
+accoutrements were frankly theatrical, and would have been at
+once the delight of an artist and the despair of a saddler.&nbsp;
+Fringes and tassels of bright-coloured worsted depended from
+points where fringes and tassels were distinctly out of
+place.&nbsp; Where the various straps should have been strong
+they looked weak, and scarce a buckle could boast an innocence of
+knotted string.&nbsp; The saddles were of wood, and calculated to
+inflict serious internal injuries to the rider in case of a
+fall.&nbsp; They stood at least a foot above the horse&rsquo;s
+backbone, raised on a thick cushion upon the ribs of the animal,
+and leaving a space in the middle for the secretion of tobacco
+and other contraband merchandise.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I&rsquo;ll take the smallest cut-throat of the
+crew,&rsquo; Conyngham had said on the occasion of an informal
+parade of guides the previous evening.&nbsp; And the host of the
+Fonda, in whose kitchen the function had taken place, explained
+to Concep&ccedil;ion Vara that the English Excellency had
+selected him on his&mdash;the host&rsquo;s&mdash;assurance that
+Algeciras contained no other so honest.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Tell him,&rsquo; answered Concep&ccedil;ion with a
+cigarette between his lips and a pardonable pride in his eyes,
+&lsquo;that my grandfather was a smuggler and my father was shot
+by the Guardia Civil near Algatocin.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion, having repaired one girth and shaken his
+head dubiously over another, lighted a fresh cigarette and gave a
+little shiver, for the morning air was keen.&nbsp; He discreetly
+coughed.&nbsp; He had seen Conyngham breakfasting by the light of
+a dim oil lamp of a shape and make unaltered since the days of
+Nebuchadnezzar, and, without appearing impatient, wished to
+convey to one gentleman the fact that another awaited him.</p>
+<p>Before long Conyngham appeared, having paid an iniquitous bill
+with the recklessness that is only thoroughly understood by the
+poor.&nbsp; He appeared as usual to be at peace with all men, and
+returned his guide&rsquo;s grave salutation with an easy nod.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;These the horses?&rsquo; he inquired.</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion Vara spread out his hands.&nbsp; &lsquo;They
+have no equal in Andalusia,&rsquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then I am sorry for Andalusia,&rsquo; answered
+Conyngham with a pleasant laugh.</p>
+<p>They mounted and rode away in the dim cool light of the
+morning.&nbsp; The sea was of a deep blue, and rippled all over
+as in a picture.&nbsp; Gibraltar, five miles away, loomed up like
+a grey cloud against the pink of sunrise.&nbsp; The whole world
+wore a cleanly look as if the night had been passed over its face
+like a sponge, wiping away all that was unsightly or evil.&nbsp;
+The air was light and exhilarating, and scented by the breath of
+aromatic weeds growing at the roadside.</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion sang a song as he rode&mdash;a song almost
+as old as his trade&mdash;declaring that he was a smuggler
+bold.&nbsp; And he looked it, every inch.&nbsp; The road to Ronda
+lies through the cork woods of Ximena, leaving St. Roque on the
+right hand&mdash;such at least was the path selected by
+Conyngham&rsquo;s guide; for there are many ways over the
+mountains, and none of them to be recommended.&nbsp; Beguiling
+the journey with cigarette and song, calling at every venta on
+the road, exchanging chaff with every woman and a quick word with
+all men, Concep&ccedil;ion faithfully fulfilled his contract,
+and, as the moon rose over the distant snow-clad peaks of the
+Sierra Nevada, pointed forward to the lights of Gaucin, a
+mountain village with an evil reputation.</p>
+<p>The dawn of the next day saw the travellers in the saddle
+again, and the road was worse than ever.&nbsp; A sharp ascent led
+them up from Gaucin to regions where foliage grew scarcer at
+every step, and cultivation was unknown.&nbsp; At one spot they
+turned to look back, and saw Gibraltar like a tooth protruding
+from the sea.&nbsp; The straits had the appearance of a river,
+and the high land behind Ceuta formed the farther bank of it.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There is Africa,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion gravely,
+and after a moment turned his horse&rsquo;s head uphill
+again.&nbsp; The people of these mountain regions were as wild in
+appearance as their country.&nbsp; Once or twice the travellers
+passed a shepherd herding sheep or goats on the mountain side,
+himself clad in goatskin, with a great brown cloak floating from
+his shoulders&mdash;a living picture of Ishmael or those sons of
+his who dwelt in the tents of Kedar.&nbsp; A few muleteers drew
+aside to let the horses pass, and exchanged some words in an
+undertone with Conyngham&rsquo;s guide.&nbsp; Fine-looking
+brigands were these, with an armoury of knives peeping from their
+bright-coloured waistbands.&nbsp; The Andalusian peasant is for
+six days in the week calculated to inspire awe by his clothing
+and general appearance.&nbsp; Of a dark skin and hair, he usually
+submits his chin to the barber&rsquo;s office but once a week,
+and the timid traveller would do well to take the road on Sundays
+only.&nbsp; Towards the end of the week, and notably on a
+Saturday, every passer-by is an unshorn brigand capable of the
+darkest deeds of villany, while twenty-four hours later the land
+will be found to be peopled by as clean and honest and smart, and
+withal as handsome, a race of men as any on earth.</p>
+<p>Before long all habitations were left behind, and the horses
+climbed from rock to rock like cats.&nbsp; There was no
+suggestion of pathway or landmark, and Concep&ccedil;ion paused
+once or twice to take his bearings.&nbsp; It was about two in the
+afternoon when, after descending the bed of a stream long since
+dried up, Concep&ccedil;ion called a halt, and proposed to rest
+the horses while he dined.&nbsp; As on the previous day, the
+guide&rsquo;s manner was that of a gentleman, conferring a high
+honour with becoming modesty when he sat down beside Conyngham
+and untied his small sack of provisions.&nbsp; These consisted of
+dried figs and bread, which he offered to his companion before
+beginning to eat.&nbsp; Conyngham shared his own stock of food
+with his guide, and subsequently smoked a cigarette which that
+gentleman offered him.&nbsp; They were thus pleasantly engaged
+when a man appeared on the rocks above them in a manner and with
+a haste that spoke but ill of his honesty.&nbsp; The guide looked
+up knife in hand, and made answer to a gesture of the arm with
+his own hand upraised.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who is this?&rsquo; said Conyngham.&nbsp; &lsquo;Some
+friend of yours?&nbsp; Tell him to keep his distance, for I
+don&rsquo;t care for his appearance.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He is no friend of mine, Excellency.&nbsp; But the man
+is, I dare say, honest enough.&nbsp; In these mountains it is
+only of the Guardia Civil that one must beware.&nbsp; They have
+ever the finger on the trigger and shoot without
+warning.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nevertheless,&rsquo; said the Englishman, now
+thoroughly on the alert, &lsquo;let him state his business at a
+respectable distance.&nbsp; Ah! he has a comrade and two
+mules.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And indeed a second man of equally unprepossessing exterior
+now appeared from behind a great rock leading a couple of heavily
+laden mules.</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion and the first traveller, who was now within
+a dozen yards, were already exchanging words in a patois not
+unlike the Limousin dialect, of which Conyngham understood
+nothing.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Stop where you are,&rsquo; shouted the Englishman in
+Spanish, &lsquo;or else I shoot you!&nbsp; If there is anything
+wrong, Se&ntilde;or Vara,&rsquo; he added to the guide, &lsquo;I
+shoot you first, understand that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He says,&rsquo; answered Concep&ccedil;ion with
+dignity, &lsquo;that they are honest traders on the road to
+Ronda, and would be glad of our company.&nbsp; His Excellency is
+at liberty to shoot if he is so disposed.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham laughed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; he answered, &lsquo;I am not anxious to kill
+any man, but each must take care of himself in these
+times.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not against an honest smuggler.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are these smugglers?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They speak as such.&nbsp; I know them no more than does
+his Excellency.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The second new-comer was now within hail, and began at once to
+speak in Spanish.&nbsp; The tale he told was similar in every way
+to that translated by Concep&ccedil;ion from the Limousin
+dialect.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why should we not travel together to Ronda?&rsquo; he
+said, coming forward with an easy air of confidence, which was of
+better effect than any protestation of honesty.&nbsp; He had a
+quiet eye, and the demeanour of one educated to loftier things
+than smuggling tobacco across the Sierra, though indeed, he was
+no better clad than his companion.&nbsp; The two guides
+instinctively took the road together, Concep&ccedil;ion leading
+his horse, for the way was such that none could ride over
+it.&nbsp; Conyngham did the same, and his companion led the mule
+by a rope, as is the custom in Andalusia.</p>
+<p>The full glare of the day shone down on them, the bare rock
+giving back a puff of heat that dried the throat.&nbsp; Conyngham
+was tired and not too trustful of his companion, who, indeed,
+seemed to be fully occupied with his own thoughts.&nbsp; They had
+thus progressed a full half-hour when a shout from the rocks
+above caused them to halt suddenly.&nbsp; The white linen head
+coverings of the Guardia Civil and the glint of the sun on their
+accoutrements showed at a glance that this was not a summons to
+be disregarded.</p>
+<p>In an instant Concep&ccedil;ion&rsquo;s companion was leaping
+from rock to rock with an agility only to be acquired in the hot
+fear of death.&nbsp; A report rang out and echoed among the
+hills.&nbsp; A bullet went &lsquo;splat&rsquo; against a rock
+near at hand, making a frayed blue mark upon the grey
+stone.&nbsp; The man dodged from side to side in the
+panic-stricken irresponsibility of a rabbit seeking covert where
+none exists.&nbsp; There was not so much as to hide his
+head.&nbsp; Conyngham looked up towards the foe in time to see a
+puff of white smoke thrown up against the steely sky.&nbsp; A
+second report, and the fugitive seemed to trip over a
+stone.&nbsp; He recovered himself, stood upright for a moment,
+gave a queer spluttering cough, and sat slowly down against a
+boulder.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He is killed!&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion, throwing
+down his cigarette.&nbsp; &lsquo;Mother of God! these Guardias
+Civiles!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The two guards came clambering down the face of the
+rock.&nbsp; Concep&ccedil;ion glanced at his late companion
+writhing in the sharpness of death.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Here or at Ronda, to-day, or to-morrow, what matters
+it?&rsquo; muttered the quiet-eyed man at Conyngham&rsquo;s
+side.&nbsp; The Englishman turned and looked at him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They will shoot me too, but not now.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion sullenly awaited the arrival of the
+guards.&nbsp; These men ever hunt in couples of a widely
+different age, for the law has found that an old head and a young
+arm form the strongest combination.&nbsp; The elder of the two
+had the face of an old grey wolf.&nbsp; He muttered some order to
+his companion, and went towards the mule.&nbsp; He cut away the
+outer covering of the burden suspended from the saddle, and
+nodded his head wisely.&nbsp; These were boxes of cartridges to
+carry one thousand each.&nbsp; The grey old man turned and looked
+at him who lay on the ground.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A la longa,&rsquo; he said with a grim smile.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;In the long run, Antonio.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The man gave a sickly grin and opened his mouth to speak, but
+his jaw dropped instead, and he passed across that frontier which
+is watched by no earthly sentinel.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;This gentleman,&rsquo; said the quiet-eyed man, whose
+guide had thus paid for his little mistake in refusing to halt at
+the word of command, &lsquo;is a stranger to me&mdash;an
+Englishman, I think.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; answered Conyngham.</p>
+<p>The old soldier looked from one to the other.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That may be,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;but he sleeps in
+Ronda prison to-night.&nbsp; To-morrow the Captain-General will
+see to it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have a letter to the Captain-General,&rsquo; said
+Conyngham, who drew from his pocket a packet of papers.&nbsp;
+Among these was the pink scented envelope given to him by the man
+called Larralde at Algeciras.&nbsp; He had forgotten its
+existence, and put it back in his pocket with a smile.&nbsp;
+Having found that for which he sought, he gave it to the soldier,
+who read the address in silence and returned the letter.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You I know,&rsquo; he said, turning to the man at
+Conyngham&rsquo;s side, who merely shrugged his shoulders.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;And Concep&ccedil;ion Vara, we all know him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion had lighted a cigarette, and was murmuring a
+popular air with the indifferent patience and the wandering eye
+of perfect innocence.&nbsp; The old soldier turned and spoke in
+an undertone to his comrade, who went towards the dead man and
+quietly covered his face with the folds of his own faja or
+waistcloth.&nbsp; This he weighted at the corners with stones,
+carrying out this simple office to the dead with a suggestive
+indifference.&nbsp; To this day the Guardias Civiles have plenary
+power to shoot whomsoever they think fit&mdash;flight and
+resistance being equally fatal.</p>
+<p>No more heeding the dead body of the man whom he had shot than
+he would have heeded the carcase of a rat, the elder of the two
+soldiers now gave the order to march, commanding
+Concep&ccedil;ion to lead the way.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It will not be worth your while to risk a bullet by
+running away,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;This time it is
+probably a matter of a few pounds of tobacco only.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The evening had fallen ere the silent party caught sight of
+the town of Ronda, perched, as the Moorish strongholds usually
+are, on a height.&nbsp; Ronda, as history tells, was the last
+possession of the brave and gifted Moslems in Spain.&nbsp; The
+people are half Moorish still, and from the barred windows look
+out deep almond eyes and patient faces that have no European
+feature.&nbsp; The narrow streets were empty as the travellers
+entered the town, and the clatter of the mules slipping and
+stumbling on the cobble stones brought but few to the doors of
+the low-built houses.&nbsp; To enter Ronda from the south the
+traveller must traverse the Moorish town, which is divided from
+the Spanish quarter by a cleft in the great rock that renders the
+town impregnable to all attack.&nbsp; Having crossed the bridge
+spanning the great gorge into which the sun never penetrates even
+at midday, the party emerged into the broader streets of the more
+modern town, and, turning to the right through a high gateway,
+found themselves in a barrack yard of the Guardias Civiles.</p>
+<h2><a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+59</span>CHAPTER VI<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">AT RONDA</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;Le plus grand art d&rsquo;un habile homme
+est celui de savoir cacher son habilet&eacute;.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><span class="smcap">When</span> Conyngham awoke after a night
+conscientiously spent in that profound slumber which waits on an
+excellent digestion and a careless heart, he found the prison
+attendant at his bedside.&nbsp; A less easy-going mind would
+perhaps have leapt to some nervous conclusion at the sight of
+this fierce-visaged janitor, who, however, carried nothing more
+deadly in his hand than a card.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is the Captain-General,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;who
+calls at this early hour.&nbsp; His Excellency&rsquo;s letter has
+been delivered, and the Captain-General scarce waited to swallow
+his morning chocolate.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Very much to the Captain-General&rsquo;s credit,&rsquo;
+returned Conyngham rising.&nbsp; &lsquo;Cold water,&rsquo; he
+went on, &lsquo;soap, a towel, and my luggage&mdash;and then the
+Captain-General.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The attendant, with an odd smile, procured the necessary
+articles, and when the Englishman was ready led the way
+downstairs.&nbsp; He was a solemn man from Galicia, this, where
+they do not smile.</p>
+<p>In the patio of the great house, once a monastery, now
+converted into a barrack for the Guardias Civiles, a small man of
+fifty years or more stood smoking a cigarette.&nbsp; On
+perceiving Conyngham he came forward with outstretched hand and a
+smile which can only be described as angelic.&nbsp; It was a
+smile at once sympathetic and humorous, veiling his dark eyes
+between lashes almost closed, parting moustached lips to disclose
+a row of pearly teeth.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My dear sir,&rsquo; said General Vincente in very
+tolerable English, &lsquo;I am at your feet.&nbsp; That such a
+mistake should have been made in respect to the bearer of a
+letter of introduction from my old friend General
+Watterson&mdash;we fought together in Wellington&rsquo;s
+day&mdash;that such a mistake should have occurred overwhelms me
+with shame.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He pressed Conyngham&rsquo;s hand in both of his, which were
+small and white&mdash;looked up into his face, stepped back and
+broke into a soft laugh.&nbsp; Indeed his voice was admirably
+suited to a lady&rsquo;s drawing-room, and suggested nought of
+the camp or battle field.&nbsp; From the handkerchief which he
+drew from his sleeve and passed across his white moustache a
+faint scent floated on the morning air.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are you General Vincente?&rsquo; asked Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes&mdash;why not?&rsquo;&nbsp; And in truth the tone
+of the Englishman&rsquo;s voice had betrayed a scepticism which
+warranted the question.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is very kind of you to come so early.&nbsp; I have
+been quite comfortable, and they gave me a good supper last
+night,&rsquo; said Conyngham.&nbsp; &lsquo;Moreover, the Guardias
+Civiles are in no way to blame for my arrest.&nbsp; I was in bad
+company, it seems.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes; your companions were engaged in conveying
+ammunition to the Carlists; we have wanted to lay our hands upon
+them for some weeks.&nbsp; They have carried former journeys to a
+successful termination.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He laughed and shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The guide, Antonio something-or-other, died, as I
+understand.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, yes; if you choose to put it that way,&rsquo;
+admitted Conyngham.</p>
+<p>The General raised his eyebrows in a gentle grimace expressive
+of deprecation, with, as it were, a small solution of sympathy,
+indicated by a moisture of the eye, for the family of Antonio
+something-or-other in their bereavement.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And the other man?&nbsp; Seemed a nice enough fellow .
+. .&rsquo; inquired Conyngham.</p>
+<p>The General raised one gloved hand as if to fend off some
+approaching calamity.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He died this morning&mdash;at six
+o&rsquo;clock.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham looked down at this gentle soldier with a dawning
+light of comprehension.&nbsp; This might after all be the General
+Vincente whom he had been led to look upon as the fiercest of the
+Spanish Queen&rsquo;s adherents.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of the same complaint?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of the same complaint,&rsquo; answered the General
+softly.&nbsp; He slipped his hand within Conyngham&rsquo;s arm,
+and thus affectionately led him across the patio towards the
+doorway where sentinels stood at attention.&nbsp; He acknowledged
+the attitude of his subordinates by a friendly nod; indeed, this
+rosy-faced warrior seemed to brim over with the milk of human
+kindness.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The English,&rsquo; he said, pressing his
+companion&rsquo;s arm, &lsquo;have been too useful to us for me
+to allow one of them to remain a moment longer in
+confinement.&nbsp; You say you were comfortable.&nbsp; I hope
+they gave you a clean towel and all that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, thanks,&rsquo; answered Conyngham, suppressing a
+desire to laugh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That is well.&nbsp; Ronda is a pleasant place, as you
+will find.&nbsp; Most interesting&mdash;Moorish remains, you
+understand.&nbsp; I will send my servant for your baggage, and of
+course my poor house is at your disposal.&nbsp; You will stay
+with me until we can find some work for you to do.&nbsp; You wish
+to take service with us, of course?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; answered Conynghamn.&nbsp; &lsquo;Rather
+thought of it&mdash;if you will have me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General glanced up at his stalwart companion with a
+measuring eye.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My house,&rsquo; he said, in a conversational way, as
+if only desirous of making matters as pleasant as possible in a
+life which nature had intended to be peaceful and sunny, and
+perhaps trifling, but which the wickedness of men had rendered
+otherwise, &lsquo;my house is, as you would divine, only an
+official residence, but pleasant enough&mdash;pleasant
+enough.&nbsp; The garden is distinctly tolerable; there are
+orange trees now in bloom&mdash;so sweet of scent.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The street into which they had now emerged was no less martial
+in appearance than the barrack yard, and while he spoke the
+General never ceased to dispense his kindly little nod on one
+side or the other in response to military salutations.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We have quite a number of soldiers in Ronda at
+present,&rsquo; he said, with an affectionate little pressure of
+Conyngham&rsquo;s arm, as if to indicate his appreciation of such
+protection amid these rough men.&nbsp; &lsquo;There is a great
+talk of some rising in the South&mdash;in Andalusia&mdash;to
+support Se&ntilde;or Cabrera, who continually threatens
+Madrid.&nbsp; A great soldier, they tell me, this Cabrera, but
+not&mdash;well, not perhaps quite, eh?&mdash;a caballero, a
+gentleman.&nbsp; A pity, is it not?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A great pity,&rsquo; answered Conyngham, taking the
+opportunity at last afforded him of getting a word in.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One must be prepared,&rsquo; went on the General with a
+good-natured little sigh, &lsquo;for such measures.&nbsp; There
+are so many mistaken enthusiasts&mdash;is it not so?&nbsp; Such
+men as your countryman, Se&ntilde;or Flinter.&nbsp; There are so
+many who are stronger Carlists than Don Carlos himself,
+eh?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The secret of conversational success is to defer to
+one&rsquo;s listener.&nbsp; A clever man imparts information by
+asking questions, and obtains it without doing so.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;This is my poor house,&rsquo; continued the soldier,
+and as he spoke he beamed on the sentries at the door.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I am a widower, but God has given me a daughter who is now
+of an age to rule my household.&nbsp; Estella will endeavour to
+make you comfortable, and an Englishman&mdash;a
+soldier&mdash;will surely overlook some small defects.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He finished with a good-natured laugh.&nbsp; There was no
+resisting the sunny good-humour of this little officer, or the
+gladness of his face.&nbsp; His attitude towards the world was
+one of constant endeavour to make things pleasant, and acquit
+himself to his best in circumstances far beyond his merits or
+capabilities.&nbsp; He was one who had had good fortune all his
+days.&nbsp; Those who have greatness thrust upon them are never
+much impressed by their burden.&nbsp; And General Vincente had
+the air of constantly assuring his subordinates that they need
+not mind him.</p>
+<p>The house to which he conducted Conyngham stood on the broad
+main street, immediately opposite a cluster of shops where
+leather bottles were manufactured and sold.&nbsp; It was a large
+gloomy house with a patio devoid of fountain and even of the
+usual orange trees in green boxes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Through there is the garden&mdash;most pleasant and
+shady,&rsquo; said the General, indicating a doorway with the
+riding-whip he carried.</p>
+<p>A troop of servants awaited them at the foot of the broad
+Moorish staircase open on one side to the patio and heavily
+carved in balustrade and cornice.&nbsp; These gentlemen bowed
+gravely&mdash;indeed, they were so numerous that the majority of
+them must have had nothing to do but cultivate this dignified
+salutation.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The se&ntilde;orita?&rsquo; inquired the General.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The se&ntilde;orita is in the garden,
+Excellency,&rsquo; answered one with the air of a courtier.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then let us go there at once,&rsquo; said General
+Vincente, turning to Conyngham, and gripping his arm
+affectionately.</p>
+<p>They passed through a doorway whither two men had hurried to
+open the heavy doors, and the scent of violets and mignonette, of
+orange in bloom, and of a hundred opening buds swept across their
+faces.&nbsp; The brilliant sunlight almost dazzled eyes that had
+grown accustomed to the cool shade of the patio, for Ronda is one
+of the sunniest spots on earth, and here the warmth is rarely
+oppressive.&nbsp; The garden was Moorish, and running water in
+aqueducts of marble, yellow with stupendous age, murmured in the
+shade of tropical plants.&nbsp; A fountain plashed and chattered
+softly, like the whispering of children.&nbsp; The pathways were
+paved with a fine white gravel of broken marble.&nbsp; There was
+no weed amid the flowers.&nbsp; It seemed a paradise to
+Conyngham, fresh from the grey and mournful northern winter, and
+no part of this weary, busy world.&nbsp; For here were rest and
+silence, and that sense of eternity which is only conveyed by the
+continuous voice of running or falling water.&nbsp; It was hard
+to believe that this was real and earthly.&nbsp; Conyngham rubbed
+his eyes and instinctively turned to look at his companion, who
+was as unreal as his surroundings&mdash;a round-faced, chubby
+little man, with a tender mouth and moist dark eyes looking
+kindly out upon the world, who called himself General Vincente;
+and the name was synonymous in all Spain with bloodthirstiness
+and cruelty, with daring and an unsparing generalship.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;let us look for
+Estella.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He led the way along a path winding among almond and peach
+trees in full bloom, in the shadow of the weird eucalyptus and
+the feathery pepper tree.&nbsp; Then with a little word of
+pleasure he hurried forward.&nbsp; Conyngham caught sight of a
+black dress and a black mantilla, of fair golden hair, and a fan
+upraised against the rays of the sun.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Estella, here is a guest: Mr. Conyngham, one of the
+brave Englishmen who remember Spain in her time of
+trouble.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham bowed with a greater ceremony than we observe
+to-day, and stood upright to look upon that which was for him
+from that moment the fairest face in the world.&nbsp; As, to some
+men, success or failure seems to come early and in one bound, so,
+for some, Love lies long in ambush, to shoot at length a single
+and certain shaft.&nbsp; Conyngham looked at Estella Vincente,
+his gay blue eyes meeting her dark glance with a frankness which
+was characteristic, and knew from that instant that his world
+held no other woman.&nbsp; It came to him as a flash of lightning
+that left his former life grey and neutral, and yet he was
+conscious of no surprise, but rather of a feeling of having found
+something which he had long sought.</p>
+<p>The girl acknowledged his salutation with a little inclination
+of the head and a smile which was only of the lips, for her eyes
+remained grave and deep.&nbsp; She had all the dignity of
+carriage famous in Castilian women, though her figure was
+youthful still, and slight.&nbsp; Her face was a clean-cut oval,
+with lips that were still and proud, and a delicately aquiline
+nose.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My daughter speaks English better than I do,&rsquo;
+went on the General in the garrulous voice of an exceedingly
+domesticated man.&nbsp; &lsquo;She has been at school in
+England&mdash;at the suggestion of my dear friend
+Watterson&mdash;with his daughters, in fact.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And must have found it dull and grey enough compared
+with Spain,&rsquo; said Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&nbsp; Then you like Spain?&rsquo; said the General
+eagerly.&nbsp; &lsquo;It is so with all the English.&nbsp; We
+have something in common, despite the Armada, eh?&nbsp; Something
+in manner and in appearance, too; is it not so?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He left Conyngham, and walked slowly on with one hand at his
+daughter&rsquo;s waist.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I was very happy in England,&rsquo; said Estella to
+Conyngham, who walked at her other side; &lsquo;but happier still
+to get home to Spain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Her voice was rather low, and Conyngham had an odd sensation
+of having heard it before.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why did you leave your home?&rsquo; she continued in a
+leisurely conversational way which seemed natural to the
+environments.</p>
+<p>The question rather startled the Englishman, for the only
+answer seemed to be that he had quitted England in order to come
+to Ronda and to her, following the path in life that fate had
+assigned to him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We have troubles in England also&mdash;political
+troubles,&rsquo; he said, after a pause.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Chartists,&rsquo; said the General
+cheerfully.&nbsp; &lsquo;We know all about them, for we have the
+English newspapers.&nbsp; I procure them in order to have
+reliable news of Spain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He broke off with a little laugh, and looked towards his
+daughter.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In the evening Estella reads them to me.&nbsp; And it
+was on account of the Chartists that you left England?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, you are a Chartist, Mr. Conyngham.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; admitted the Englishman after a pause, and
+he glanced at Estella.</p>
+<h2><a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+70</span>CHAPTER VII<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">IN A MOORISH GARDEN</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">&lsquo;When love is not
+a blasphemy, it is a religion.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><span class="smcap">There</span> is perhaps a subtle
+significance in the fact that the greatest, the cruellest, the
+most barbarous civil war of modern days, if not of all time, owed
+its outbreak and its long continuance to the influence of a
+woman.&nbsp; When Ferdinand VII. of Spain died, in 1833, after a
+reign broken and disturbed by the passage of that human cyclone,
+Napoleon the Great, he bequeathed his kingdom, in defiance of the
+Salic law, to his daughter Isabella.&nbsp; Ferdinand&rsquo;s
+brother Charles, however, claimed the throne under the very just
+contention that the Salic law, by which women were excluded from
+the heritage of the crown, had never been legally abrogated.</p>
+<p>This was the spark that kindled in many minds ambition,
+cruelty, bloodthirstiness, self-seeking and
+jealousy&mdash;producing the <i>morale</i>, in a word, of the
+Spain of sixty years ago.&nbsp; Some sided with the Queen Regent
+Christina, and rallied round the child-queen because they saw
+that that way lay glory and promotion.&nbsp; Others flocked to
+the standard of Don Carlos because they were poor and of no
+influence at Court.&nbsp; The Church as a whole raised its
+whispering voice for the Pretender.&nbsp; For the rest,
+patriotism was nowhere, and ambition on every side.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;For five years we have fought the Carlists, hunger,
+privation, and the politicians at Madrid!&nbsp; And the holy
+saints only know which has been the worst enemy,&rsquo; said
+General Vincente to Conyngham when explaining the above related
+details.</p>
+<p>And indeed the story of this war reads like a romance, for
+there came from neutral countries foreign legions as in the olden
+days.&nbsp; From England an army of ten thousand mercenaries
+landed in Spain, prepared to fight for the cause of Queen
+Christina, and very modestly estimating the worth of their
+services at the sum of thirteenpence per diem.&nbsp; After all,
+the value of a man&rsquo;s life is but the price of his daily
+hire.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We did not pay them much,&rsquo; said General Vincente
+with a deprecating little smile, &lsquo;but they did not fight
+much.&nbsp; Their pay was generally in arrear, and they were
+usually in the rear as well.&nbsp; What will you, my dear
+Conyngham?&nbsp; You are a commercial people&mdash;you keep good
+soldiers in the shop window, and when a buyer comes you serve him
+with second-class goods from behind the counter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He beamed on Conyngham with a pleasant air of benign
+connivance in a very legitimate commercial transaction.</p>
+<p>This is no time or place to go into the history of the English
+Legion in Spain, which, indeed, had quitted that country before
+Conyngham landed there, horrified by the barbarities of a cruel
+war where prisoners received no quarter and the soldiers on
+either side were left without pay or rations.&nbsp; In a
+half-hearted manner England went to the assistance of the Queen
+Regent of Spain, and one error in statesmanship led to
+many.&nbsp; It is always a mistake to strike gently.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;This country,&rsquo; said General Vincente in his
+suavest manner, &lsquo;owes much to yours, my dear Conyngham; but
+it would have been better for us both had we owed you a little
+more.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>During the five years prior to Conyngham&rsquo;s arrival at
+Ronda the war had raged with unabated fury, swaying from the west
+to the east coast as fortune smiled or frowned on the Carlist
+cause.&nbsp; At one time it almost appeared certain that the
+Christino forces were unable to stem the rising tide which bade
+fair to spread over all Spain&mdash;so unfortunate were their
+generals, so futile the best endeavours of the bravest and most
+patient soldiers.&nbsp; General Vincente was not alone in his
+conviction that had the gallant Carlist leader Zumalacarreguy
+lived he might have carried all before him.&nbsp; But this great
+leader at the height of his fame&mdash;beloved of all his
+soldiers, worshipped by his subordinate officers&mdash;died
+suddenly, by poison, as it was whispered, the victim of jealousy
+and ambition.&nbsp; Almost at once there arose in the East of
+Spain one, obscure in birth and unknown to fame, who flashed
+suddenly to the zenith of military glory&mdash;the ruthless, the
+wonderful Cabrera.&nbsp; The name is to this day a household word
+in Catalonia, while the eyes of a few old men still living, who
+fought with or against him, flash in the light of other days at
+the mere mention of it.</p>
+<p>Among the many leaders who had attempted in vain to overcome
+by skill and patriotism the thousand difficulties placed in their
+way by successive unstable, insincere Ministers of War, General
+Vincente occupied an honoured place.&nbsp; This mild-mannered
+tactician enjoyed the enviable reputation of being alike
+unconquerable and incorruptible.&nbsp; His smiling presence on
+the battlefield was in itself worth half a dozen battalions,
+while at Madrid the dishonest politicians, who through those
+years of Spain&rsquo;s great trial systematically bartered their
+honour for immediate gain, dreaded and respected him.</p>
+<p>During the days that followed his arrival at Ronda and release
+from the prison there, Frederick Conyngham learnt much from his
+host and little of the man himself, for General Vincente had that
+in him with which no great leader in any walk of life can well
+dispense&mdash;an unsoundable depth.</p>
+<p>Conyngham learnt also that the human heart is capable of
+rising at one bound above differences of race or custom, creed
+and spoken language.&nbsp; He walked with Estella in that quiet
+garden between high walls on the trim Moorish paths, and often
+the murmur of the running water which ever graced the Moslem
+palaces was the only sound that broke the silence.&nbsp; For this
+thing had come into the Englishman&rsquo;s life suddenly, leaving
+him dazed and uncertain.&nbsp; Estella, on the other hand, had a
+quiet <i>savoir-faire</i> that sat strangely on her young
+face.&nbsp; She was only nineteen, and yet had a certain air of
+authority, handed down to her from two great races of noble men
+and women.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do all your countrymen take life thus gaily?&rsquo; she
+asked Conyngham one day; &lsquo;surely it is a more serious
+affair than you think it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have never found it very serious,
+se&ntilde;orita,&rsquo; he answered.&nbsp; &lsquo;There is
+usually a smile in human affairs if one takes the trouble to look
+for it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Have you always found it so?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He did not answer at once, pausing to lift the branch of a
+mimosa tree that hung in yellow profusion across the pathway.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, se&ntilde;orita, I think so,&rsquo; he answered at
+length, slowly.&nbsp; There was a sense of eternal restfulness in
+this old Moorish garden which acted as a brake on the thoughts,
+and made conversation halt and drag in an Oriental way that
+Europeans rarely understand.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And yet you say you remember your father&rsquo;s
+death?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He made a joke to the doctor, se&ntilde;orita, and was
+not afraid.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella smiled in a queer way, and then looked grave
+again.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And you have always been poor, you say, sometimes
+almost starving?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes&mdash;always poor, deadly poor,
+se&ntilde;orita,&rsquo; answered Conyngham with a gay laugh;
+&lsquo;and since I have been on my own resources
+frequently&mdash;well, very hungry.&nbsp; The appetite has been
+large and the resources have been small.&nbsp; But when I get
+into the Spanish army they will no doubt make me a general, and
+all will be well.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He laughed again, and slipped his hand into his jacket
+pocket.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;See here,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;your father&rsquo;s
+recommendation to General Espartero in a confidential
+letter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>But the envelope he produced was that pink one which the man
+called Larralde had given him at Algeciras.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No&mdash;it is not that,&rsquo; he said, searching in
+another pocket.&nbsp; &lsquo;Ah! here it is&mdash;addressed to
+General Espartero, Duke of Vittoria.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He showed her the superscription, which she read with a little
+inclination of the head, as if in salutation of the great name
+written there.&nbsp; The greatest names are those that men have
+made for themselves.&nbsp; Conyngham replaced the two letters in
+his pocket and almost immediately asked:</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you know anyone called Barenna in Ronda,
+se&ntilde;orita?&rsquo; thereby proving that General Espartero
+would do ill to give him an appointment requiring even the
+earliest rudiments of diplomacy.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Julia Barenna is my cousin.&nbsp; Her mother was my
+mother&rsquo;s sister.&nbsp; Do you know them, Se&ntilde;or
+Conyngham?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh no,&rsquo; answered Conyngham, truthfully
+enough.&nbsp; &lsquo;I met a man who knows them.&nbsp; Do they
+live in Ronda?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No; their house is on the Cordova road, about half a
+league from the Customs station.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella was not by nature curious, and asked no
+questions.&nbsp; Some who knew the Barennas would have been glad
+to claim acquaintance with General Vincente and his daughter, but
+could not do so.&nbsp; For the Captain-General moved in a circle
+not far removed from the Queen Regent herself, and mixed but
+little in the society of Ronda, where, for the time being, he
+held a command.</p>
+<p>Conyngham required no further information, and in a few
+moments dismissed the letter from his mind.&nbsp; Events seemed
+for him to have moved rapidly within the last few days, and the
+world of roadside inns and casual acquaintance into which he had
+stepped on his arrival in Spain was quite another from that in
+which Estella moved at Ronda.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I must set out for Madrid in a few days at the
+latest,&rsquo; he said a few moments afterwards; &lsquo;but I
+shall go against my will, because you tell me that you and your
+father will not be coming North until the spring.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella shook her head with a little laugh.&nbsp; This man was
+different from the punctilious aides-de-camp and others who had
+hitherto begged most respectfully to notify their admiration.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And three days ago you did not know of our
+existence,&rsquo; she said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In three days a man may be dead of an illness of which
+he ignored the existence, se&ntilde;orita.&nbsp; In three days a
+man&rsquo;s life may be made miserable or happy&mdash;perhaps in
+three minutes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And she looked straight in front of her in order to avoid his
+eyes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yours will always be happy, I think,&rsquo; she said,
+&lsquo;because you never seem to go below the surface, and on the
+surface life is happy enough.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He made some light answer, and they walked on beneath the
+orange trees, talking of these and other matters&mdash;indulging
+in those dangerous generalities which sound so safe, and in
+reality narrow down to a little world of two.</p>
+<p>They were thus engaged when the servant came to announce that
+the horse which the General had placed at Conyngham&rsquo;s
+disposal was at the door in accordance with the
+Englishman&rsquo;s own order.&nbsp; He went away sorrowfully
+enough, only half consoled by the information that Estella was
+about to attend a service at the Church of Santa Maria, and could
+not have stayed longer in the garden.</p>
+<p>The hour of the siesta was scarce over, and as Conyngham rode
+through the cleanly streets of the ancient town more than one
+idler roused himself from the shadow of a doorway to see him
+pass.&nbsp; There are few older towns in Andalusia than Ronda,
+and scarce anywhere the habits of the Moors are so closely
+followed.&nbsp; The streets are clean, the houses whitewashed
+within and without.&nbsp; The trappings of the mules and much of
+the costume of the people are Oriental in texture and
+brilliancy.</p>
+<p>Conyngham asked a passer-by to indicate the way to the Cordova
+road, and the polite Spaniard turned and walked by his stirrup
+until a mistake was no longer possible.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is not the most beautiful approach to Ronda,&rsquo;
+said this garrulous person, &lsquo;but well enough in the summer,
+when the flowers are in bloom and the vineyards green.&nbsp; The
+road is straight and dusty until one arrives at the possession of
+the Se&ntilde;ora Barenna&mdash;a narrow road to the right
+leading up into the mountain.&nbsp; One can perceive the
+house&mdash;oh, yes&mdash;upon the hillside, once beautiful, but
+now old and decayed.&nbsp; Mistake is now impossible.&nbsp; It is
+a straight way.&nbsp; I wish you a good journey.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham rode on, vaguely turning over in his mind a
+half-matured plan of effecting a seemingly accidental entry to
+the house of Se&ntilde;ora Barenna, in the hope of meeting that
+lady&rsquo;s daughter in the garden or grounds.&nbsp; Once
+outside the walls of the town he found the country open and bare,
+consisting of brown hills, of which the lower slopes were dotted
+with evergreen oaks.&nbsp; The road soon traversed a village
+which seemed to be half deserted, for men and women alike were
+working in the fields.&nbsp; On the balcony of the best house a
+branch of palm bound against the ironwork balustrade indicated
+the dwelling of the priest, and the form of that village despot
+was dimly discernible in the darkened room behind.&nbsp; Beyond
+the village Conyngham turned his horse&rsquo;s head towards the
+mountain, his mind preoccupied with a Macchiavellian scheme of
+losing his way in this neighbourhood.&nbsp; Through the evergreen
+oak and olive groves he could perceive the roof of an old grey
+house which had once been a mere hacienda or semi-fortified
+farm.</p>
+<p>Conyngham did not propose to go direct to Se&ntilde;ora
+Barenna&rsquo;s house, but described a semicircle, mounting from
+terrace to terrace on his sure-footed horse.</p>
+<p>When at length he came in sight of the high gateway where the
+ten-foot oaken gates still swung, he perceived someone
+approaching the exit.&nbsp; On closer inspection he saw that this
+was a priest, and on nearing him recognised the Padre Concha,
+whose acquaintance he had made at the Hotel of the Marina at
+Algeciras.</p>
+<p>The recognition was mutual, for the priest raised his shabby
+old hat with a tender care for the insecurity of its brim.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A lucky meeting, Se&ntilde;or Englishman,&rsquo; he
+said; &lsquo;who would have expected to see you here?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have lost my way.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo;&nbsp; And the grim face relaxed into a
+smile.&nbsp; &lsquo;Lost your way?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then it is lucky that I have met you.&nbsp; It is so
+easy to lose one&rsquo;s way&mdash;when one is young.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He raised his hand to the horse&rsquo;s bridle.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are most certainly going in the wrong
+direction,&rsquo; he said; &lsquo;I will lead you
+right.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>It was said and done so quietly that Conyngham had found no
+word to say before his horse was moving in the opposite
+direction.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;This is surely one of General Vincente&rsquo;s
+horses,&rsquo; said the priest; &lsquo;we have few such barbs in
+Ronda.&nbsp; He always rides a good horse, that Miguel
+Vincente.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, it is one of his horses.&nbsp; Then you know the
+General?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We were boys together,&rsquo; answered the Padre;
+&lsquo;and there were some who said that he should have been the
+priest and I the soldier.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The old man gave a little laugh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He has prospered, however, if I have not.&nbsp; A great
+man, my dear Miguel, and they say that his pay is duly handed to
+him.&nbsp; My own&mdash;my princely twenty pounds a year&mdash;is
+overdue.&nbsp; I am happy enough, however, and have a good
+house.&nbsp; You noticed it, perhaps, as you passed through the
+village, a branch of palm against the rail of the
+balcony&mdash;my sign, you understand.&nbsp; The innkeeper next
+door displays a branch of pine, which, I notice, is more
+attractive.&nbsp; Every man his day.&nbsp; One does not catch
+rabbits with a dead ferret.&nbsp; That is the church&mdash;will
+you see it?&nbsp; No?&nbsp; Well, some other day.&nbsp; I will
+guide you through the village.&nbsp; The walk will give me
+appetite, which I sometimes require, for my cook is one whose
+husband has left her.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2><a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+82</span>CHAPTER VIII<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">THE LOVE LETTER</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">&lsquo;I must mix
+myself with action lest I wither by despair.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&lsquo;<span class="smcap">No</span> one,&rsquo; Conyngham
+heard a voice exclaiming as he went into the garden on returning
+from his fruitless ride, &lsquo;no one knows what I have
+suffered.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused in the dark doorway, not wishing to intrude upon
+Estella and her visitors; for he perceived the forms of three
+ladies seated within a miniature jungle of bamboo, which grew in
+feathery luxuriance around a fountain.&nbsp; It was not difficult
+to identify the voice as that of the eldest lady, who was stout,
+and spoke in deep, almost manly tones.&nbsp; So far as he was
+able to judge, the suffering mentioned had left but small record
+on its victim&rsquo;s outward appearance.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Old lady seems to have stood it well,&rsquo; commented
+the Englishman in his mind.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Never again, my dear Estella, do I leave Ronda, except
+indeed for Toledo, where, of course, we shall go in the summer if
+this terrible Don Carlos is really driven from the country.&nbsp;
+Ah! but what suffering!&nbsp; My mind is never at ease.&nbsp; I
+expect to wake up at night and hear that Julia is being murdered
+in her bed.&nbsp; For me it does not matter; my life is not so
+gay that it will cost me much to part from it.&nbsp; No one would
+molest an old woman, you think?&nbsp; Well, that may be so; but I
+know all the anxiety, for I was once beautiful&mdash;ah! more
+beautiful than you or Julia; and my hands and feet&mdash;have you
+ever noticed my foot, Estella?&mdash;even now&mdash;!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And a sonorous sigh completed the sentence.&nbsp; Conyngham
+stepped out of the doorway, the clank of his spurred heel on the
+marble pavement causing the sigh to break off in a little
+scream.&nbsp; He had caught the name of Julia, and hastily
+concluded that these ladies must be no other than Madame Barenna
+and her daughter.&nbsp; In the little bamboo grove he found the
+elder lady lying back in her chair, which creaked ominously, and
+asking in a faint voice whether he were Don Carlos.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; answered Estella, with a momentary twinkle
+in her grave, dark eyes; &lsquo;this is Mr. Conyngham&mdash;my
+aunt, Se&ntilde;ora Barenna, and my cousin Julia.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The ladies bowed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You must excuse me,&rsquo; said Madame Barenna volubly,
+&lsquo;but your approach was so sudden.&nbsp; I am a great
+sufferer&mdash;my nerves, you know.&nbsp; But young people do not
+understand.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And she sighed heavily, with a side glance at her daughter,
+who did not even appear to be trying to do so.&nbsp; Julia
+Barenna was darker than her cousin, quicker in manner, with an
+air of worldly capability which Estella lacked.&nbsp; Her eyes
+were quick and restless, her face less beautiful, but expressive
+of a great intelligence, which, if brought to bear upon men in
+the form of coquetry, was likely to be infinitely dangerous.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is always best to approach my mother with
+caution,&rsquo; she said with a restless movement of her
+hands.&nbsp; This was not a woman at her ease in the world or at
+peace with it.&nbsp; She laughed as she spoke, but her eyes were
+grave, even while her lips smiled, and watched the
+Englishman&rsquo;s face with an air almost of anxiety.&nbsp;
+There are some faces that seem to be watching and waiting.&nbsp;
+Julia Barenna&rsquo;s had such a look.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Conyngham,&rsquo; said Madame Barenna
+reflectively.&nbsp; &lsquo;Surely I have heard that name
+before.&nbsp; You are not the Englishman with whom Father Concha
+is so angry&mdash;who sells forbidden books&mdash;the Bible, it
+is said?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, se&ntilde;ora,&rsquo; answered Conyngham with
+perfect gravity; &lsquo;I have nothing to sell.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He laughed suddenly, and looked at the elder lady with that
+air of good humour which won for him more friends than he ever
+wanted; for this Irishman had a ray of sunshine in his heart
+which shone upon his path through life, and made that uneven way
+easier for his feet.&nbsp; He glanced at Julia, and saw in her
+eyes the look of expectancy which was, in reality, always
+there.&nbsp; The thought flashed through his mind that by some
+means, or perhaps feminine intuition beyond his comprehension,
+she knew that he possessed the letter addressed to her, and was
+eagerly awaiting it.&nbsp; This letter seemed to have been
+gaining in importance the longer he carried it, and this
+opportunity of giving it to her came at the right moment.&nbsp;
+He remembered Larralde&rsquo;s words concerning the person to
+whom the missive was addressed, and the high-flown sentiments of
+that somewhat theatrical gentleman became in some degree
+justified.&nbsp; Julia Barenna was a woman who might well awaken
+a passionate love.&nbsp; Conyngham realised this, as from a
+distance, while Julia&rsquo;s mother spoke of some trivial matter
+of the moment to unheeding ears.&nbsp; That distance seemed now
+to exist between him and all women.&nbsp; It had come suddenly,
+and one glance of Estella&rsquo;s eyes had called it into
+existence.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; Se&ntilde;ora Barenna was saying,
+&lsquo;Father Concha is very angry with the English.&nbsp; What a
+terrible man!&nbsp; You do not know him, Se&ntilde;or
+Conyngham?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I think I have met him, se&ntilde;ora.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, but you have never seen him angry.&nbsp; You have
+never confessed to him!&nbsp; A little, little sin&mdash;no
+larger than the eye of a fly&mdash;a little bite of a
+calf&rsquo;s sweetbread on Friday in mere forgetfulness, and
+Sancta Maria! what a penance is required!&nbsp; What
+suffering!&nbsp; It is a purgatory to have such a
+confessor.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Surely madame can have no sins,&rsquo; said Conyngham
+pleasantly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not now,&rsquo; said Se&ntilde;ora Barenna with a deep
+sigh.&nbsp; &lsquo;When I was young it was different.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And the memory of her sinful days almost moved her to
+tears.&nbsp; She glanced at Conyngham with a tragic air of mutual
+understanding, as if drawing a veil over that blissful past in
+the presence of Julia and Estella.&nbsp; &lsquo;Ask me another
+time,&rsquo; that glance seemed to say.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; the lady continued, &lsquo;Father Concha is
+very angry with the English.&nbsp; Firstly, because of these
+bibles.&nbsp; Blessed Heaven! what does it matter?&nbsp; No one
+can read them except the priests, and they do not want to do
+so.&nbsp; Secondly, because the English have helped to overthrow
+Don Carlos&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You will have a penance,&rsquo; interrupted Miss Julia
+Barenna quietly, &lsquo;from Father Concha for talking
+politics.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But how will he know?&rsquo; asked Se&ntilde;ora
+Barenna sharply; and the two young ladies laughed.</p>
+<p>Se&ntilde;ora Barenna looked from one to the other, and
+shrugged her shoulders.&nbsp; Like many women she was a strange
+mixture of foolishness and worldly wisdom.&nbsp; She adjusted her
+mantilla and mutely appealed to Heaven with a glance of her
+upturned eyes.&nbsp; Conyngham, who was no diplomatist, nor
+possessed any skill in concealing his thoughts, looked with some
+interest at Julia Barenna, and Estella watched him.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Julia is right,&rsquo; Se&ntilde;ora Barenna was saying,
+though nobody heeded her; &lsquo;one must not talk nor even think
+politics in this country.&nbsp; You are no politician, I trust,
+Se&ntilde;or Conyngham&mdash;Se&ntilde;or Conyngham, I ask you,
+you are no politician?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, se&ntilde;ora,&rsquo; replied Conyngham hastily;
+&lsquo;no; and if I were, I should never understand Spanish
+politics.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Father Concha says that Spanish politics are the same
+as those of any other country&mdash;each man for himself,&rsquo;
+said Julia with a bitter laugh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And he is, no doubt, right.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you really think so?&rsquo; asked Julia Barenna,
+with more earnestness than the question would seem to require;
+&lsquo;are there not true patriots who sacrifice all&mdash;not
+only their friends, but themselves&mdash;to the cause of their
+country?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Without the hope of reward?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There may be, se&ntilde;orita&mdash;a few,&rsquo;
+answered Conyngham with a laugh, &lsquo;but not in my
+country.&nbsp; They must all be in Spain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She smiled and shook her head in doubt.&nbsp; But it was a
+worn smile.</p>
+<p>The Englishman turned away and looked through the trees.&nbsp;
+He was wondering how he could get speech with Julia alone for a
+moment.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are admiring the garden,&rsquo; said that young
+lady; and this time he knew that there had in reality been that
+meaning in her eyes which he had imagined to be there.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, se&ntilde;orita, I think it must be the most
+beautiful garden in the world.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He turned as he spoke, and looked at Estella, who met his
+glance quietly.&nbsp; Her repose of manner struck him
+afresh.&nbsp; Here was a woman having that air of decision which
+exacts respect alike from men and women.&nbsp; Seen thus, with
+the more vivacious Julia at her side, Estella gained suddenly in
+moral strength and depth&mdash;suggesting a steady fire in
+contrast with a flickering will-o&rsquo;-the-wisp blown hither
+and thither on every zephyr.&nbsp; Yet Julia Barenna would pass
+anywhere as a woman of will and purpose.</p>
+<p>Julia had risen, and was moving towards the exit of the little
+grove in which they found themselves.&nbsp; Conyngham had never
+been seated.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are the violets in bloom, Estella?&nbsp; I must see
+them,&rsquo; said the visitor.&nbsp; &lsquo;We have none at home,
+where all is dry and parched.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So bad for the nerves&mdash;what suffering!&mdash;such
+a dry soil that one cannot sleep at night,&rsquo; murmured Madame
+Barenna, preparing to rise from her seat.</p>
+<p>Julia and Conyngham naturally led the way.&nbsp; The paths
+winding in and out among the palms and pepper trees were of a
+width that allowed two to walk abreast.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Se&ntilde;orita, I have a letter for you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not yet&mdash;wait!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Se&ntilde;ora Barenna was chattering in her deep husky tones
+immediately behind them.&nbsp; Julia turned and looked up at the
+windows of the house, which commanded a full view of the
+garden.&nbsp; The dwelling rooms were as usual upon the first
+floor, and the windows were lightly barred with curiously wrought
+iron.&nbsp; Each window was curtained within with lace and
+muslin.</p>
+<p>The paths wound in and out among the trees, but none of these
+were large enough to afford a secure screen from the eye of any
+watcher within the house.&nbsp; There was neither olive nor ilex
+in the garden to afford shelter with their heavy leaves.&nbsp;
+Julia and Conyngham walked on, out-distancing the elder lady and
+Estella.&nbsp; From these many a turn in the path hid them from
+time to time, but Julia was distrustful of the windows and
+hesitated, in an agony of nervousness.&nbsp; Conyngham saw that
+her face was quite colourless, and her teeth closed convulsively
+over her lower lip.&nbsp; He continued to talk of indifferent
+topics, but the answers she made were incoherent and
+broken.&nbsp; The course of true love did not seem to run smooth
+here.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Shall I give you the letter?&nbsp; No one can see us,
+se&ntilde;orita.&nbsp; Besides, I was informed that it was of no
+importance except to yourself.&nbsp; You have doubtless had many
+such before, unless the Spanish gentlemen are blind.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He laughed and felt in his pocket.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes!&rsquo; she whispered.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Quickly&mdash;now.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He gave her the letter in its romantic pink, scented envelope
+with a half-suppressed smile at her eagerness.&nbsp; Would
+anybody&mdash;would Estella&mdash;ever be thus agitated at the
+receipt of a letter from himself?&nbsp; They were at the lower
+end of the inclosure, which was divided almost in two by a
+broader pathway leading from the house to the centre of the
+garden, where a fountain of Moorish marble formed a sort of
+carrefour, from which the narrower pathways diverged in all
+directions.</p>
+<p>Descending the steps into the garden from the house were two
+men, one talking violently, the other seeking to calm him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My uncle and the Alcalde&mdash;they have seen us from
+the windows,&rsquo; said Julia quickly.&nbsp; All her nervousness
+of manner seemed to have vanished, leaving her concentrated and
+alert.&nbsp; Some men are thus in warfare&mdash;nervous until the
+rifle opens fire, and then cool and ready.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Quick!&rsquo; whispered Julia.&nbsp; &lsquo;Let us turn
+back.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She wheeled round, and Conyngham did the same.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Julia!&rsquo; they heard General Vincente call in his
+gentle voice.</p>
+<p>Julia, who was tearing the pink envelope, took no heed.&nbsp;
+Within the first covering a second envelope appeared, bearing a
+longer address.&nbsp; &lsquo;Give that to the man whose address
+it bears, and save me from ruin,&rsquo; said the girl, thrusting
+the letter into Conyngham&rsquo;s hand.&nbsp; She kept the pink
+envelope.</p>
+<p>When, a minute later, they came face to face with General
+Vincente and his companion, a white-faced, fluttering man of
+sixty years, Julia Barenna received them with a smile.&nbsp;
+There are some men who, conscious of their own quickness of
+resource, are careless of danger, and run into it from mere
+heedlessness, trusting to good fortune to aid them should peril
+arise.&nbsp; Frederick Conyngham was one of these.&nbsp; He now
+suspected that this was no love letter which the man called
+Larralde had given him in Algeciras.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Julia,&rsquo; said the General, &lsquo;the Alcalde
+desires to speak with you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Julia bowed with that touch of hauteur which in Spain the
+nobles ever observe in their manner towards the municipal
+authorities.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Mr. Conyngham,&rsquo; continued the General,
+&lsquo;this is our brave Mayor, in whose hands rests the
+well-being of the people of Ronda.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Honoured to meet you,&rsquo; said Conyngham, holding
+out his hand with that frankness of manner which he accorded to
+great and small alike.&nbsp; The Alcalde, a man of immense
+importance in his own estimation, hesitated before accepting
+it.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;General,&rsquo; he said, turning and bowing very low to
+Se&ntilde;ora Barenna and Estella, who now joined them,
+&lsquo;General, I leave you to explain to your niece the painful
+duties of my office.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General smiled and raised a deprecating shoulder.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, my dear,&rsquo; he said kindly to Julia,
+&lsquo;it appears that our good Alcalde has news of a letter
+which is at present passing from hand to hand in Andalusia.&nbsp;
+It is a letter of some importance.&nbsp; Our good Mayor, who was
+at the window a minute ago, saw Mr. Conyngham hand you a
+letter.&nbsp; Between persons who only met in this garden five
+minutes ago such a transaction had a strange air.&nbsp; Our good
+friend, who is all zeal for Spain and the people of Ronda, merely
+asks you if his eyes deceived him.&nbsp; It is a matter at which
+we shall all laugh presently over a lemonade&mdash;is it not
+so?&nbsp; A trifle, eh?&rsquo;&nbsp; He passed his handkerchief
+across his moustache, and looked affectionately at his niece.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A letter!&rsquo; exclaimed Julia.&nbsp; &lsquo;Surely
+the Alcalde presumes.&nbsp; He takes too much upon
+himself.&rsquo;&nbsp; The official stepped forward.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Se&ntilde;orita,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;I must be
+allowed to take that risk.&nbsp; Did this gentleman give you a
+letter three minutes ago?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Julia laughed and shrugged her shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;May I ask the nature of the letter?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It was a love letter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham bit his lip and looked at Estella.</p>
+<p>The Alcalde looked doubtful, with the cunning lips of a cheap
+country lawyer.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A love letter from a gentleman you have never seen
+before?&rsquo; he said with a forced laugh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Pardon me, Se&ntilde;or Alcalde, this gentleman
+travelled in the same ship with my mother and myself from
+Bordeaux to Algeciras, and he saved my life.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She cast a momentary glance at Conyngham; which would have
+sealed his fate had the fiery Mr. Larralde been there to see
+it.&nbsp; The Prefect paused, somewhat taken aback.&nbsp; There
+was a momentary silence, and every moment gave Julia and
+Conyngham time to think.&nbsp; Then the Alcalde turned to
+Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It will give me the greatest pleasure,&rsquo; he said,
+&lsquo;to learn that I have been mistaken.&nbsp; I have only to
+ask this gentleman&rsquo;s confirmation of what the
+se&ntilde;orita has said.&nbsp; It is true, se&ntilde;or, that
+you surreptitiously handed to the Se&ntilde;orita Barenna a
+letter expressing your love?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Since the se&ntilde;orita has done me the honour of
+confessing it, I must ask you to believe it,&rsquo; answered
+Conyngham steadily and coldly.</p>
+<h2><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+94</span>CHAPTER IX<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">A WAR OF WIT</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">&lsquo;La
+discr&eacute;tion est l&rsquo;art du mensonge.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Alcalde blew out his cheeks and
+looked at General Vincente.&nbsp; Se&ntilde;ora Barenna would
+with small encouragement have thrown herself into
+Conyngham&rsquo;s arms; but she received none whatever, and
+instead frowned at Julia.&nbsp; Estella was looking haughtily at
+her father, and would not meet Conyngham&rsquo;s glance.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I feel sure,&rsquo; said General Vincente in his most
+conciliating manner, &lsquo;that my dear Julia will see the
+necessity of satisfying the good Alcalde by showing him the
+letter&mdash;with, of course, the consent of my friend
+Conyngham.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He laughed, and slipped his hand within Conyngham&rsquo;s
+arm.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You see, my dear friend,&rsquo; he said in English,
+&lsquo;these local magnates are a trifle inflated; local
+magnitude is a little inclined to inflate, eh?&nbsp; Ha!
+ha!&nbsp; And it is so easy to conciliate them.&nbsp; I always
+try to do so myself.&nbsp; Peace at any price&mdash;that is my
+motto.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And he turned aside to arrange his sword, which dragged on the
+ground.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Tell her, my dear Conyngham, to let the old gentleman
+read the letter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But it is nothing to do with me, General.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know that, my friend, as well as you do,&rsquo; said
+Vincente with a sudden change of manner, which gave the
+Englishman an uncomfortable desire to know what he meant.&nbsp;
+But General Vincente, in pursuit of that peace which had earned
+him such a terrible reputation in war, turned to Se&ntilde;ora
+Barenna with his most reassuring smile.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is nothing, my dear I&ntilde;ez,&rsquo; he
+said.&nbsp; &lsquo;In these times of trouble the officials are so
+suspicious, and our dear Alcalde knows too much.&nbsp; He
+remembers dear Julia&rsquo;s little affair with Esteban Larralde,
+now long since lived down and forgotten.&nbsp; Larralde is, it
+appears, a malcontent, and on the wrong side of the wall.&nbsp;
+You need have no uneasiness.&nbsp; Ah! your nerves&mdash;yes, I
+know!&nbsp; A great sufferer&mdash;yes, I remember.&nbsp;
+Patience, dear I&ntilde;ez, patience!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And he patted her stout white hand affectionately.</p>
+<p>The Alcalde was taking snuff with a stubborn air of disbelief,
+glancing the while suspiciously at Conyngham, who had eyes for
+none but Estella.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Alcalde,&rsquo; said General Vincente, &lsquo;the
+incident is past, as we say in the diplomatic service; a lemonade
+now?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, General, the incident is not past, and I will not
+have a lemonade.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh!&rsquo; exclaimed General Vincente in gentle
+horror.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, this young lady must give me the letter, or I call
+in my men.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But your men could not touch a lady, my dear
+Alcalde.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You may be the Alcalde of Ronda,&rsquo; said Conyngham
+cheerfully, in continuation of the General&rsquo;s argument;
+&lsquo;but if you offer such an insult to Se&ntilde;orita
+Barenna, I throw you into the fountain, in the deepest part,
+where it is wettest, just there by the marble dolphin.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And Conyngham indicated the exact spot with his
+riding-whip.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who is this gentleman?&rsquo; asked the Alcalde.&nbsp;
+The question was in the first place addressed to space and the
+gods&mdash;after a moment the speaker turned to General
+Vincente.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A prospective aide-de-camp of General
+Espartero.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>At the mention of the great name the Mayor of Ronda became
+beautifully less and half bowed to Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I must do my duty,&rsquo; he said with the stubbornness
+of a small mind.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what do you conceive that to be, my dear
+Alcalde?&rsquo; inquired the General.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To place the Se&ntilde;orita Barenna under arrest
+unless she will hand to me the letter she has in her
+possession.&rsquo;&nbsp; Julia looked at him with a smile.&nbsp;
+She was a brave woman, playing a dangerous game with consummate
+courage, and never glanced at Conyngham, who with an effort kept
+his hand away from the pocket where the letter lay
+concealed.&nbsp; The manner in which she trusted him unreservedly
+and entirely was in itself cunning enough, for it appealed to
+that sense of chivalry which is not yet dead in men.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Place me under arrest, Se&ntilde;or Alcalde,&rsquo; she
+said indifferently, &lsquo;and when you have satisfied me that
+you have a right to inspect a lady&rsquo;s private correspondence
+I will submit to be searched&mdash;but not before.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She made a little signal to Conyngham not to interfere.</p>
+<p>Se&ntilde;ora Barenna took this opportunity of asserting
+herself and her nerves.&nbsp; She sat heavily down on a stone
+seat and wept.&nbsp; She could hardly have done better, for she
+was a countess in her own right, and the sight of high-born tears
+distinctly unnerved the Alcalde.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;the se&ntilde;orita has
+made her own choice.&nbsp; In these times&rsquo; (he glanced
+nervously at the weeping lady) &lsquo;one must do one&rsquo;s
+duty.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My dear Julia,&rsquo; protested the General, &lsquo;you
+who are so sensible&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Julia shrugged her shoulders and laughed.&nbsp; She not only
+trusted Conyngham but relied upon his intelligence.&nbsp; It is
+as a rule safer to confide in the honesty of one&rsquo;s
+neighbour than in his wit; better still, trust in neither.&nbsp;
+Conyngham, who was quick enough when the moment required it, knew
+that she was fostering the belief that the letter at that moment
+in his pocket was in her possession.&nbsp; He suspected also that
+he and Julia Barenna were playing with life and death.&nbsp;
+Further, he recognised her and her voice.&nbsp; This was the
+woman who had showed discrimination and calmness in face of a
+great danger on the Garonne.&nbsp; Had this Englishman, owning as
+he did to a strain of Irish blood, turned his back on her and
+danger at such a moment he would assuredly have proved himself
+untrue to the annals of that race which has made a mark upon the
+world that will never be wiped out.&nbsp; He looked at the
+Alcalde and smiled, whereupon that official turned and made a
+signal with his hand to a man who, dressed in a quiet uniform,
+had appeared in the doorway of the house.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What the deuce we are all trying to do I don&rsquo;t
+know,&rsquo; reflected Conyngham, who indeed was sufficiently at
+sea to awake the most dormant suspicions.</p>
+<p>The Alcalde, now thoroughly aroused, protested his inability
+to neglect a particle of his duty at this troubled period of
+Spain&rsquo;s history, and announced his intention of placing
+Julia Barenna under surveillance until she handed him the letter
+she had received from Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am quite prepared,&rsquo; he added, &lsquo;to give
+this caballero the benefit of the doubt, and assume that he has
+been in this matter the tool of unscrupulous persons.&nbsp;
+Seeing that he is a friend of General Vincente&rsquo;s, and has
+an introduction to his Excellency the Duke of Vittoria, he is
+without the pale of my jurisdiction.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The Alcalde made Conyngham a profound bow and proceeded to
+conduct Julia and her indignant mother to their carriage.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There goes,&rsquo; said General Vincente with his most
+optimistic little chuckle, &lsquo;a young woman whose head will
+always be endangered by her heart.&rsquo;&nbsp; And he nodded
+towards Julia&rsquo;s retreating form.</p>
+<p>Estella turned and walked away by herself.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come,&rsquo; said the General to Conyngham, &lsquo;let
+us sit down.&nbsp; I have news for you.&nbsp; But what a
+susceptible heart&mdash;my dear young friend&mdash;what a
+susceptible heart!&nbsp; Julia is, I admit, a very pretty
+girl&mdash;<i>la beaut&eacute; du diable</i>, eh!&nbsp; But on so
+short an acquaintance&mdash;rather rapid, rather
+rapid!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>As he spoke he was searching among some letters which he had
+produced from his pocket, and at length found an official
+envelope that had already been opened.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have here,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;a letter from
+Madrid.&nbsp; You have only to proceed to the capital, and there
+I hope a post awaits you.&nbsp; Your duties will at present be of
+a semi-military character, but later I hope we can show you some
+fighting.&nbsp; This pestilential Cabrera is not yet quelled, and
+Morella still holds out.&nbsp; Yes, there will be
+fighting.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He closed the letter and looked at Conyngham.&nbsp; &lsquo;If
+that is what you want,&rsquo; he added.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, that is what I want.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General nodded and rose, pausing to brush a few grains of
+dust from his dapper riding-breeches.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;I have seen a horse which
+will suit you at the cavalry quarters in the Calle de
+Bobadilla.&nbsp; Shall we go and look at him?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham expressed his readiness to do as the General
+proposed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;When shall I start for Madrid?&rsquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, to-morrow morning will be time enough,&rsquo; was
+the reply, uttered in an easy-going, indolent tone, &lsquo;if you
+are early astir.&nbsp; You see, it is now nearly five
+o&rsquo;clock, and you could scarcely be in saddle before
+sunset.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; laughed Conyngham, &lsquo;scarcely,
+considering that I have not yet bought the saddle or the
+horse.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General led the way into the house, and Conyngham thought
+of the letter in his pocket.&nbsp; He had not yet read the
+address.&nbsp; Julia relied upon him to deliver it, and her
+conduct towards the Alcalde had the evident object of gaining
+time for him to do so.&nbsp; She had unhesitatingly thrust
+herself into a position of danger to screen him and further her
+own indomitable purpose.&nbsp; He thought of her&mdash;still as
+from a distance at which Estella had placed him&mdash;and knew
+that she not only had a disquieting beauty, but cleverness and
+courage, which are qualities that outlast beauty and make a woman
+powerful for ever.</p>
+<p>When he and his companion emerged from the great doorway of
+the house into the sunlight of the Calle Mayor, a man came
+forward from the shade of a neighbouring porch.&nbsp; It was
+Concep&ccedil;ion Vara, leisurely and dignified, twirling a
+cigarette between his brown fingers.&nbsp; He saluted the General
+with one finger to the brim of his shabby felt hat as one great
+man might salute another.&nbsp; He nodded to Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;When does his Excellency take the road again?&rsquo; he
+said.&nbsp; &lsquo;I am ready.&nbsp; The Guardia Civil was
+mistaken this time&mdash;the judge said there was no stain on my
+name.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He shrugged his shoulders and waved away the slight with the
+magnanimity of one who can forgive and forget.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I take the road to-morrow; but our contract ceased at
+Ronda.&nbsp; I had no intention of taking you on.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are not satisfied with me?&rsquo; inquired
+Concep&ccedil;ion, offering his interlocutor the cigarette he had
+just made.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Buen!&nbsp; We take the road together.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then there is nothing more to be said?&rsquo; inquired
+Conyngham with a good-natured laugh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nothing, except the hour at which your Excellency
+starts.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Six o&rsquo;clock,&rsquo; put in General Vincente
+quietly.&nbsp; &lsquo;Let me see, your name is Concep&ccedil;ion
+Vara.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, Excellency&mdash;of Algeciras.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is well.&nbsp; Then serve this gentleman well, or
+else&mdash;&rsquo;&nbsp; The General paused, and laughed in his
+most deprecating manner.</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion seemed to understand, for he took off his
+hat and turned gravely away.&nbsp; The General and Conyngham
+walked rapidly through the streets of Ronda, than which there are
+none cleaner in the whole world, and duly bought a great black
+horse at a price which seemed moderate enough to the Englishman,
+though the vendor explained that the long war had made horseflesh
+rise in value.&nbsp; Conyngham, at no time a keen bargainer,
+hurried the matter to an end, and scarce examined the
+saddle.&nbsp; He was anxious to get back to the garden of the
+great house in the Calle Mayor before the cool of evening came to
+drive Estella indoors.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You will doubtless wish to pack your
+portmanteau,&rsquo; said the General rather breathlessly, as he
+hurried along with small steps beside Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; answered the Englishman ingenuously,
+&lsquo;yes, of course.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then I will not detain you,&rsquo; said General
+Vincente.&nbsp; &lsquo;I have affairs at headquarters.&nbsp; We
+meet at dinner, of course.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He waved a little salutation with his whip and took a side
+turning.</p>
+<p>The sun had not set when Conyngham with a beating heart made
+his way through the house into the garden.&nbsp; He had never
+been so serious about anything in his life.&nbsp; Indeed, his
+life seemed only to have begun in that garden.&nbsp; Estella was
+there.&nbsp; He saw her black dress and mantilla through the
+trees, and the gleam of her golden hair made his eyes almost
+fierce for the moment.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am going to-morrow morning,&rsquo; he said bluntly
+when he reached her where she sat in the shade of a mimosa.</p>
+<p>She raised her eyes for a moment&mdash;deep velvet eyes with
+something in them that made his heart leap within his breast.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And I love you, Estella,&rsquo; he added.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;You may be offended&mdash;you may despise me&mdash;you may
+distrust me.&nbsp; But nothing can alter me.&nbsp; I love
+you&mdash;now and ever.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She drew a deep breath and sat motionless.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How many women does an Englishman love at once?&rsquo;
+she asked coldly at length.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Only one, se&ntilde;orita.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He stood looking at her for a moment.&nbsp; Then she rose and
+walked past him into the house.</p>
+<h2><a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+105</span>CHAPTER X<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">THE CITY OF DISCONTENT</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">&lsquo;En paroles ou en
+actions, &ecirc;tre discret, c&rsquo;est
+s&rsquo;abstenir.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&lsquo;<span class="smcap">There</span> is,&rsquo; observed
+Frederick Conyngham to himself as he climbed into the saddle in
+the grey dawn of the following morning, &lsquo;there is a certain
+picturesqueness about these proceedings which pleases
+me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion Vara indeed supplied a portion of this
+romantic atmosphere, for he was dressed in the height of
+contrabandista fashion, with a bright-coloured handkerchief
+folded round his head underneath his black hat, a scarlet
+waistcloth, a spotless shirt, and a flower in the ribbon of his
+hat.</p>
+<p>He was dignified and leisurely, but so far forgot himself as
+to sing as he threw his leg across his horse.&nbsp; A dark-eyed
+maiden had come to the corner of the Calle Vieja, and stood there
+watching him with mournful eyes.&nbsp; He waved her a salutation
+as he passed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is the waiting-maid at the venta where I stay in
+Ronda&mdash;what will you?&rsquo; he explained to Conyngham with
+a modest air as he cocked his hat farther on one side.</p>
+<p>The sun rose as they emerged from the narrow streets into the
+open country that borders the road to Bobadilla.&nbsp; A pastoral
+country this, where the land needs little care to make it give
+more than man requires for his daily food.&nbsp; The evergreen
+oak studded over the whole plain supplies food for countless pigs
+and shade where the herdsmen may dream away the sunny days.&nbsp;
+The rich soil would yield two or even three crops in the year,
+were the necessary seed and labour forthcoming.&nbsp;
+Underground, the mineral wealth outvies the richness of the
+surface, but national indolence leaves it unexplored.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Before General Vincente one could not explain
+oneself,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion, urging his horse to keep
+pace with the trot of Conyngham&rsquo;s huge mount.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; pursued Concep&ccedil;ion.&nbsp; &lsquo;And
+yet it is simple.&nbsp; In Algeciras I have a wife.&nbsp; It is
+well that a man should travel at times.&nbsp; So,&rsquo; he
+paused and bowed towards his companion with a gesture of infinite
+condescension, &lsquo;so&mdash;we take the road
+together.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As long as you are pleased, Se&ntilde;or Vara,&rsquo;
+said Conyngham, &lsquo;I am sure I can but feel honoured.&nbsp;
+You know I have no money.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The Spaniard shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What matter?&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;What
+matter?&nbsp; We can keep an account&mdash;a mere piece of
+paper&mdash;so: &ldquo;Concep&ccedil;ion Vara, of Algeciras, in
+account current with F. Conyngham; Englishman.&nbsp; One
+month&rsquo;s wages at one hundred pesetas.&rdquo; It is
+simple.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Very,&rsquo; acquiesced Conyngham.&nbsp; &lsquo;It is
+only when pay-day comes that things will get
+complicated.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion laughed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are a caballero after my own heart,&rsquo; he
+said.&nbsp; &lsquo;We shall enjoy ourselves in Madrid.&nbsp; I
+see that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham did not answer.&nbsp; He had remembered the letter
+and Julia Barenna&rsquo;s danger.&nbsp; He rose in his stirrups
+and looked behind him.&nbsp; Ronda was already hidden by
+intervening hills, and the bare line of the roadway was unbroken
+by the form of any other traveller.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We are not going to Madrid yet,&rsquo; said
+Conyngham.&nbsp; &lsquo;We are going to Xeres, where I have
+business.&nbsp; Do you know the road to Xeres?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As well that as any other, Excellency.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What do you mean?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know no roads north of Ronda.&nbsp; I am of
+Andalusia, I,&rsquo; replied Concep&ccedil;ion easily, and he
+looked round about him with an air of interest which was more to
+the credit of his intelligence as a traveller than his
+reliability as a guide.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But you engaged to guide me to Madrid.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, Excellency&mdash;by asking the way,&rsquo; replied
+Concep&ccedil;ion with a light laugh, and he struck a sulphur
+match on the neck of his horse to light a fresh cigarette.</p>
+<p>Thus with an easy heart Frederick Conyngham set out on his
+journey, having for companion one as irresponsible as
+himself.&nbsp; He had determined to go to Xeres, though that town
+of ill repute lay far to the westward of his road towards the
+capital.&nbsp; It would have been simple enough to destroy the
+letter entrusted to him by Julia Barenna, a stranger whom he was
+likely never to see again&mdash;simple enough and infinitely
+safer as he suspected, for the billet-doux of Mr. Larralde smelt
+of grimmer things than love.&nbsp; But Julia Barenna wittingly,
+or in all innocence, appealed to that sense of chivalry which is
+essentially the quality of lonely men who have never had sisters,
+and Conyngham was ready to help Julia where he would have refused
+his assistance to a man, however hard pressed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Cannot leave the girl in a hole,&rsquo; he said to
+himself, and proceeded to act upon this resolution with a
+steadiness of purpose for which some may blame him.</p>
+<p>It was evening when the two travellers reached Xeres after
+some weary hours of monotonous progress through the vine-clad
+plains of this country.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is no wonder,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion,
+&lsquo;that the men of Xeres are malcontents, when they live in a
+country as flat as the palm of my hand.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>It happened to be a f&ecirc;te day, which in Spain, as in
+other countries farther North, is synonymous with mischief.&nbsp;
+The men of Xeres had taken advantage of this holiday to
+demonstrate their desire for more.&nbsp; They had marched through
+the streets with banner and song, arrayed in their best clothes,
+fostering their worst thoughts.&nbsp; They had consumed
+marvellous quantities of that small Amontillado which is as it
+were a thin fire to the blood, heating and degenerating at
+once.&nbsp; They had talked much nonsense and listened to
+more.&nbsp; Carlist or Christino&mdash;it was all the same to
+them, so long as they had a change of some sort.&nbsp; In the
+meantime they had a desire to break something, if only to assert
+their liberty.</p>
+<p>A few minutes before Conyngham and his guide rode into the
+market-place, which in Xeres is as long as a street, some of the
+free sons of Spain had thought fit to shout insulting remarks to
+a passer-by.&nbsp; With a fire too bright for his years this old
+gentleman, with fierce white moustache and imperial, had turned
+on them, calling them good-for-nothings and sons of pigs.</p>
+<p>Conyngham rode up just in time to see the ruffians rise as one
+man and rush at the victim of their humour.&nbsp; The old man
+with his back to the wall repelled his assailants with a sort of
+fierce joy in his attitude which betokened the soldier.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come on, Concep&ccedil;ion!&rsquo; cried Conyngham,
+with a dig of the spurs that made his tired horse leap into the
+air.&nbsp; He charged down upon the gathering crowd, which
+scattered right and left before the wild onslaught.&nbsp; But he
+saw the flash of steel, and knew that it was too late.&nbsp; The
+old man, with an oath and a gasp of pain, sank against the wall
+with the blood trickling through the fingers clasped against his
+breast.&nbsp; Conyngham would have reined in, but
+Concep&ccedil;ion on his heels gave the charger a cut with his
+heavy whip that made him bound forward and would have unseated a
+short-stirruped rider.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Go on,&rsquo; cried the Spaniard; &lsquo;it is no
+business of ours.&nbsp; The police are behind.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And Conyngham, remembering the letter in his pocket, rode on
+without looking back.&nbsp; In the day of which the present
+narrative treats, the streets of Xeres were but ill paved, and
+the dust lay on them to the depth of many inches, serving to
+deaden the sound of footsteps and facilitate the commission of
+such deeds of violence as were at this time of daily occurrence
+in Spain.&nbsp; Riding on at random, Conyngham and his companion
+soon lost their way in the narrow streets, and were able to
+satisfy themselves that none had followed them.&nbsp; Here in a
+quiet alley Conyngham read again the address of the letter of
+which he earnestly desired to rid himself without more ado.</p>
+<p>It was addressed to Colonel Monreal at No. 84 Plaza de
+Cadiz.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Let his Excellency stay here and drink a glass of wine
+at this venta,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion.&nbsp; &lsquo;Alone,
+I shall be able to get information without attracting
+attention.&nbsp; And then, in the name of the saints, let us
+shake the dust of Xeres off our feet.&nbsp; The first thing we
+see is steel, and I do not like it.&nbsp; I have a wife in
+Algeciras to whom I am much attached, and I am afraid&mdash;yes,
+afraid.&nbsp; A gentleman need never hesitate to say
+so.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He shook his head forebodingly as he loosened his girths and
+called for water for the horses.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I could eat a cocida,&rsquo; he went on, sniffing the
+odours of a neighbouring kitchen, &lsquo;with plenty of onions
+and the mutton as becomes the springtime&mdash;young and
+tender.&nbsp; Dios! this quick travelling and an empty stomach,
+it kills one.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;When I have delivered my letter,&rsquo; replied
+Conyngham, &lsquo;we shall eat with a lighter heart.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion went away in a pessimistic humour.&nbsp; He
+was one of those men who are brave enough on good wine and
+victuals, but lack the stamina to fight when hungry.&nbsp; He
+returned presently with the required information.&nbsp; The Plaza
+de Cadiz was, it appeared, quite close.&nbsp; Indeed, the town of
+Xeres is not large, though the intricacies of its narrow streets
+may well puzzle a new-comer.&nbsp; No. 84 was the house of the
+barber, and on his first floor lived Colonel Monreal, a retired
+veteran who had fought with the English against Napoleon&rsquo;s
+armies.</p>
+<p>During his servant&rsquo;s absence, Conyngham had written a
+short note in French, conveying, in terms which she would
+understand, the news that Julia Barenna doubtless awaited with
+impatience; namely, that her letter had been delivered to him
+whose address it bore.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have ordered your cocida and some good wine,&rsquo;
+he said to Concep&ccedil;ion.&nbsp; &lsquo;Your horse is
+feeding.&nbsp; Make good use of your time, for when I return I
+shall want you to take the road again at once.&nbsp; You must
+make ten miles before you sleep to-night, and then an early start
+in the morning.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For where, se&ntilde;or?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For Ronda.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion shrugged his shoulders.&nbsp; His life had
+been spent upon the road, his wardrobe since childhood had been
+contained in a saddle-bag, and Spaniards, above all people, have
+the curse of Ishmael.&nbsp; They are a homeless race, and lay
+them down to sleep, when fatigue overtakes them, under a tree or
+in the shade of a stone wall.&nbsp; It often happens that a
+worker in the fields will content himself with the lee side of a
+haystack for his resting-place when his home is only a few
+hundred yards up the mountain side.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And his Excellency?&rsquo; inquired
+Concep&ccedil;ion.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I shall sleep here to-night and proceed to Madrid
+to-morrow, by way of Cordova, where I will wait for you.&nbsp; I
+have a letter here which you must deliver to the Se&ntilde;orita
+Barenna at Ronda without the knowledge of anyone.&nbsp; It will
+be well that neither General Vincente nor any other who knows you
+should catch sight of you in the streets of Ronda.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion nodded his head with much philosophy.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah! these women,&rsquo; he said, turning to the
+steaming dish of mutton and vegetables which is almost universal
+in the South, &lsquo;these women, what shoe leather they cost
+us!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Leaving his servant thus profitably employed, Conyngham set
+out to find the barber&rsquo;s shop in the Plaza de Cadiz.&nbsp;
+This he did without difficulty, but on presenting himself at the
+door of Colonel Monreal&rsquo;s apartment learnt that that
+gentleman was out.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But,&rsquo; added the servant, &lsquo;the Colonel is a
+man of regular habits.&nbsp; He will return within the next
+fifteen minutes, for he dines at five.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham paused.&nbsp; He had no desire to make Colonel
+Monreal&rsquo;s acquaintance, indeed preferred to remain without
+it, for he rightly judged that Se&ntilde;or Larralde was engaged
+in affairs best left alone.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have a letter for the Colonel,&rsquo; he said to the
+servant, a man of stupid countenance.&nbsp; &lsquo;I will place
+it here upon his table, and can no doubt trust you to see that he
+gets it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That you can, Excellency,&rsquo; replied the man, with
+a palm already half extended to receive a gratuity.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If the Colonel fails to receive the letter I shall
+certainly know of it,&rsquo; said Conyngham, stumbling down the
+dark staircase, and well pleased to have accomplished his
+mission.</p>
+<p>He returned with all speed to the inn in the quiet alley where
+he had elected to pass the night, and found Concep&ccedil;ion
+still at table.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In half an hour I take the road,&rsquo; said the
+Spaniard.&nbsp; &lsquo;The time for a cup of coffee, and I am
+ready to ride all night.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Having eaten, Concep&ccedil;ion was in a better frame of mind,
+and now cheerfully undertook to carry out his master&rsquo;s
+instructions.&nbsp; In little more than half an hour he was in
+the saddle again, and waved an airy adieu to Conyngham as he
+passed under the swinging oil lamp that hung at the corner of the
+street.</p>
+<p>It was yet early in the evening, and Conyngham, having dined,
+set out to explore the streets of Xeres, which were quiet enough
+now, as the cafes were gayer and safer than the gloomy
+thoroughfares where a foe might lurk in every doorway.&nbsp; In
+the market-place, between rows of booths and tents, a dense crowd
+walked backwards and forwards with that steady sense of
+promenading which the Spaniard understands above all other
+men.&nbsp; The dealers in coloured handkerchiefs from Barcelona
+or mantillas from Seville were driving a great trade, and the
+majority of them had long since shouted themselves hoarse.&nbsp;
+A few quack dentists were operating upon their victims under the
+friendly covert of a big drum and a bassoon.&nbsp; Dealers in
+wonderful drugs and herbs were haranguing the crowd, easily
+gaining the attention of the simple peasants by handling a live
+snake or a crocodile which they allowed to crawl upon their
+shoulders.</p>
+<p>Conyngham lingered in the crowd, which was orderly enough, and
+amused himself by noting the credulity of the country folk, until
+his attention was attracted by a solemn procession passing up the
+market-place behind the tents.&nbsp; He inquired of a bystander
+what this might be.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is the police carrying to his apartment the body of
+Colonel Monreal, who was murdered this afternoon in the Plaza
+Mayor,&rsquo; was the answer.</p>
+<p>Conyngham made his way between two tents to the deserted side
+of the market-place, and, running past the procession, reached
+the barber&rsquo;s shop before it.&nbsp; In answer to his summons
+a girl came to the door of the Colonel&rsquo;s apartment.&nbsp;
+She was weeping and moaning in great mental distress.</p>
+<p>Without explanation Conyngham pushed past her into the room
+where he had deposited the letter.&nbsp; The room was in
+disorder, and no letter lay upon the table.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is,&rsquo; sobbed the girl, &lsquo;my husband, who,
+having heard that the good Colonel had been murdered, stole all
+his valuables and papers and has run away from me.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2><a name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+117</span>CHAPTER XI<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">A TANGLED WEB</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">&lsquo;Wherein I am
+false, I am honest&mdash;not true to be true.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&lsquo;<span class="smcap">And</span>&mdash;would you believe
+it?&mdash;there are soldiers in the house, at the very door of
+Julia&rsquo;s apartments.&rsquo;&nbsp; Se&ntilde;ora Barenna, who
+made this remark, heaved a sigh and sat back in her canework
+chair with that jerkiness of action which in elderly ladies
+usually betokens impatience with the ways of young people.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Policemen&mdash;policemen, not soldiers,&rsquo;
+corrected Father Concha patiently, as if it did not matter
+much.&nbsp; They were sitting in the broad vine-clad verandah of
+the Casa Barenna, that grim old house on the Bobadilla road, two
+miles from Ronda.&nbsp; The priest had walked thither, as the
+dust on his square-toed shoes and black stockings would
+testify.&nbsp; He had laid aside his mournful old hat, long since
+brown and discoloured, and was wiping his forehead with a cheap
+pocket-handkerchief of colour and pattern rather loud for his
+station in life.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, they have swords,&rsquo; persisted the lady.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Policemen,&rsquo; said Father Concha, in a stern and
+final voice, which caused Se&ntilde;ora Barenna to cast her eyes
+upwards with an air of resigned martyrdom.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, that Alcalde!&rsquo; she whispered between her
+teeth.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A little dog, when it is afraid, growls,&rsquo; said
+Concha philosophically.&nbsp; &lsquo;The Alcalde is a very small
+dog, and he is at his wit&rsquo;s end.&nbsp; Such a thing has not
+occurred in Ronda before, and the Alcalde&rsquo;s world is
+Ronda.&nbsp; He does not know whether his office permits him to
+inspect young ladies&rsquo; love letters or not.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Love letters!&rsquo; ejaculated Se&ntilde;ora
+Barenna.&nbsp; She evidently had a keen sense of the romantic,
+and hoped for something more tragic than a mere flirtation
+begotten of idleness at sea.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said Concha, crossing his legs and looking
+at his companion with a queer cynicism.&nbsp; &lsquo;Young people
+mostly pass that way.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He had had a tragedy, this old man.&nbsp; One of those grim
+tragedies of the cassock which English people rarely
+understand.&nbsp; And his tragedy sat beside him on the cane
+chair, stout and eminently worldly, while he had journeyed on the
+road of life with all his illusions, all his half-fledged
+aspirations, untouched by the cold finger of reality.&nbsp; He
+despised the woman now, the contempt lurked in his cynical smile,
+but he clung with a half-mocking, open-eyed sarcasm to his
+memories.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But,&rsquo; he said reassuringly, &lsquo;Julia is a
+match for the Alcalde, you may rest assured of that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Se&ntilde;ora Barenna turned with a gesture of her plump hand
+indicative of bewilderment.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do not understand her.&nbsp; She laughs at the
+soldiers&mdash;the policemen, I mean.&nbsp; She laughs at
+me.&nbsp; She laughs at everything.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, it is the hollow hearts that make most noise in
+the world,&rsquo; said Concha, folding his handkerchief upon his
+knee.&nbsp; He was deadly poor, and had a theory that a folded
+handkerchief remains longer clean.&nbsp; His whole existence was
+an effort to do without those things that make life worth
+living.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why did you send for me?&rsquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But to advise me&mdash;to help me.&nbsp; I have been,
+all my life, cast upon the world alone.&nbsp; No one to help
+me&mdash;no one to understand.&nbsp; No one knows what I have
+suffered&mdash;my husband&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Was one of the best and most patient of mortals, and is
+assuredly in heaven, where I hope there are a few mansions
+reserved for men only.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Se&ntilde;ora Barenna fetched one of her deepest sighs.&nbsp;
+She had a few lurking in the depth of her capacious being,
+reserved for such occasions as this.&nbsp; It was, it seemed, no
+more than her life had led her to expect.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have had,&rsquo; went on her spiritual adviser,
+&lsquo;a life of ease and luxury, a husband who denied you
+nothing.&nbsp; You have never lost a child by death, which I
+understand is&mdash;one of the greatest sorrows that God sends to
+women.&nbsp; You are an ungrateful female.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Se&ntilde;ora Barenna, whose face would have graced one of the
+very earliest of the martyrs, sat with folded hands waiting until
+the storm should pass.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you wish me to see Julia?&rsquo; asked Concha
+abruptly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes&mdash;yes!&nbsp; And persuade her to conciliate the
+Alcalde&mdash;to tell him some story or another.&nbsp; It does
+not surely matter if it be not the strict truth.&nbsp; Anything
+to get these men out of the house.&nbsp; My maid Maria is so
+flighty.&nbsp; Ah&mdash;these young people!&nbsp; What a
+trial&mdash;my dear Padre, what a trial!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of course,&rsquo; said Father Concha.&nbsp; &lsquo;But
+what a dull world it would be if our neighbour knew how to manage
+his own affairs!&nbsp; Shall we go to Julia?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The perturbed lady preferred that the priest should see her
+daughter alone.&nbsp; A military-looking individual in white
+trousers and a dark green tunic stood guard over the door of
+Julia&rsquo;s apartment, seeking by his attitude and the curl of
+his moustache to magnify his office in the eyes of a maid who
+happened to have an unusual amount of cleaning to do in that
+particular corridor.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; said Father Concha, by no means abashed by
+the sentinel&rsquo;s sword.&nbsp; &lsquo;Ah, it is you,
+Manuel.&nbsp; Your wife tells me you have objections to the
+christening of that last boy of yours, number five, I
+think.&nbsp; Bring number five on Sunday, after
+vespers&mdash;eh?&nbsp; You understand&mdash;and a little
+something for the poor.&nbsp; It is pay day on Saturday.&nbsp;
+And no more nonsense about religion, Manuel, eh?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He shook his lean finger in the official&rsquo;s face and
+walked on unchallenged.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;May I come in?&rsquo; he said, tapping at the door; and
+Julia&rsquo;s voice bade him enter.</p>
+<p>He closed the door behind him and laid aside his hat.&nbsp;
+Then he stood upright, and slowly rubbing his hands together
+looked at Julia with the humorous twinkle lurking in his eye and
+its companion dimple twitching in his lean cheek.&nbsp; Then he
+began to feel his pockets, passing his hands down his worn
+cassock.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Let me see, I had a love letter&mdash;was it from Don
+Carlos?&nbsp; At all events, I have lost it!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He laughed, made a perfunctory sign of the cross and gave her
+his blessing.&nbsp; Then, his face having become suddenly grave
+as if by machinery at the sound of the solemn Latin benediction,
+he sat down.</p>
+<p>Julia looked worn and eager.&nbsp; Her eyes seemed to search
+his face for news.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, my dear child,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Politics are all very well as a career.&nbsp; But without
+a distinct profit they are worth the attention of few men, and
+never worth the thought of a woman.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He looked at her keenly, and she turned to the window, which
+was open to admit the breath of violets and other flowers of the
+spring.&nbsp; She shrugged her shoulders and gave a sharp
+sigh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;See here, my child,&rsquo; said Padre Concha
+abruptly.&nbsp; &lsquo;For reasons which concern no one, I take a
+great interest in your happiness.&nbsp; You resemble some one
+whose welfare was once more important to me than my own.&nbsp;
+That was long ago, and I now consider myself first, as all wise
+men should.&nbsp; I am your friend, Julia, and much too old to be
+over-scrupulous.&nbsp; I peep and pry into my neighbours&rsquo;
+affairs, and I am uneasy about you, my child.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He shook his head and drummed upon the table with his dirty
+fingers.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thank you,&rsquo; answered the girl with her defiant
+little laugh, &lsquo;but I can manage my own affairs.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The priest nodded reflectively.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;It is natural that
+you should say that.&nbsp; One of the chief blessings of youth is
+self confidence.&nbsp; Heaven forbid that I should shake
+yours.&nbsp; But, you see, there are several people who happen to
+be anxious that this little affair should blow over and be
+forgotten.&nbsp; The Alcalde is a mule, we know that, and
+anything that serves to magnify himself and his office is likely
+to be prolonged.&nbsp; Do not play into his hand.&nbsp; As I tell
+you, there are some who wish to forget this incident, and one of
+them is coming to see you this afternoon.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; said the girl indifferently.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;General Vincente.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Julia changed colour and her eyelids flickered for a moment as
+she looked out of the open window.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A good friend,&rsquo; continued Concha,
+&lsquo;but&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He finished the phrase with an eloquent little gesture of the
+hand.&nbsp; At this moment they both heard the sound of an
+approaching carriage.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He is coming now,&rsquo; said Concha.&nbsp; &lsquo;He
+is driving, so Estella is with him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Estella is of course jealous.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The priest looked at her with a slow wise smile and said
+nothing.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;She&mdash;&rsquo; began Julia, and then closed her
+lips&mdash;true to that <i>esprit de sexe</i> which has ruled
+through all the ages.&nbsp; Then Julia Barenna gave a sharp sigh
+as her mind reverted from Estella&rsquo;s affairs to her own.</p>
+<p>Sitting thus in silence, the two occupants of the quiet room
+heard the approach of steps and the clink of spurs in the
+corridor.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is the reverendo who visits the
+se&ntilde;orita,&rsquo; they heard the voice of the sentinel
+explain deprecatingly.</p>
+<p>The priest rose and went to the door, which he opened.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Only as a friend,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;Come in,
+General.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>General Vincente entered the room followed by Estella.&nbsp;
+He nodded to Concha and kissed his niece affectionately.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Still obdurate?&rsquo; he said, with a semi-playful tap
+on her shoulder.&nbsp; &lsquo;Still obdurate?&nbsp; My dear
+Julia, in peace and war the greatest quality in the strong is
+mercy.&nbsp; You have proved yourself strong&mdash;you have
+worsted that unfortunate Alcalde&mdash;be merciful to him now,
+and let this incident finish.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He drew forward a chair, the others being seated, and laid
+aside his gloves.&nbsp; The sword which he held upright between
+his knees, with his two hands resting on the hilt, looked
+incongruously large and reached the level of his eyes.&nbsp; He
+gave a little chuckling laugh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I saw him last night at the Caf&eacute; Real&mdash;the
+poor man had the air of a funeral, and took his wine as if it
+were sour.&nbsp; Ah! these civilians, they amuse one&mdash;they
+take life so seriously.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He laughed and looked round at those assembled as if inviting
+them to join him in a gayer and easier view of existence.&nbsp;
+The Padre&rsquo;s furrowed face answered the summons in a sudden
+smile, but it was with grave eyes that he looked searchingly at
+the most powerful man in Andalusia; for General Vincente&rsquo;s
+word was law south of the Tagus.</p>
+<p>The two men sat side by side in strong contrast.&nbsp; Fate
+indeed seems to shake men together in a bag, and cast them out
+upon the world heedless where they may fall; for here was a
+soldier in the priest&rsquo;s habit, and one carrying a sword who
+had the keen heart and sure sympathy for joy or sorrow that
+should ever be found within a black coat if the Master&rsquo;s
+work is to be well done.</p>
+<p>General Vincente smiled at Estella with <i>sang-froid</i> and
+an unruffled good nature, while the Padre Concha, whose place it
+surely was to take the lead in such woman&rsquo;s work as this,
+slowly rubbed his bony hands together, at a loss and incompetent
+to meet the urgency of the moment.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Our guest left us yesterday morning,&rsquo; said the
+General, &lsquo;and of course the Alcalde placed no hindrance on
+his departure.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He did not look at Julia, who drew a deep breath and glanced
+at Estella.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do not know if Se&ntilde;or Conyngham left any
+message for you with Estella&mdash;to me he said nothing,&rsquo;
+continued Estella&rsquo;s father; and that young lady shook her
+head.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; she put in composedly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then it remains for us to close this foolish incident,
+my dear Julia; and for me to remind you, seeing that you are
+fatherless, that there are in Spain many adventurers who come
+here seeking the sport of love or war, who will ride away when
+they have had their fill of either.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He ceased speaking with a tolerant laugh, as one who, being a
+soldier himself, would beg indulgence for the failings of his
+comrades, examined the hilt of his sword, and then looked blandly
+round on three faces which resolutely refused to class the absent
+Englishman in this category.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It remains, my dear niece, to satisfy the
+Alcalde&mdash;a mere glance at the letter&mdash;sufficient to
+satisfy him as to the nature of its contents.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have no letter,&rsquo; said Julia quietly, with her
+level red lips set hard.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not in your possession, but perhaps concealed in some
+place near at hand&mdash;unless it is destroyed.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have destroyed no letter, I have concealed no letter,
+and I have no letter,&rsquo; said the girl quietly.&nbsp; Estella
+moved uneasily in the chair.&nbsp; Her face was colourless and
+her eyes shone.&nbsp; She watched her cousin&rsquo;s face
+intently, and beneath his shaggy brows the old priest&rsquo;s
+eyes went from one fair countenance to the other.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then,&rsquo; cried the General, rising to his feet with
+an air of relief, &lsquo;you have but to assure the Alcalde of
+this, and the whole incident is terminated.&nbsp; Blown over, my
+dear Concha&mdash;blown over!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He tapped the priest on the shoulder with great good
+nature.&nbsp; Indeed, the world seemed sunny enough and free from
+cares when General Vincente had to deal with it.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes&mdash;yes,&rsquo; said the Padre, snuff-box in
+hand.&nbsp; &lsquo;Blown over&mdash;of course.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then I may send the Alcalde to you, Julia&mdash;and you
+will tell him what you have told us?&nbsp; He cannot but take the
+word of a lady.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes&mdash;if you like,&rsquo; answered Julia.</p>
+<p>The General&rsquo;s joy knew no bounds.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That is well,&rsquo; he cried, &lsquo;I knew we could
+safely rely upon your good sense.&nbsp; Kiss me, Julia&mdash;that
+is well!&nbsp; Come, Estella&mdash;we must not keep the horses
+waiting.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>With a laugh and a nod he went towards the door.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Blown over, my dear Concha,&rsquo; he said over his
+shoulder.</p>
+<p>A few minutes later the priest walked down the avenue of
+walnut trees alone.&nbsp; The bell was ringing for vespers, but
+the Padre was an autocratic shepherd and did not hurry towards
+his flock.&nbsp; The sun had set, and in the hollows of the
+distant mountains the shades of night already lay like a blue
+veil.</p>
+<p>The priest walked on and presently reached the high
+road.&nbsp; A single figure was upon it&mdash;the figure of a man
+sitting in the shadow of an ilex tree half a mile up the road
+towards Bobadilla.&nbsp; The man crouched low against a heap of
+stones and had the air of a wanderer.&nbsp; His face was
+concealed in the folds of his cloak.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Blown over,&rsquo; muttered the Padre as he turned his
+back upon Bobadilla and went on towards his church.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Blown over, of course; but what is Concep&ccedil;ion Vara
+doing in the neighbourhood of Ronda to-night?&rsquo;</p>
+<h2><a name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+129</span>CHAPTER XII<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">ON THE TOLEDO ROAD</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">&lsquo;Une bonne
+intention est une &eacute;chelle trop courte.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><span class="smcap">Conyngham</span> made his way without
+difficulty or incident from Xeres to Cordova, riding for the most
+part in front of the clumsy diligencia wherein he had bestowed
+his luggage.&nbsp; The road was wearisome enough, and the last
+stages, through the fertile plains bordering the Guadalquivir,
+dusty and monotonous.</p>
+<p>At Cordova the traveller found comfortable quarters in an old
+inn overlooking the river.&nbsp; The ancient city was then, as it
+is now, a great military centre, and the headquarters of the
+picturesque corps of horse-tamers, the &lsquo;Remonta,&rsquo; who
+are responsible for the mounting of the cavalry and the artillery
+of Spain.&nbsp; Conyngham had, at the suggestion of General
+Vincente, made such small changes in his costume as would serve
+to allay curiosity and prevent that gossip of the stable and
+kitchen which may follow a traveller to his hurt from one side of
+a continent to the other.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Wherever you may go learn your way in and out of every
+town, and you will thus store up knowledge most useful to a
+soldier,&rsquo; the General had said in his easy way.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;See you,&rsquo; Concep&ccedil;ion had observed, wagging
+his head over a cigarette; &lsquo;to go about the world with the
+eyes open is to conquer the world.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>From his guide, moreover, whose methods were those that Nature
+teaches to men who live their daily lives in her company,
+Conyngham learnt much of that road craft which had raised
+Concep&ccedil;ion Vara to such a proud eminence among the rascals
+of Andalusia.&nbsp; Cordova was a good object upon which to
+practise, for Roman and Goth, Moor and Christian, have combined
+to make its tortuous streets well-nigh incomprehensible to the
+traveller&rsquo;s mind.</p>
+<p>Here Conyngham wandered, or else he sat somnolently on a seat
+in the Paseo del Gran Capitan in the shade of the orange trees,
+awaiting the arrival of Concep&ccedil;ion Vara.&nbsp; He made a
+few acquaintances, as every traveller who is not a bear must
+needs do in a country where politeness and hospitality and a
+grave good fellowship are the natural habit of high and low
+alike.&nbsp; A bullfighter or two, who beguiled the long winter
+months, when the rings are closed, by a little innocent horse
+dealing, joined him quietly in the streets and offered him a
+horse&mdash;as between gentlemen of undoubted honour&mdash;at a
+price much below the current value.&nbsp; Or it was perhaps a
+beggar who came to him on the old yellow marble seat under the
+orange trees, and chatted affably about his business as being bad
+in these times of war.&nbsp; Once, indeed, it was a white-haired
+gentleman, who spoke in English, and asked some very natural
+questions as to the affairs that brought an Englishman to the
+town of Cordova.&nbsp; This sweet-spoken old man explained that
+strangers would do well to avoid all questions of politics and
+religion, which he classed together in one dangerous whole.&nbsp;
+Nevertheless, Conyngham thought that he perceived his ancient
+friend the same evening hurrying up the steps of the Jesuit
+College of La Campania.</p>
+<p>Two days elapsed and Concep&ccedil;ion Vara made neither
+appearance nor sign.&nbsp; On the second evening Conyngham
+decided to go on alone, prosecuting his journey through the
+sparsely populated valley of the Alcadia to Ciudad Real, Toledo,
+and Madrid.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You will ride,&rsquo; the innkeeper told him,
+&lsquo;from the Guadalquivir to the Guadiana, and if there is
+rain you may be a month upon the road.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham set out in the early morning, and as he threw his
+leg across the saddle the sun rose over the far misty hills of
+Ronda, and Concep&ccedil;ion Vara awoke from his night&rsquo;s
+rest under the wall of an olive terrace above the Bobadilla road,
+to begin another day of patient waiting and watching to get
+speech with the maid or the mistress; for he had already
+inaugurated what he lightly called &lsquo;an affair&rsquo; with
+Julia&rsquo;s flighty attendant.&nbsp; The sun rose also over the
+plains of Xeres, and lighted up the picturesque form of Esteban
+Larralde, in the saddle this hour and more, having learnt that
+Colonel Monreal&rsquo;s death took place an hour before
+Conyngham&rsquo;s arrival in the town of Xeres de la
+Frontera.&nbsp; The letter, therefore, had not been delivered to
+Colonel Monreal, and was still in Conyngham&rsquo;s
+possession.</p>
+<p>Larralde bestrode a shocking steed, and had but an indifferent
+seat in the saddle.&nbsp; Nevertheless, the dust rose beneath his
+horse&rsquo;s feet, and his spurs flashed in the sunlight as this
+man of many parts hurried on towards Utrera and Cordova.</p>
+<p>In the old Moorish palace in Ronda, General Vincente, summoned
+to a great council of war at Madrid, was making curt military
+preparations for his journey and the conveyance of his household
+to the capital.&nbsp; Se&ntilde;ora Barenna was for the moment
+forgetful of her nerves in the excitement of despatching servants
+in advance to Toledo, where she owned a summer residence.&nbsp;
+Julia was nervously anxious to be on the road again, and showed
+by every word and action that restlessness of spirit which is the
+inheritance of hungry hearts.&nbsp; Estella, quiet and
+self-contained, attended to the details of moving a vast and
+formal household with a certain eagerness which in no way
+resembled Julia&rsquo;s feverish haste.&nbsp; Estella seemed to
+be one of those happy people who know what they want.</p>
+<p>Thus Frederick Conyngham, riding northward alone, seemed to be
+a pilot to all these persons into whose lives he had suddenly
+stepped as from a side issue, for they were one and all making
+ready to follow him to the colder plains of Castile, where
+existence was full of strife and ambition, of war and those inner
+wheels that ever jar and grind where politicians contend together
+for the mastery of a moment.</p>
+<p>As he rode on, Conyngham left a message from time to time for
+his self-appointed servant.&nbsp; At the offices of the
+diligencias in various towns on the great road from Cordova to
+Madrid he left word for Concep&ccedil;ion Vara to follow, should
+the spirit of travel be still upon him, knowing that at these
+places where travellers were ever passing, the tittle-tattle of
+the road was on the tongue of every ostler and stable help.&nbsp;
+And truly enough there followed one who made careful inquiries as
+to the movements of the Englishman, and heard his messages with a
+grim smile.&nbsp; But this was not Concep&ccedil;ion Vara.</p>
+<p>It was late one evening when Conyngham, who had quitted Toledo
+in the morning, began to hunger for the sight of the towers and
+steeples of Madrid.&nbsp; He had ridden all day through the bare
+country of Cervantes, where to this day Spain rears her wittiest
+men and plainest women.&nbsp; The sun had just set behind the
+distant hills of Old Castile, and from the east, over Aranjuez,
+where the great river cuts Spain in two parts from its centre to
+the sea, a grey cloud&mdash;a very shade of night&mdash;was
+slowly rising.&nbsp; The aspect of the brown plains was dismal
+enough, and on the horizon the rolling unbroken land seemed to
+melt away into eternity and infinite space.</p>
+<p>Conyngham reined in and looked around him.&nbsp; So far as eye
+could reach, no house arose to testify to the presence of
+man.&nbsp; No labourer toiled home to his lonely hut.&nbsp; For,
+in this country of many wars and interminable strife, it has,
+since the days of Nebuchadnezzar, been the custom of the people
+to congregate in villages and small townships, where a common
+danger secured some protection against a lawless foe.&nbsp; The
+road rose and fell in a straight line across the table-land
+without tree or hedge, and Madrid seemed to belong to another
+world, for the horizon, which was distant enough, bore no sign of
+cathedral spire or castle height.</p>
+<p>Conyngham turned in his saddle to look back, and there, not a
+mile away, the form of a hurrying horseman broke the bare line of
+the dusty road.&nbsp; There was something weird and disturbing in
+this figure, a suggestion of pursuit in every line.&nbsp; For
+this was not Concep&ccedil;ion Vara.&nbsp; Conyngham would have
+known him at once.&nbsp; This was one wearing a better coat;
+indeed Concep&ccedil;ion preferred to face life and the chances
+of the world in shirt sleeves.</p>
+<p>Conyngham sat in his saddle awaiting the new-comer.&nbsp; To
+meet on such a road in Spain without pausing to exchange a
+salutation would be a gratuitous insult, to ride in solitude
+within hail of another traveller were to excite or betray the
+deepest distrust.&nbsp; It was characteristic of Conyngham that
+he already waved his hand in salutation, and was prepared to hail
+the new-comer as the jolliest companion in the world.</p>
+<p>Esteban Larralde, seeing the salutation, gave a short laugh,
+and jerked the reins of his tired horse.&nbsp; He himself wore a
+weary look, as if the fight he had in hand were an uphill
+one.&nbsp; He had long recognised Conyngham; indeed the chase had
+been one of little excitement, but rather an exercise of patience
+and dogged perseverance.&nbsp; He raised his hat to indicate that
+the Englishman&rsquo;s gay salutations were perceived, and pulled
+the wide brim well forward again.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He will change his attitude when it becomes apparent
+who I am,&rsquo; he muttered.</p>
+<p>But Conyngham&rsquo;s first word would appear to suggest that
+Esteban Larralde was a much less impressive person than he
+considered himself.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, it&rsquo;s the devout lover!&rsquo; he
+cried.&nbsp; &lsquo;Se&ntilde;or Larralde, you remember me,
+Algeciras, and your pink love letter&mdash;deuced fishy love
+letter, that; nearly got me into a devil of a row, I can tell
+you.&nbsp; How are you, eh?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And the Englishman rode forward with a jolly laugh and his
+hand held out.&nbsp; Larralde took it without enthusiasm.&nbsp;
+It was rather difficult to pick a picturesque quarrel with such a
+person as this.&nbsp; Moreover, the true conspirator never
+believes in another man&rsquo;s honesty.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who would have expected to meet you here?&rsquo; went
+on Conyngham jovially.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is not so surprising as you think.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>There was no mistaking Larralde&rsquo;s manner, and the
+Englishman&rsquo;s gay blue eyes hardened suddenly and rather
+surprisingly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, I have followed you.&nbsp; I want that
+letter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, as it happens, Se&ntilde;or Larralde, I have not
+got your letter, and if I had I am not quite sure that I would
+give it to you.&nbsp; Your conduct in the matter has not been
+over-nice, and, to tell you the truth, I don&rsquo;t think much
+of a man who gets strangers and women to do his dirty work for
+him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Larralde stroked his moustache with a half-furtive air of
+contempt.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I should have given the confounded letter to the
+Alcalde of Ronda if it had not been that a lady would have
+suffered for it, and let you take your chance, Se&ntilde;or
+Larralde.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Larralde shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You would not have given it to the Alcalde of
+Ronda,&rsquo; he said in a sneering voice, &lsquo;because you
+want it yourself.&nbsp; You require it in order to make your
+peace with Estella Vincente.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We are not going to talk of Se&ntilde;orita
+Vincente,&rsquo; said Conyngham quietly.&nbsp; &lsquo;You say you
+followed me because you wanted that letter.&nbsp; It is not in my
+possession.&nbsp; I left it in the house of Colonel Monreal at
+Xeres.&nbsp; If you are going on to Madrid, I think I will sit
+down here and have a cigarette.&nbsp; If, on the other hand, you
+propose resting here, I shall proceed, as it is getting
+late.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham looked at his companion with a nod and a smile which
+was not in the least friendly and at the same time quite
+cheerful.&nbsp; He seemed to recognise the necessity of
+quarrelling, but proposed to do so as light-heartedly as
+possible.&nbsp; They were both on horseback in the middle of the
+road, Larralde a few paces in the direction of Madrid.</p>
+<p>Conyngham indicated the road with an inviting wave of the
+hand.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Will you go on?&rsquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>Larralde sat looking at him with glittering eyes, and said
+nothing.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then I will continue my journey,&rsquo; said the
+Englishman, touching his horse lightly with the spur.&nbsp; The
+horse moved on and passed within a yard of the other.&nbsp; At
+this moment Larralde rose in his stirrups and flung himself on
+one side.</p>
+<p>Conyngham gave a sharp cry of pain and threw back his
+head.&nbsp; Larralde had stabbed him in the back.&nbsp; The
+Englishman swayed in the saddle as if trying to balance himself,
+his legs bent back from the knee in the sharpness of a biting
+pain.&nbsp; The heavy stirrups swung free.&nbsp; Then, slowly,
+Conyngham toppled forward and rolled out of the saddle, falling
+to the road with a thud.</p>
+<p>Larralde watched him with a white face and staring eyes.&nbsp;
+Then he looked quickly round over the darkening landscape.&nbsp;
+There was no one in sight.&nbsp; This was one of the waste places
+of the world.&nbsp; Larralde seemed to remember the Eye that
+seeth even there, and crossed himself as he slipped from the
+saddle to the ground.&nbsp; He was shaking all over.&nbsp; His
+face was ashen, for it is a terrible thing to kill a man and be
+left alone with him.</p>
+<p>Conyngham&rsquo;s eyes were closed.&nbsp; There was blood on
+his lips.&nbsp; With hands that shook like leaves Esteban
+Larralde searched the Englishman, found nothing, and cursed his
+ill fortune.&nbsp; Then he stood upright, and in the dim light
+his face shone as if he had dipped it in water.&nbsp; He crept
+into the saddle and rode on towards Madrid.</p>
+<p>It was quite dark when Conyngham recovered
+consciousness.&nbsp; In turning him over to search his pockets
+Larralde had perhaps, unwittingly, saved his life by placing him
+in a position that checked the internal h&aelig;morrhage.&nbsp;
+What served to bring back the Englishman&rsquo;s wandering senses
+was the rumbling of heavy wheels and the crack of a great whip as
+a cart laden with hay and drawn by six mules approached him from
+the direction of Toledo.</p>
+<p>The driver of the team was an old soldier, as indeed were most
+of the Castilians at this time, and knew how to handle wounded
+men.&nbsp; With great care and a multitude of oaths he lifted
+Conyngham on to his cart and proceeded with him to Madrid.</p>
+<h2><a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+140</span>CHAPTER XIII<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">A WISE IGNORAMUS</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;God help me!&nbsp; I know nothing&mdash;can
+but pray.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was Father Concha&rsquo;s custom
+to attend, at his church between the hours of nine and ten in the
+morning, to such wants spiritual or temporal as individual
+members of his flock chose to bring to him.</p>
+<p>Thus it usually happened that the faithful found the old
+priest at nine o&rsquo;clock sunning himself at the front door of
+the sacred edifice, smoking a reflective cigarette and exchanging
+the time of day with passers-by or such as had leisure to pause a
+moment.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Whether it is body or soul that is in
+trouble&mdash;come to me,&rsquo; he would say.&nbsp; &lsquo;For
+the body I can do a little&mdash;a very little.&nbsp; I have
+twenty pounds a year, and it is not always paid to me, but I
+sometimes have a trifle for charity.&nbsp; For the soul I can do
+a little more.&rsquo;&nbsp; After a storm of wind and rain, such
+as come in the winter-time, it was no uncommon sight to see the
+priest sweeping the leaves and dust from the church steps and
+using the strongest language at the bootmaker over the way whose
+business this was supposed to be.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;See!&rsquo; he would cry to some passer-by.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;See!&mdash;it is thus that our sacristan does his
+work.&nbsp; It is for this that the Holy Church pays him
+fifteen&mdash;or is it twenty?&mdash;pesetas each
+year.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And the bootmaker would growl and shake his head over his
+last; for, like most who have to do with leather, he was a man of
+small humour.</p>
+<p>Here, too, mothers would bring their children&mdash;little
+girls cowering under their bright handkerchiefs, the mantilla of
+the poor, and speak with the Padre of the Confirmation and first
+Communion which had lately begun to hang like a cloud over the
+child&rsquo;s life.&nbsp; Father Concha would take the child upon
+his knee as he sat on the low wall at the side of the steps, and
+when the mother had left them, would talk quietly with the lines
+of his face wonderfully softened, so that before long the little
+girl would run home quite happy in mind and no longer afraid of
+the great unknown.&nbsp; Here, in the spring time, came the young
+men with thoughts appropriate to the season, and sheepish
+exceedingly; for they knew that Father Concha knew all about
+them, and would take an unfair advantage of his opportunities,
+refusing probably to perform the ceremony until he was satisfied
+as to the ways and means and prudence of the contracting
+parties&mdash;which of course he had no right to do.&nbsp; Here
+came the halt, the lame, the blind, the poor, and also the
+rich.&nbsp; Here came the unhappy.&nbsp; They came naturally and
+often.&nbsp; Here, so the bootmaker tells, came one morning a
+ruined man, who after speaking a few words to the Padre, produced
+a revolver and tried to shoot himself.&nbsp; And the Padre fell
+on him like a wild beast.&nbsp; And they fought, and fell, and
+rolled down the steps together into the road, where they still
+fought till they were white like millers with dust.&nbsp; Then at
+last the Padre got the strong man under him and took the revolver
+away and threw it into the ditch.&nbsp; Then he fell to
+belabouring the would-be suicide with his fists, until the big
+man cried for mercy and received it not.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You saved his life,&rsquo; the people said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It was his soul that I was caring for,&rsquo; replied
+the Padre with his grim smile.</p>
+<p>Concha was not a clever man, but he was wise.&nbsp; Of
+learning he had but little.&nbsp; It is easy, however, to be wise
+without being learned.&nbsp; It is easier still to be learned
+without being wise.&nbsp; The world is full of such persons
+to-day when education is too cheap.&nbsp; Concha steered his
+flock as best he could through the stormy paths of insurrection
+and civil war.&nbsp; He ruled with a rod of iron whom he could,
+and such as were beyond his reach he influenced by ridicule and a
+patient tolerance.&nbsp; True to his cloth, he was the enemy of
+all progress and distrusted every innovation.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Padre,&rsquo; said the barber, who was a talker and
+a radical, &lsquo;would have the world stand still.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Padre,&rsquo; replied Concha, tenderly drying his
+chin with a towel, &lsquo;would have all barbers attend to their
+razors.&nbsp; Many are so busy shouting &ldquo;Advance!&rdquo;
+that they have no breath to ask whither they are
+going.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>On the whole, perhaps, his autocratic rule was a beneficent
+one, and contributed to the happiness of the little northern
+suburb of Ronda over which it extended.&nbsp; At all events, he
+was a watchful guardian of his flock, and knew every face in his
+parish.</p>
+<p>It thus happened one morning that a strange woman, who had
+come quietly into church to pray, attracted his attention as he
+passed out after matins.&nbsp; She was a mere peasant and ill
+clad.&nbsp; The child seated on a chair by her side and staring
+with wondering eyes at the simple altar and stained-glass window
+had a hungry look.</p>
+<p>Concha sat down on the low wall without the doors and awaited
+the exit of this devotee who was not of his flock.&nbsp; For
+though, as he often said, the good God had intended him for a
+soldier, his own strong will and simple faith had in time
+produced a very passable priest who, with a grim face, went about
+doing good.</p>
+<p>The woman presently lifted the heavy leathern curtain and let
+out into the sunlight a breath of cool, incense-laden air.</p>
+<p>She curtsied and paused as if expecting recognition.&nbsp;
+Concha threw away his cigarette and raised his hand to his
+hat.&nbsp; He had not lifted it except to ladies of the highest
+quality for some years, out of regard to symptoms of senile decay
+which had manifested themselves at the junction of the brim and
+the crown.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Have I not seen your face before, my child?&rsquo; he
+said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, reverendo.&nbsp; I am of Ronda but have been
+living in Xeres.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah! then your husband is no doubt a
+malcontent?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The woman burst into tears, burying her face in her hands and
+leaning against the wall in an attitude that was still
+girlish.&nbsp; She had probably been married at fifteen.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, reverendo!&nbsp; He is a thief.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concha merely nodded his head.&nbsp; He never had been a man
+to betray much pious horror when he heard of ill-doing.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The two are almost identical,&rsquo; he said
+quietly.&nbsp; &lsquo;One does what the other fears to do.&nbsp;
+And is your husband in prison?&nbsp; Is that why you have come
+back?&nbsp; Ah! you women&mdash;in foolishness you almost equal
+the men!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, reverendo.&nbsp; I am come back because he has left
+me.&nbsp; Sebastian has run away, and has stolen all his
+master&rsquo;s property.&nbsp; It was the Colonel Monreal of
+Xeres&mdash;a good man, reverendo, but a politician.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, and he was murdered, as your reverence has no
+doubt seen in the newspapers.&nbsp; A week ago it was&mdash;the
+day that the Englishman came with a letter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What Englishman was that?&rsquo; inquired Father
+Concha, brushing some grains of snuff from his sleeve.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;What Englishman was that, my child?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, I do not know!&nbsp; His name is unknown to me, but
+I could tell he was English from his manner of speaking.&nbsp;
+The Colonel had an English friend who spoke so&mdash;one engaged
+in the sherry in Xeres.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah yes!&nbsp; And this Englishman, what was he
+like?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He was very tall and straight, like a soldier, and had
+a moustache quite light in colour, like straw.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah yes.&nbsp; The English are so.&nbsp; And he left a
+letter?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, reverendo.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A rose-coloured letter&mdash;?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the woman, looking at him with
+surprise.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And tell me what happened afterwards.&nbsp; I may
+perhaps be able to help you, my child, if you tell me all you
+know.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And then, reverendo, the police brought back the
+Colonel who had been murdered in the streets&mdash;and I who had
+his Excellency&rsquo;s dinner on the table waiting for
+him!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And Sebastian ate the dinner, reverendo.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Your husband appears to be a man of action,&rsquo; said
+Concha with a queer smile.&nbsp; &lsquo;And
+then&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sebastian sent me on a message to the town, and when I
+came back he was gone and all his Excellency&rsquo;s possessions
+were gone&mdash;his papers and valuables.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Including the letter which the Englishman had left for
+the Colonel?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, reverendo.&nbsp; Sebastian knew that in these
+times the papers of a politician may perhaps be sold for
+money.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concha nodded his head reflectively and took a pinch of snuff
+with infinite deliberation and enjoyment.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes&mdash;assuredly, Sebastian is one of those men who
+get on in the world&mdash;up to a certain point&mdash;and at that
+point they get hanged.&nbsp; There is in the universe a
+particular spot for each man&mdash;where we all think we should
+like to go if we had the money.&nbsp; For me it is Rome.&nbsp;
+Doubtless Sebastian had some such spot, of which he spoke when he
+was intoxicated.&nbsp; Where is Sebastian&rsquo;s earthly
+paradise, think you, my child?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He always spoke of Madrid, reverendo.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes&mdash;yes, I can imagine he would.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And I have no money to follow him,&rsquo; sobbed the
+woman, breaking into tears again.&nbsp; &lsquo;So I came to
+Ronda, where I am known, to seek it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, foolish woman!&rsquo; exclaimed the priest
+severely, and shaking his finger at her.&nbsp; &lsquo;Foolish
+woman to think of following such a person.&nbsp; More foolish
+still is it to weep for a worthless husband, especially in
+public, thus, on the church steps, where all may see.&nbsp; All
+the other women will be so pleased.&nbsp; It is their greatest
+happiness to think that their neighbour&rsquo;s husband is worse
+than their own.&nbsp; Failure is the royal road to
+popularity.&nbsp; Dry your tears, foolish one, before you make
+too many friends.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The woman obeyed him mechanically with a sort of dumb
+hopelessness.</p>
+<p>At this moment a horseman clattered past, coming from Ronda
+and hastening in the direction of Bobadilla or perhaps to the
+Casa Barenna.&nbsp; He wore his flat-brimmed hat well forward
+over the eyes, and kept his gaze fixed upon the road in
+front.&nbsp; There was a faint suggestion of assumed absorption
+in his attitude, as if he knew that the priest was usually at the
+church door at this hour, and had no desire to meet his
+eye.&nbsp; It was Larralde.</p>
+<p>A few minutes later Julia Barenna, who was sitting at her
+window watching and waiting&mdash;her attitude in
+life&mdash;suddenly rose with eyes that gleamed and trembling
+hands.&nbsp; She stood and gazed down into the valley below, her
+attention fixed on the form of a horseman slowly making his way
+through the olive groves.&nbsp; Then breathlessly she turned to
+her mirror.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;At last!&rsquo; she whispered, her fingers busy with
+her hair and mantilla, a thousand thoughts flying through her
+brain, her heart throbbing in her breast.&nbsp; In a moment the
+aspect of the whole world had changed&mdash;in a moment Julia
+herself was another woman.&nbsp; Ten years seemed to have rolled
+away from her heart, leaving her young and girlish and hopeful
+again.&nbsp; She gave one last look at herself and hurried to the
+door.</p>
+<p>It was yet early in the day, and the air beneath the gnarled
+and ancient olive trees was cool and fresh as Julia passed under
+them to meet her lover.&nbsp; He threw himself out of the saddle
+when he saw her, and, leaving his horse loose, ran to meet
+her.&nbsp; He took her hands and raised her fingers to his lips
+with a certain fervour which was sincere enough.&nbsp; For
+Larralde loved Julia according to his lights, though he had
+another mistress, Ambition, who was with him always and filled
+his thoughts, sleeping or waking.&nbsp; Julia, her face all
+flushed, her eyes aglow, received his gallant greeting with a
+sort of breathless eagerness.&nbsp; She knew she had not
+Larralde&rsquo;s whole heart, and, woman-like, was not content
+with half.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have not seen you for nearly a fortnight,&rsquo; she
+said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; answered Larralde, who had apparently not
+kept so strict an account of the days.&nbsp; &lsquo;Ah!
+yes&mdash;I know.&nbsp; But, dearest, I have been burning the
+high-roads.&nbsp; I have been almost to Madrid.&nbsp; Ah! Julia,
+why did you make such a mistake?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What mistake?&rsquo; she asked with a sudden light of
+coquetry in her eyes.&nbsp; She thought he was about to ask her
+why she loved him.&nbsp; In former days he had had a pretty turn
+for such questions.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In giving the letter to that scoundrel
+Conyngham&mdash;he has betrayed us, and Spain is no longer safe
+for me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are you sure of this?&rsquo; asked Julia, alert.&nbsp;
+Had she possessed Larralde&rsquo;s whole heart she would have
+been happy enough to take part in his pursuits.</p>
+<p>Larralde gave a short laugh and shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Heaven only knows where the letter is now,&rsquo; he
+answered.&nbsp; Julia unfolded a note and handed it to him.&nbsp;
+She had received it three weeks earlier from Concep&ccedil;ion
+Vara, and it was from Conyngham, saying that he had left her note
+at the house of the Colonel.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Colonel was dead before Conyngham arrived at
+Xeres,&rsquo; said Larralde shortly.&nbsp; &lsquo;And I do not
+believe he ever left the letter.&nbsp; I suspected that he had
+kept it as a little recommendation to the Christinos under whom
+he takes service.&nbsp; It would have been the most natural thing
+to do.&nbsp; But I have satisfied myself that the letter is not
+in his possession.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How?&rsquo; asked Julia with a sudden fear that
+blanched her face.</p>
+<p>Larralde smiled in rather a sickly way and made no
+answer.&nbsp; He turned and looked down the avenue.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I see Father Concha approaching,&rsquo; he said;
+&lsquo;let us go towards the house.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2><a name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+151</span>CHAPTER XIV<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">A WEIGHT OF EVIDENCE</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">&lsquo;The woman who
+loves you is at once your detective and accomplice.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><span class="smcap">The</span> old priest was walking
+leisurely up the avenue towards the Casa Barenna when the
+branches of a dwarf ilex were pushed aside, and there came to him
+from their leafy concealment, not indeed a wood-nymph, but
+Se&ntilde;ora Barenna, with her finger at her lips.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Hush!&rsquo; she said; &lsquo;he is here.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And from the anxious and excited expression of her face it
+became apparent that madame&rsquo;s nerves were astir.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who is here?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, Esteban Larralde, of course.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; said Concha patiently.&nbsp; &lsquo;But need
+we for that hide behind the bushes and walk on the flower
+borders?&nbsp; Life would be much simpler, se&ntilde;ora, if
+people would only keep to the footpath.&nbsp; Less picturesque, I
+allow you, but simpler.&nbsp; Shall I climb up a tree?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The lady cast her eyes up to heaven and heaved an exaggerated
+sigh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah&mdash;what a tragedy life is!&rsquo; she whispered,
+apparently to the angels, but loud enough for her companion to
+hear.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Or a farce,&rsquo; said Concha, &lsquo;according to our
+reading of the part.&nbsp; Where is Se&ntilde;or
+Larralde?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, he has gone to the fruit garden with
+Julia&mdash;there is a high wall all round, and one cannot
+see.&nbsp; She may be murdered by this time.&nbsp; I knew he was
+coming from the manner in which she ran downstairs.&nbsp; She
+walks at other times.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concha smiled rather grimly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;She is not the first to do that,&rsquo; he said,
+&lsquo;and many have stumbled on the stairs in their
+haste.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&nbsp; You are a hard man&mdash;a terrible man with
+no heart.&nbsp; And I have no one to sympathise with me.&nbsp; No
+one knows what I suffer.&nbsp; I never sleep at night&mdash;not a
+wink&mdash;but lie and think of my troubles.&nbsp; Julia will not
+obey me.&nbsp; I have warned her not to rouse me to
+anger&mdash;and she laughs at me.&nbsp; She persists in seeing
+this terrible Esteban Larralde&mdash;a Carlist, if you
+please.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We are all as God made us,&rsquo; said
+Concha&mdash;&rsquo;with embellishments added by the Evil
+One,&rsquo; he added, in a lower tone.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And now I am going to see General Vincente.&nbsp; I
+shall tell him to send soldiers.&nbsp; This man&rsquo;s presence
+is intolerable&mdash;I am not obeyed in my own house,&rsquo;
+cried the lady.&nbsp; &lsquo;I have ordered the carriage to meet
+me at the lower gate.&nbsp; I dare not drive away from my own
+door.&nbsp; Ah! what a tragedy!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will go with you, since you are determined to
+go,&rsquo; said Concha.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What!&nbsp; And leave Julia here with that terrible
+man?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; answered the priest.&nbsp; &lsquo;Happiness
+is a dangerous thing to meddle with.&nbsp; There is so little of
+it in the world, and it lasts so short a time.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Se&ntilde;ora Barenna indicated by a sigh and her attitude
+that she had had no experience in the matter.&nbsp; As a simple
+fact, she had been enabled all through her life to satisfy her
+own desires&mdash;the subtlest form of misfortune.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then you would have Julia marry this terrible
+man,&rsquo; said the lady, shielding her face from the sun with
+the black fan which she always carried.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am too old and too stupid to take any active part in
+my neighbours&rsquo; affairs.&nbsp; It is only the young and
+inexperienced who are competent to do that,&rsquo; answered the
+priest.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But you say you are fond of Julia.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the priest quietly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I wonder why.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So do I,&rsquo; he said in a tone that Se&ntilde;ora
+Barenna never understood.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are always kinder to her than you are to me,&rsquo;
+went on the lady in her most martyred manner.&nbsp; &lsquo;Her
+penances are always lighter than mine.&nbsp; You are patient with
+her and not with me.&nbsp; And I am sure I have never done you
+any injury&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The old Padre smiled.&nbsp; Perhaps he was thinking of those
+illusions which she had during the years pulled down one by
+one&mdash;for the greater peace of his soul.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There is the carriage,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;Let
+us hasten to General Vincente&mdash;if you wish to see
+him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>In a few minutes they were rattling along the road, while
+Esteban Larralde and Julia sat side by side in the shade of the
+great wall that surrounded the fruit garden.&nbsp; And one at
+least of them was gathering that quick harvest of love which is
+like the grass of the field, inasmuch as to-day it is, and
+to-morrow is not.</p>
+<p>General Vincente was at home.&nbsp; He was one of those men
+who are happy in finding themselves where they are wanted.&nbsp;
+So many have, on the contrary, the misfortune to be always absent
+when they are required, and the world soon learns to progress
+without them.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That man&mdash;that Larralde is in Ronda,&rsquo; said
+Se&ntilde;ora Barenna, bursting in on the General&rsquo;s
+solitude.&nbsp; Vincente smiled, and nevertheless exchanged a
+quick glance with Concha, who confirmed the news by a movement of
+his shaggy eyebrows.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, these young people!&rsquo; exclaimed the General
+with a gay little sigh.&nbsp; &lsquo;What it is to be young and
+in love!&nbsp; But be seated, I&ntilde;ez&mdash;be seated.&nbsp;
+Padre&mdash;a chair.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What do you propose to do?&rsquo; asked Se&ntilde;ora
+Barenna breathlessly, for she was stout and agitated and had
+hurried up the steps.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;When, my dear I&ntilde;ez&mdash;when?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But now&mdash;with this man in Ronda.&nbsp; You know
+quite well he is dangerous.&nbsp; He is a Carlist.&nbsp; It was
+only the other day that you received an anonymous letter saying
+that your life was in danger.&nbsp; Of course it was from the
+Carlists, and Larralde has something to do with it; or that
+Englishman&mdash;that Se&ntilde;or Conyngham with the blue
+eyes.&nbsp; A man with blue eyes&mdash;bah!&nbsp; Of course he is
+not to be trusted.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The receiver of the anonymous warning seemed to be amused.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A little sweeping, your statements, my dear
+I&ntilde;ez.&nbsp; Is it not so?&nbsp; Now, a lemonade! the
+afternoon is warm.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He rose and rang the bell.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My nerves,&rsquo; whispered the Se&ntilde;ora to
+Concha.&nbsp; &lsquo;My nerves&mdash;they are so easily
+upset.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The liqueurs,&rsquo; said the General to the servant
+with perfect gravity.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You must take steps at once,&rsquo; urged Se&ntilde;ora
+Barenna when they were alone again.&nbsp; She was endowed with a
+magnificent imagination without much wisdom to hold it in check,
+and at times persuaded herself that she was in the midst, and
+perhaps the leader, of a dangerous whirl of political events.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will, my dear I&ntilde;ez; I will.&nbsp; And we will
+take a little maraschino, to collect ourselves, eh?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And his manner quite indicated that it was he and not Madame
+Barenna who was upset.&nbsp; The lady consented, and proceeded to
+what she took to be a consultation, which in reality was a
+monologue.&nbsp; During this she imparted a vast deal of
+information, and received none in return, which is the habit of
+voluble people, and renders them exceedingly dangerous to
+themselves and useful to others.</p>
+<p>Presently the two men conducted her to her carriage, with many
+reassurances.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Never fear, I&ntilde;ez; never fear.&nbsp; He will be
+gone before you return,&rsquo; said the General, with a wave of
+the hand.&nbsp; He had consented to invite Julia to accompany
+Estella and himself to Madrid, where she would be out of
+harm&rsquo;s way.</p>
+<p>The two men then returned to the General&rsquo;s study, and
+sat down in that silence which only grows to perfection on the
+deep soil of a long-standing friendship.&nbsp; Vincente was the
+first to speak.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have had a letter from Madrid,&rsquo; he said,
+looking gravely at his companion.&nbsp; &lsquo;My correspondent
+tells me that Conyngham has not yet presented his letter of
+introduction, and, so far as is ascertainable, has not arrived in
+the capital.&nbsp; He should have been there six weeks
+ago.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The Padre took a pinch of snuff, and held the box out towards
+his companion, who waved it aside.&nbsp; The General was too
+dainty a man to indulge in such a habit.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He possessed no money, so he cannot have fallen a
+victim to thieves,&rsquo; said Concha.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He was accompanied by a good guide, and an honest
+enough scoundrel, so he cannot have lost his way,&rsquo; observed
+the General, with a queer expression of optimistic distress on
+his face.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;His movements were not always above
+suspicion&mdash;&rsquo; the priest closed his snuff-box and
+laboriously replaced it in the pocket of his cassock.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That letter&mdash;it was a queer business!&rsquo; and
+the General laughed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Most suspicious.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>There was a silence, during which Concha sneezed twice with
+enjoyment and more noise than is usually considered
+necessary.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And your letter,&rsquo; he said, carefully folding his
+handkerchief into squares; &lsquo;that anonymous letter of
+warning that your life is threatened&mdash;is that true?&nbsp; It
+is the talk of Ronda.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, that!&rsquo; laughed Vincente.&nbsp; &lsquo;Yes, it
+is true enough.&nbsp; It is not the first time&mdash;a mere
+incident, that is all.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That which the Se&ntilde;ora Barenna said just
+now,&rsquo; observed the priest slowly, &lsquo;about our English
+friend&mdash;may be true.&nbsp; Sometimes thoughtless people
+arrive at a conclusion which eludes more careful
+minds.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes&mdash;my dear Padre&mdash;yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The two grey-headed men looked at each other for a moment in
+silence.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And yet you trust him,&rsquo; said Concha.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Despite myself, despite my better judgment, my dear
+friend.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The priest rose and went to the window which overlooked the
+garden.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Estella is in the garden?&rsquo; he asked, and received
+no answer.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know what you are thinking,&rsquo; said the
+General.&nbsp; &lsquo;You are thinking that we should do well to
+tell Estella of these distressing suspicions.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For you it does not matter,&rsquo; replied the
+priest.&nbsp; &lsquo;It is a mere incident, as you say.&nbsp;
+Your life has been attempted before, and you killed both the men
+with your own hand, if I recollect aright.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Vincente shrugged his shoulders and looked rather
+embarrassed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But a woman,&rsquo; went on Concha, &lsquo;cannot
+afford to trust a man against her better judgment.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>By way of reply the General rose and rang the bell, requesting
+the servant when he answered the summons to ask the
+se&ntilde;orita to spare a few moments of her time.</p>
+<p>They exchanged no further words until Estella came hurrying
+into the room with a sudden flush on her cheeks and something in
+her dark eyes that made her father say at once&mdash;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is not bad news that we have, my child.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella glanced at Concha and said nothing.&nbsp; His wise old
+eyes rested for a moment on her face with a little frown of
+anxiety.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We have had a visit from the Se&ntilde;ora
+Barenna,&rsquo; went on the General, &lsquo;and she is anxious
+that we should invite Julia to go to Madrid with us.&nbsp; It
+appears that Esteban Larralde is still attempting to force his
+attentions on Julia, and is at present in Ronda.&nbsp; You will
+not object to her coming with us?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh no,&rsquo; said Estella without much interest.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We have also heard rather disquieting news about our
+pleasant friend, Mr. Conyngham,&rsquo; said the General,
+examining the tassel of his sword.&nbsp; &lsquo;And I think it is
+only right to tell you that I fear we have been deceived in
+him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>There was silence for a few moments, and then Vincente spoke
+again.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In these times, one is almost compelled to suspect
+one&rsquo;s nearest friends.&nbsp; Much harm may be done by being
+over-trustful, and appearances are so consistently against Mr.
+Conyngham that it would be folly to ignore them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General waited for Estella to make some comment, and after
+a pause continued:</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He arrived in Ronda under singularly unfortunate
+circumstances, and I was compelled to have his travelling
+companion shot.&nbsp; Then occurred that affair of the letter,
+which he gave to Julia&mdash;an affair which has never been
+explained.&nbsp; Conyngham would have to show me that letter
+before I should be quite satisfied.&nbsp; I obtained for him an
+introduction to General Espartero in Madrid.&nbsp; That was six
+or seven weeks ago.&nbsp; The introduction has not been
+presented, nor has Conyngham been seen in Madrid.&nbsp; In
+England, on his own confession, he was rather a scamp; why not
+the same in Spain?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General spread out his hands in his favourite gesture of
+deprecation.&nbsp; He had not made the world, and while deeply
+deploring that such things could be, he tacitly admitted that the
+human race had not been, creatively speaking, a complete
+success.</p>
+<p>Father Concha was brushing invisible grains of snuff from his
+cassock sleeve and watching Estella with anxious eyes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I only tell you, my dear,&rsquo; continued the General,
+&lsquo;so that we may know how to treat Mr. Conyngham should we
+meet him in Madrid.&nbsp; I liked him.&nbsp; I like a roving
+man&mdash;and many Englishmen are thus wanderers&mdash;but
+appearances are very much against him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; admitted Estella quietly.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She moved towards the door, and there turning looked at
+Concha.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Does the Padre stay to dinner?&rsquo; she asked.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, my child, thank you.&nbsp; No; I have affairs at
+home.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella went out of the room, leaving a queer silence behind
+her.</p>
+<p>Presently Concha rose.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I, too, am going to Madrid,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;It is an opportunity to press my claim for the payment of
+my princely stipend, now two years overdue.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He walked home on the shady side of the street, exchanging
+many salutations, pausing now and then to speak to a
+friend.&nbsp; Indeed, nearly every passer-by counted himself as
+such.&nbsp; In his bare room, where the merest necessities of
+life scarce had place, he sat down thoughtfully.&nbsp; The
+furniture, the few books, his own apparel, bespoke the direst
+poverty.&nbsp; This was one who in his simplicity read his
+Master&rsquo;s words quite literally, and went about his work
+with neither purse nor scrip.&nbsp; The priest presently rose and
+took from a shelf an old wooden box quaintly carved and studded
+with iron nails.&nbsp; A search in the drawer of the table
+resulted in the finding of a key and the final discovery of a
+small parcel at the bottom of the box which contained letters and
+other papers.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The rainy day&mdash;it comes at last,&rsquo; said the
+Padre Concha, counting out his little stock of silver with the
+care that only comes from the knowledge that each coin represents
+a self-denial.</p>
+<h2><a name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+163</span>CHAPTER XV<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">AN ULTIMATUM</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;I do believe yourself against
+yourself.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><span class="smcap">Neither</span> Estella nor her father had
+a great liking for the city of Madrid, which indeed is at no time
+desirable.&nbsp; In the winter it is cold, in the summer
+exceedingly hot, and during the changes of the seasons of a
+treacherous weather difficult to surpass.&nbsp; The social
+atmosphere was no more genial at the period with which we
+deal.&nbsp; For it blew hot and cold, and treachery marked every
+change.</p>
+<p>Although the Queen Regent seemed to be nearing at last a
+successful issue to her long and eventful struggle against Don
+Carlos, she had enemies nearer home whose movements were equally
+dangerous to the throne of the child queen.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I cannot afford to have an honest soldier so far
+removed from the capital,&rsquo; said Christina, who never laid
+aside the woman while playing the Queen, as Vincente kissed her
+hand on presenting himself at Court.&nbsp; The General smiled and
+shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What did she say?&nbsp; What did she say?&rsquo; the
+intriguers whispered eagerly as the great soldier made his way
+towards the door, with the haste of one who was no
+courtier.&nbsp; But they received no answer.</p>
+<p>The General had taken a suite of rooms in one of the hotels on
+the Puerta del Sol, and hurried thither, well pleased do have
+escaped so easily from a palace where self-seeking&mdash;the grim
+spirit that haunts the abodes of royalty&mdash;had long reigned
+supreme.&nbsp; There was, the servants told him, a visitor in the
+salon&mdash;one who had asked for the General, and on learning of
+his absence had insisted on being received by the
+se&ntilde;orita.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That sounds like Conyngham,&rsquo; muttered the
+General, unbuckling his sword&mdash;for he had but one weapon,
+and wore it in the presence of the Queen and her enemies
+alike.</p>
+<p>It was indeed Conyngham, whose gay laugh Vincente heard before
+he crossed the threshold of Estella&rsquo;s drawing-room.&nbsp;
+The Englishman was in uniform, and stood with his back turned
+towards the door by which the General entered.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is Se&ntilde;or Conyngham,&rsquo; said Estella at
+once, in a quiet voice, &lsquo;who has been wounded and six weeks
+in the hospital.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said Conyngham.&nbsp; &lsquo;But I am well
+again now!&nbsp; And I got my appointment while I was still in
+the Sisters&rsquo; care.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He laughed, though his face was pale and thin, and approached
+the General with extended hand.&nbsp; The General had come to
+Madrid with the intention of refusing to take that hand, and
+those who knew him said that this soldier never swerved from his
+purpose.&nbsp; He looked for a moment into Conyngham&rsquo;s
+eyes, and then shook hands with him.&nbsp; He did not disguise
+the hesitation, which was apparent to both Estella and the
+Englishman.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How were you wounded?&rsquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I was stabbed in the back on the Toledo road, ten miles
+from here.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not by a robber&mdash;not for your money?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No one ever hated me or cared for me on that
+account,&rsquo; laughed Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then who did it?&rsquo; asked General Vincente,
+unbuttoning his gloves.</p>
+<p>Conyngham hesitated.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A man with whom I quarrelled on the road,&rsquo; he
+made reply; but it was no answer at all, as hearers and speaker
+alike recognised in a flash of thought.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He left me for dead on the road, but a carter picked me
+up and brought me to Madrid, to the hospital of the Hermanas,
+where I have been ever since.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>There were flowers on the table, and the General stooped over
+them with a delicate appreciation of their scent.&nbsp; He was a
+great lover of flowers, and indeed had a sense of the beautiful
+quite out of keeping with the colour of his coat.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You must beware,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;now that you
+wear the Queen&rsquo;s uniform.&nbsp; There is treachery abroad,
+I fear.&nbsp; Even I have had an anonymous letter of
+warning.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I should like to know who wrote it,&rsquo; exclaimed
+Conyngham, with a sudden flash of anger in his eyes.&nbsp; The
+General laughed pleasantly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So should I,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;Merely as a
+matter of curiosity.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And he turned towards the door, which was opened at this
+moment by a servant.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A gentleman wishing to see me&mdash;an Englishman, as
+it would appear,&rsquo; he continued, looking at the card.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;By the way,&rsquo; said Conyngham, as the General moved
+away, &lsquo;I am instructed to inform you that I am attached to
+your staff as extra aide-de-camp during your stay in
+Madrid.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General nodded and left Estella and Conyngham alone in the
+drawing-room.&nbsp; Conyngham turned on Estella.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So that I have a right to be near you,&rsquo; he said,
+&lsquo;which is all that I want.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He spoke lightly enough, as was his habit; but Estella, who
+was wise in those matters that women know, preferred not to meet
+his eyes, which were grave and deep.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Such things are quickly said,&rsquo; Estella
+retorted.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes&mdash;and it takes a long time to prove
+them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General had left his gloves on the table.&nbsp; Estella
+took them up and appeared to be interested in them.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Perhaps a lifetime,&rsquo; she suggested.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I ask no less, se&ntilde;orita.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then you ask much.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And I give all&mdash;though that is little
+enough.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>They spoke slowly&mdash;not bandying words but exchanging
+thoughts.&nbsp; Estella was grave.&nbsp; Conyngham&rsquo;s
+attitude was that which he ever displayed to the
+world&mdash;namely, one of cheerful optimism, as behoved a strong
+man who had not yet known fear.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is it too little, se&ntilde;orita?&rsquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>She was sitting at the table and would not look
+up&mdash;neither would she answer his question.&nbsp; He was
+standing quite close to her&mdash;upright in his bright uniform,
+his hand on his sword&mdash;and all her attention was fixed on
+the flowers which had called forth the General&rsquo;s unspoken
+admiration.&nbsp; She touched them with fingers hardly lighter
+than his.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Now that I think of it,&rsquo; said Conyngham after a
+pause, &lsquo;what I give is nothing.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella&rsquo;s face wore a queer little smile, as of a deeper
+knowledge.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nothing at all,&rsquo; continued the Englishman.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;For I have nothing to give, and you know nothing of
+me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Three months ago,&rsquo; answered Estella, &lsquo;we
+had never heard of you&mdash;and you had never seen me,&rsquo;
+she added, with a little laugh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have seen nothing else since,&rsquo; Conyngham
+replied deliberately; &lsquo;for I have gone about the world a
+blind man.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In three months one cannot decide matters that affect a
+whole lifetime,&rsquo; said the girl.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;This matter decided itself in three minutes, so far as
+I am concerned, se&ntilde;orita, in the old palace at
+Ronda.&nbsp; It is a matter that time is powerless to affect one
+way or the other.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;With some people; but you are hasty and
+impetuous.&nbsp; My father said it of you&mdash;and he is never
+mistaken.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then you do not trust me, se&ntilde;orita?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella had turned away her face so that he could only see her
+mantilla and the folds of her golden hair gleaming through the
+black lace.&nbsp; She shrugged her shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is not due to yourself, nor to all who know you in
+Spain, if I do,&rsquo; she said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;All who know me?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; she continued; &lsquo;Father Concha,
+Se&ntilde;ora Barenna, my father, and others at Ronda.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&nbsp; And what leads them to mistrust
+me?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Your own actions,&rsquo; replied Estella.</p>
+<p>And Conyngham was too simple-minded, too inexperienced in such
+matters, to understand the ring of anxiety in her voice.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do not much mind what the rest of the world thinks of
+me,&rsquo; he said; &lsquo;I have never owed anything to the
+world nor asked anything from it.&nbsp; They are welcome to think
+what they like.&nbsp; But with you it is different.&nbsp; Is it
+possible, se&ntilde;orita, to make you trust me?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella did not answer at once.&nbsp; After a pause she gave
+an indifferent jerk of the head.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Perhaps,&rsquo; she said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If it is possible, I will do it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is quite easy,&rsquo; she answered, raising her head
+and looking out of the window with an air that seemed to indicate
+that her interests lay without and not in this room at all.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How can I do it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She gave a short, hard laugh, which to experienced ears would
+have betrayed her instantly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;By showing me the letter you wrote to Julia
+Barenna,&rsquo; she said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I cannot do that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; she said significantly.&nbsp; A woman
+fighting for her own happiness is no sparing adversary.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Will nothing else than the sight of that letter satisfy
+you, se&ntilde;orita?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Her profile was turned towards him&mdash;delicate and proud,
+with the perfect chiselling of outline that only comes with a
+long descent, and bespeaks the blood of gentle ancestors.&nbsp;
+For Estella Vincente had in her veins blood that was counted
+noble in Spain&mdash;the land of a bygone glory.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nothing,&rsquo; she answered.&nbsp; &lsquo;Though the
+question of my being satisfied is hardly of importance.&nbsp; You
+asked me to trust you, and you make it difficult by your
+actions.&nbsp; In return I ask a proof, that is all.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you want to trust me?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He had come a little closer to her, and was grave enough
+now.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why do you ask that?&rsquo; she inquired in a low
+voice.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you want to trust me?&rsquo; he asked, and it is to
+be supposed that he was able to detect an infinitesimal
+acquiescent movement of her head.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then, if that letter is in existence, you shall have
+it,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;You say that my actions have
+borne evidence against me.&nbsp; I shall trust to action and not
+to words to refute that evidence.&nbsp; But you must give me
+time&mdash;will you do that?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You always ask something.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, se&ntilde;orita, from you; but from no one else in
+the world.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He gave a sudden laugh and walked to the window, where he
+stood looking at her.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I suppose,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;I shall be asking all
+my life from you.&nbsp; Perhaps that is why we were created,
+se&ntilde;orita&mdash;I to ask, you to give.&nbsp; Perhaps that
+is happiness, Estella.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She raised her eyes but did not meet his, looking past him
+through the open window.&nbsp; The hotel was situated at the
+lower end of the Puerta del Sol&mdash;the quiet end, and farthest
+removed from the hum of the market and the busy sounds of
+traffic.&nbsp; These only came in the form of a distant hum, like
+the continuous roar of surf upon an unseen shore.&nbsp; Below the
+windows a passing waterseller plied his trade, and his monotonous
+cry of &lsquo;Agua-a-a!&nbsp; Agua-a-a!&rsquo; rose like a
+wail&mdash;like the voice of one crying in that human wilderness
+where solitude reigns as surely as in the desert.</p>
+<p>For a moment Estella glanced at Conyngham gravely, and his
+eyes were no less serious.&nbsp; They were not the first, but
+only two out of many millions, to wonder what happiness is and
+where it hides in this busy world.</p>
+<p>They had not spoken or moved when the door was again opened by
+a servant, who bowed towards Conyngham and then stood aside to
+allow ingress to one who followed on his heels.&nbsp; This was a
+tall man, white-haired, and white of face.&nbsp; Indeed, his
+cheeks had the dead pallor of paper, and seemed to be drawn over
+the cheekbones at such tension as gave to the skin a polish like
+that of fine marble.&nbsp; One sees many such faces in London
+streets, and they usually indicate suffering, either mental or
+physical.</p>
+<p>The stranger came forward with a perfect lack of
+embarrassment, which proved him to be a man of the world.&nbsp;
+His bow to Estella clearly indicated that his business lay with
+Conyngham.&nbsp; He was the incarnation of the Continental ideal
+of the polished cold Englishman, and had the air of a diplomate
+such as this country sends to foreign Courts to praise or blame,
+to declare friendship or war with the same calm suavity and
+imperturbable politeness.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I come from General Vincente,&rsquo; he said to
+Conyngham, &lsquo;who will follow in a moment, when he has
+despatched some business which detains him.&nbsp; I have a letter
+to the General, and am, in fact, in need of his
+assistance.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He broke off, turning to Estella, who was moving towards the
+door.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I was especially instructed,&rsquo; he said quickly to
+her, &lsquo;to ask you not to leave us.&nbsp; You were, I
+believe, at school with my nieces in England, and when my
+business, which is of the briefest, is concluded, I have messages
+to deliver to you from Mary and Amy Mainwaring.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella smiled a little and resumed her seat.&nbsp; Then the
+stranger turned to Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The General told me,&rsquo; he went on in his cold
+voice, without a gleam of geniality or even of life in his eyes,
+&lsquo;that if I followed the servant to the drawing-room I
+should find here an English aide-de-camp who is fully in his
+confidence, and upon whose good-nature and assistance I could
+rely.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am for the time General Vincente&rsquo;s
+aide-de-camp, and I am an Englishman,&rsquo; answered
+Conyngham.</p>
+<p>The stranger bowed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I did not explain my business to General
+Vincente,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;who asked me to wait until he
+came, and then tell the story to you both at one time.&nbsp; In
+the meantime I was to introduce myself to you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham waited in silence.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My name is Sir John Pleydell,&rsquo; said the stranger
+quietly.</p>
+<h2><a name="page174"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+174</span>CHAPTER XVI<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">IN HONOUR</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;He makes no friend who never made a
+foe.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><span class="smcap">Conyngham</span> remembered the name of
+Pleydell well enough, and glanced sharply at Estella,
+recollecting that the General received the &lsquo;Times&rsquo;
+from London.&nbsp; Before he had time to make an answer, and
+indeed he had none ready, the General came into the room.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; said Vincente in his sociable manner,
+&lsquo;I see you know each other already&mdash;so an introduction
+is superfluous.&nbsp; And now we will have Sir John&rsquo;s
+story.&nbsp; Be seated, my dear sir.&nbsp; But first&mdash;a
+little refreshment.&nbsp; It is a dusty day&mdash;a
+lemonade?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John declined, his manner strikingly cold and reserved
+beside the genial <i>empressement</i> of General Vincente.&nbsp;
+In truth the two men seemed to belong to opposite poles&mdash;the
+one of cold and the other of heat.&nbsp; Sir John had the chill
+air of one who had mixed among his fellow men only to see their
+evil side; for the world is a cold place to those that look on it
+with a chilling glance.&nbsp; General Vincente, on the other
+hand, whose life had been passed in strife and warfare, seemed
+ready to welcome all comers as friends and to hold out the hand
+of good-fellowship to rich and poor alike.</p>
+<p>Conyngham shrugged his shoulders with a queer smile.&nbsp;
+Here was a quandary requiring a quicker brain than his.&nbsp; He
+did not even attempt to seek a solution to his difficulties, and
+the only thought in his mind was a characteristic determination
+to face them courageously.&nbsp; He drew forward a chair for Sir
+John Pleydell, his heart stirred with that sense of exhilaration
+which comes to some in moments of peril.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will not detain you long,&rsquo; began the new-comer,
+with an air slightly suggestive of the law court, &lsquo;but
+there are certain details which I am afraid I must inflict upon
+you, in order that you may fully understand my
+actions.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The remark was addressed to General Vincente, although the
+speaker appeared to be demanding Conyngham&rsquo;s attention in
+the first instance.&nbsp; The learned gentlemen of the Bar thus
+often address the jury through the ears of the judge.</p>
+<p>General Vincente had seated himself at the table and was
+drawing his scented pocket-handkerchief across his moustache
+reflectively.&nbsp; He was not, it was obvious, keenly
+interested, although desirous of showing every politeness to the
+stranger.&nbsp; In truth, such Englishmen as brought their
+affairs to Spain at this time were not as a rule highly desirable
+persons or a credit to their country.&nbsp; Estella was sitting
+near the window, rather behind her father, and Conyngham stood by
+the fireplace, facing them all.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You perhaps know something of our English
+politics,&rsquo; continued Sir John Pleydell, and the General
+making a little gesture indicative of a limited but sufficient
+knowledge, went on to say&mdash;&lsquo;of the Chartists more
+particularly?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General bowed.&nbsp; Estella glanced at Conyngham, who was
+smiling.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One cannot call them a party, as I have heard them
+designated in Spain,&rsquo; said Sir John parenthetically.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;They are quite unworthy of so distinguished a name.&nbsp;
+These Chartists consist of the most ignorant people in the
+land&mdash;the rabble, in fact, headed by a few scheming
+malcontents: professional agitators who are not above picking the
+pockets of the poor.&nbsp; Many capitalists and landowners have
+suffered wrong and loss at the hands of these disturbers of the
+peace, none&mdash;&rsquo;&nbsp; He paused and gave a sharp sigh
+which seemed to catch him unawares, and almost suggested that the
+man had, after all, or had at one time possessed, a heart.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;None more severely than myself,&rsquo; he concluded.</p>
+<p>The General&rsquo;s face instantly expressed the utmost
+concern.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My dear sir,&rsquo; he murmured.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For many years,&rsquo; continued Sir John hurriedly, as
+if resenting anything like sympathy, as all good Britons do,
+&lsquo;the authorities acted in an irresolute and foolish manner,
+not daring to put down the disturbances with a firm hand.&nbsp;
+At length, however, a riot of a more serious character at a town
+in Wales necessitated the interference of the military.&nbsp; The
+ringleaders were arrested, and for some time the authorities were
+in considerable doubt as to what to do to them.&nbsp; I
+interested myself strongly in the matter&mdash;having practised
+the law in my younger days&mdash;and was finally enabled to see
+my object carried out.&nbsp; These men were arraigned, not as
+mere brawlers and rioters, but under a charge of high
+treason&mdash;a much more serious affair for them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He broke off with a harsh laugh, which was only a matter of
+the voice, for his marble face remained unchanged, and probably
+had not at any time the power of expressing mirth.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The ringleaders of the Newport riots were sentenced to
+long terms of imprisonment, which served my purpose
+excellently.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John Pleydell spoke with that cynical frankness which
+seems often to follow upon a few years devoted to practice at the
+Common Law Bar, where men in truth spend their days in dissecting
+the mental diseases of their fellow creatures, and learn to
+conclude that a pure and healthy mind is possessed by none.&nbsp;
+He moved slightly in his chair, and seemed to indicate that he
+had made his first point.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I hope,&rsquo; he said, addressing Conyngham directly,
+&lsquo;that I am not fatiguing you?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not at all,&rsquo; returned the younger Englishman
+coolly; &lsquo;I am much interested.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General was studying the texture of his
+pocket-handkerchief.&nbsp; Estella&rsquo;s face had grown cold
+and set.&nbsp; Her eyes from time to time turned towards
+Conyngham.&nbsp; Sir John Pleydell was not creating a good
+impression.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will now come to the more personal part of my
+story,&rsquo; went on that gifted speaker, &lsquo;and proceed to
+explain my reason for inflicting it upon you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He still spoke directly to Conyngham, who bowed his head in
+silence, with the queer smile still hovering on his lips.&nbsp;
+Estella saw it and drew a sharp breath.&nbsp; In the course of
+her short life, which had almost been spent in the midst of
+warfare, she had seen men in danger more than once, and perhaps
+recognised that smile.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I particularly beg your attention,&rsquo; explained Sir
+John to Conyngham, &lsquo;because I understand from General
+Vincente that you are in reality attached to the staff of General
+Espartero, and it is to him that I look for help.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John paused again.&nbsp; He had established another
+point.&nbsp; One almost expected to see him raise his hand to his
+shoulder to throw back the silken gown.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Some months ago,&rsquo; he went on, &lsquo;these
+Chartists attacked my house in the North of England, and killed
+my son.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>There was a short silence, and the General muttered a curt and
+polite Spanish oath under his breath.&nbsp; But somehow the
+speaker had failed to make that point, and he hurried on.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It was not, technically speaking, a murder; my boy, who
+had a fine spirit, attacked the rioters, and a clever counsel
+might have got a verdict for the scoundrel who actually struck
+the blow.&nbsp; I knew this, and awaited events.&nbsp; I did not
+even take steps against the man who killed my son&mdash;an only
+son and child.&nbsp; It was not, from a legal point of view,
+worth while.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He laughed his unpleasant laugh again and presently went
+on.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Fortune, however, favoured me.&nbsp; The trouble grew
+worse, and the Newport riots at last aroused the
+Government.&nbsp; The sentence upon the ringleaders gave me my
+opportunity.&nbsp; It was worth while to hunt down the murderer
+of my son when I could ensure him sixteen or twenty years&rsquo;
+penal servitude.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Quite,&rsquo; said the General;
+&lsquo;quite.&rsquo;&nbsp; And he smiled.&nbsp; He seemed to fail
+to realise that Sir John Pleydell was in deadly earnest, and
+really harboured the implacable spirit of revenge with which he
+cynically credited himself.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I traced my man to Gibraltar, and thence he appears to
+have come north,&rsquo; continued Sir John Pleydell.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;He has probably taken service under Espartero&mdash;many
+of our English outlaws wear the Spanish Queen&rsquo;s
+uniform.&nbsp; He is, of course, bearing an assumed name; but
+surely it would be possible to trace him?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, yes,&rsquo; answered Conyngham, &lsquo;I think you
+will be able to find him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John&rsquo;s eyes had for a moment a gleam of life in
+them.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;I am glad to hear you say
+that.&nbsp; For that is my object in coming to this country; and
+although I have during the course of my life had many objects of
+ambition or desire, none of them has so entirely absorbed my
+attention as this one.&nbsp; Half a dozen men have gone to penal
+servitude in order that I might succeed in my purpose.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>There was a cold deliberation in this statement which was more
+cruel than cynicism, for it was sincere.&nbsp; Conyngham looked
+at Estella.&nbsp; Her face had lost all colour, her eyes were
+burning&mdash;not with the dull light of fear, for the blood that
+ran in her veins had no taint of that in it&mdash;but with
+anger.&nbsp; She knew who it was that Sir John Pleydell
+sought.&nbsp; She looked at Conyngham, and his smile of cool
+intrepidity made her heart leap within her breast.&nbsp; This
+lover of hers was at all events a brave man&mdash;and that which
+through all the ages reaches the human heart most surely is
+courage.&nbsp; The coward has no friends.</p>
+<p>Sir John Pleydell had paused, and was seeking something in his
+pocket.&nbsp; General Vincente preserved his attitude of slightly
+bored attention.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have here,&rsquo; went on the baronet, &lsquo;a list
+of the English officers serving in the army of General Espartero
+at the time of my quitting England.&nbsp; Perhaps you will, at
+your leisure, be kind enough to cast your eye over it, and make a
+note of such men as are personally unknown to you, and may
+therefore be bearing assumed names.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham took the paper, and, holding it in his hand, spoke
+without moving from the mantelpiece against which he leant.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have not yet made quite clear your object in coming
+to Spain,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;There exists between Spain
+and England no extradition treaty; and even if such were to come
+in force I believe that persons guilty of political offences
+would be exempt from its action.&nbsp; You propose to arraign
+this man for high treason&mdash;a political offence according to
+the law of many countries.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You speak like a lawyer,&rsquo; said Sir John, with a
+laugh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have just informed us,&rsquo; retorted Conyngham,
+&lsquo;that all the English in the Spanish service are
+miscreants.&nbsp; None know the law so intimately as those who
+have broken it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; laughed Sir John again, with a face of
+stone.&nbsp; &lsquo;There are exceptions to all rules&mdash;and
+you, young sir, are an exception to that which I laid down as
+regards our countrymen in Spain, unless my experience of faces
+and knowledge of men play me very false.&nbsp; But your
+contention is a just one.&nbsp; I am not in a position to seek
+the aid of the Spanish authorities in this matter.&nbsp; I am
+fully aware of the fact.&nbsp; You surely did not expect me to
+come to Spain with such a weak case as that?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; answered Conyngham slowly, &lsquo;I did
+not.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John Pleydell raised his eyes and looked at his fellow
+countryman with a dawning interest.&nbsp; The General also looked
+up, from one face to the other.&nbsp; The atmosphere of the room
+seemed to have undergone a sudden change, and to be dominated by
+the personality of these two Englishmen.&nbsp; The one will,
+strong on the surface, accustomed to assert itself and dominate,
+seemed suddenly to have found itself faced by another as strong
+and yet hidden behind an easy smile and indolent manner.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are quite right,&rsquo; he went on in his cold
+voice.&nbsp; &lsquo;I have a better case than that, and one
+eminently suited to a country such as Spain, where a long war has
+reduced law and order to a somewhat low ebb.&nbsp; I at first
+thought of coming here to await my chance of shooting this
+man&mdash;his name, by the way, is Frederick Conyngham; but
+circumstances placed a better vengeance within my grasp&mdash;one
+that will last longer.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused for a moment to reflect upon this long-drawn-out
+expiation.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I propose to get my man home to England, and let him
+there stand his trial.&nbsp; The idea is not my own; it has, in
+fact, been carried out successfully before now.&nbsp; Once in
+England I shall make it my business to see that he gets twenty
+years&rsquo; penal servitude.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And how do you propose to get him to England?&rsquo;
+asked Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh! that is simple enough.&nbsp; Only a matter of
+paying a couple of such scoundrels as I understand abound in
+Spain at this moment&mdash;a little bribing of officials, a heavy
+fee to some English ship-captain.&nbsp; I propose, in short, to
+kidnap Frederick Conyngham.&nbsp; But I do not ask you to help me
+in that.&nbsp; I only ask you to put me on his track&mdash;to
+help me to find him, in fact.&nbsp; Will you do it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Certainly,&rsquo; said Conyngham, coming forward with a
+card in his hand.&nbsp; &lsquo;You could not have come to a
+better man.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John Pleydell read the card, and had himself in such
+control that his face hardly changed.&nbsp; His teeth closed over
+his lower lip for a second; then he rose.&nbsp; The perspiration
+stood out on his face&mdash;the grey of his eyes seemed to have
+faded to the colour of ashes.&nbsp; He looked hard at Conyngham,
+and then, taking up his hat, went to the door with curious,
+uneven steps.&nbsp; On the threshold he turned.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Your insolence,&rsquo; he said breathlessly, &lsquo;is
+only exceeded by your&mdash;daring.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>As the door closed behind him there came, from that part of
+the room where General Vincente sat, a muffled click of steel, as
+if a sword half out of its scabbard had been sent softly home
+again.</p>
+<h2><a name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+185</span>CHAPTER XVII<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">IN MADRID</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">&lsquo;Some keepeth
+silence knowing his time.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&lsquo;<span class="smcap">Who</span> travels slowly may
+arrive too late,&rsquo; said the Padre Concha, with a pessimistic
+shake of the head, as the carrier&rsquo;s cart in which he had
+come from Toledo drew up in the Plazuela de la Cebada at
+Madrid.&nbsp; The careful penury of many years had not, indeed,
+enabled the old priest to travel by the quick diligences, which
+had often passed him on the road with a cloud of dust and the
+rattle of six horses.&nbsp; The great journey had been
+accomplished in the humbler vehicles plying from town to town,
+that ran as often as not by night in order to save the
+horses.</p>
+<p>The priest, like his fellow-travellers, was white with
+dust.&nbsp; Dust covered his cloak so that its original hue of
+rusty black was quite lost.&nbsp; Dust coated his face and
+nestled in the deep wrinkles of it.&nbsp; His eyebrows were lost
+to sight, and his lashes were like those of a miller.</p>
+<p>As he stood in the street the dust arose in whirling columns
+and enveloped all who were abroad; for a gale was howling across
+the tableland, which the Moors of old had named
+&lsquo;Majerit&rsquo;&mdash;a draught of wind.&nbsp; The
+conductor, who, like a good and jovial conductor, had never
+refused an offer of refreshment on the road, was now muddled with
+drink and the heat of the sun.&nbsp; He was, in fact, engaged in
+a warm controversy with a passenger.&nbsp; So the Padre found his
+own humble portmanteau, a thing of cardboard and canvas, and
+trudged up the Calle de Toledo, bearing the bag in one hand and
+his cloak in the other&mdash;a lean figure in the sunlight.</p>
+<p>Father Concha had been in Madrid before, though he rarely
+boasted of it, or indeed of any of his travels.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The wise man does not hang his knowledge on a
+hook,&rsquo; he was in the habit of saying.</p>
+<p>That this knowledge was of that useful description which is
+usually designated as knowing one&rsquo;s way about, soon became
+apparent; for the dusty traveller passed with unerring steps
+through the narrower streets that lie between the Calle de Toledo
+and the street of Segovia.&nbsp; Here dwell the humbler citizens
+of Madrid, persons engaged in the small commerce of the
+market-place, for in the Plazuela de la Cebada a hundred yards
+away is held the corn market, which, indeed, renders the dust in
+this quarter particularly trying to the eyes.&nbsp; Once or twice
+the priest was forced to stop at the corner of two streets and
+there do battle with the wind.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But it is a hurricane,&rsquo; he muttered; &lsquo;a
+hurricane.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>With one hand he held his hat, with the other clung to his
+cloak and portmanteau.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But it will blow the dust from my poor old capa,&rsquo;
+he added, giving the cloak an additional shake.</p>
+<p>He presently found himself in a street which, if narrower than
+its neighbours, smelt less pestiferous.&nbsp; The open drain that
+ran down the middle of it pursued its varied course with a quite
+respectable speed.&nbsp; In the middle of the street Father
+Concha paused and looked up, nodding as if to an old friend at
+the sight of a dingy piece of palm bound to the ironwork of a
+balcony on the second floor.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The time to wash off the dust,&rsquo; he muttered as he
+climbed the narrow stairs, &lsquo;and then to work.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>An hour later he was afoot again in a quarter of the city
+which was less known to him&mdash;namely, in the Calle Preciados,
+where he sought a venta more or less suspected by the
+police.&nbsp; The wind had risen, and was now blowing with the
+force of a hurricane.&nbsp; It came from the north-west with a
+chill whistle which bespoke its birthplace among the peaks of the
+Gaudarramas.&nbsp; The streets were deserted; the oil lamps swung
+on their chains at the street corners, casting weird shadows that
+swept over the face of the houses with uncanny
+irregularity.&nbsp; It was an evening for evil deeds, except that
+when Nature is in an ill-humour human nature is mostly cowed, and
+those who have bad consciences cannot rid their minds of thoughts
+of the hereafter.</p>
+<p>The priest found the house he sought, despite the darkness of
+the street and the absence of any from whom to elicit
+information.&nbsp; The venta was on the ground-floor, and above
+it towered storey after storey, built with the quaint fantasy of
+the middle ages, and surmounted by a deep, overhanging gabled
+roof.&nbsp; The house seemed to have two staircases of stone and
+two doors&mdash;one on each side of the venta.&nbsp; There is a
+Spanish proverb which says that the rat which has only one hole
+is soon caught.&nbsp; Perhaps the architect remembered this, and
+had built his house to suit his tenants.&nbsp; It was on the
+fifth floor of this tenement that Father Concha, instructed by
+Heaven knows what priestly source of information, looked to meet
+with Sebastian, the whilom bodyservant of the late Colonel
+Monreal of Xeres.</p>
+<p>It was known among a certain section of the Royalists that
+this man had papers and perchance some information of value to
+dispose of, and more than one respectable, black-clad elbow had
+brushed the greasy walls of this staircase.&nbsp; Sebastian, it
+was said, passed his time in drinking and smoking.&nbsp; The
+boasted gaieties of Madrid had, it would appear, diminished to
+this sordid level of dissipation.</p>
+<p>The man was, indeed, thus occupied when the old priest opened
+the door of his room.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; he answered in a thick voice, &lsquo;I am
+Sebastian of Xeres, and no other; the man who knows more of the
+Carlist plots than any other in Madrid.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Can you read?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then you know nothing,&rsquo; said the Padre.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;You have, however, a letter in a pink envelope which a
+friend of mine desires to possess.&nbsp; It is a letter of no
+importance, of no political value&mdash;a love letter, in
+fact.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, yes!&nbsp; Ah, yes!&nbsp; That may be,
+reverendo.&nbsp; But there are others who want it&mdash;your love
+letter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I offer you, on the part of my friend, a hundred
+pesetas for this letter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The priest&rsquo;s wrinkled face wore a grim smile.&nbsp; It
+was so little&mdash;a hundred pesetas, the price of a dinner for
+two persons at one of the great restaurants on the Puerta del
+Sol.&nbsp; But to Father Concha the sum represented five hundred
+cups of black coffee denied to himself in the evening at the
+caf&eacute;&mdash;five hundred packets of cigarettes, so-called
+of Havana, unsmoked&mdash;two new cassocks in the course of
+twenty years&mdash;a hundred little gastronomic delights sternly
+resisted season after season.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not enough, your hundred pesetas, reverendo, not
+enough,&rsquo; laughed the man.&nbsp; And Concha, who could drive
+as keen a bargain as any market-woman of Ronda, knew by the
+manner of saying it that Sebastian only spoke the truth when he
+said that he had other offers.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;See, reverendo,&rsquo; the man went on, leaning across
+the table and banging a dirty fist upon it, &lsquo;come to-night
+at ten o&rsquo;clock.&nbsp; There are others coming at the same
+hour to buy my letter in the pink envelope.&nbsp; We will have an
+auction, a little auction, and the letter goes to the highest
+bidder.&nbsp; But what does your reverence want with a love
+letter, eh?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will come,&rsquo; said the Padre, and, turning, he
+went home to count his money once more.</p>
+<p>There are many living still who remember the great gale of
+wind which was now raging, and through which Father Concha
+struggled back to the Calle Preciados as the city clocks struck
+ten.&nbsp; Old men and women still tell how the theatres were
+deserted that night and the great caf&eacute;s wrapt in
+darkness.&nbsp; For none dare venture abroad amid such whirl and
+confusion.&nbsp; Concha, however, with that lean strength that
+comes from a life of abstemiousness and low-living, crept along
+in the shadow of the houses and reached his destination
+unhurt.&nbsp; The tall house in the alley leading from the Calle
+Preciados to the Plazuela Santa Maria was dark, as indeed were
+most of the streets of Madrid this night.&nbsp; A small moon
+struggled, however, through the riven clouds at times, and cast
+streaks of light down the narrow streets.&nbsp; Concha caught
+sight of the form of a man in the alley before him.&nbsp; The
+priest carried no weapon, but he did not pause.&nbsp; At this
+moment a gleam of light aided him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Se&ntilde;or Conyngham!&rsquo; he said.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;What brings you here?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And the Englishman turned sharply on his heel.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is that you&mdash;Father Concha, of Ronda?&rsquo; he
+asked.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No other, my son.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Standing in the doorway Conyngham held out his hand with that
+air of good-fellowship which he had not yet lost amid the more
+formal Spaniards.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Hardly the night for respectable elderly gentlemen of
+your cloth to be in the streets,&rsquo; he said; whereat Concha,
+who had a keen appreciation of such small pleasantries, laughed
+grimly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And I have not even the excuse of my cloth.&nbsp; I am
+abroad on worldly business, and not even my own.&nbsp; I will be
+honest with you, Se&ntilde;or Conyngham.&nbsp; I am here to buy
+that malediction of a letter in a pink envelope.&nbsp; You
+remember&mdash;in the garden at Ronda, eh?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, I remember; and why do you want that
+letter?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For the sake of Julia Barenna.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&nbsp; I want it for the sake of Estella
+Vincente.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concha laughed shortly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;It is only up to the
+age of twenty-five that men imagine themselves to be the rulers
+of the world.&nbsp; But we need not bid against each other, my
+son.&nbsp; Perhaps a sight of the letter before I destroy it
+would satisfy the se&ntilde;orita.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, we need not bid against each other,&rsquo; began
+Conyngham; but the priest dragged him back into the doorway with
+a quick whisper of &lsquo;Silence!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Someone was coming down the other stairway of the tall house,
+with slow and cautious steps.&nbsp; Conyngham and his companion
+drew back to the foot of the stairs and waited.&nbsp; It became
+evident that he who descended the steps did so without a
+light.&nbsp; At the door he seemed to stop, probably making sure
+that the narrow alley was deserted.&nbsp; A moment later he
+hurried past the door where the two men stood.&nbsp; The moon was
+almost clear, and by its light both the watchers recognised
+Larralde in a flash of thought.&nbsp; The next instant Esteban
+Larralde was running for his life with Frederick Conyngham on his
+heels.</p>
+<p>The lamp at the corner of the Calle Preciados had been
+shattered against the wall by a gust of wind, and both men
+clattered through a slough of broken glass.&nbsp; Down the whole
+length of the Preciados but one lamp was left alight, and the
+narrow street was littered with tiles and fallen bricks, for many
+chimneys had been blown down, and more than one shutter lay in
+the roadway, torn from its hinges by the hurricane.&nbsp; It was
+at the risk of life that any ventured abroad at this hour and
+amid the whirl of falling masonry.&nbsp; Larralde and Conyngham
+had the Calle Preciados to themselves&mdash;and Larralde cursed
+his spurs, which rang out at each footfall, and betrayed his
+whereabouts.</p>
+<p>A dozen times the Spaniard fell, but before his pursuer could
+reach him, the same obstacle threw Conyngham to the ground.&nbsp;
+A dozen times some falling object crashed to earth on the
+Spaniard&rsquo;s heels, and the Englishman leapt aside to escape
+the rebound.&nbsp; Larralde was fleet of foot despite his meagre
+limbs, and leapt over such obstacles as he could perceive, with
+the agility of a monkey.&nbsp; He darted into the lighted
+doorway&mdash;the entrance to the palatial mansion of an upstart
+politician.&nbsp; The large doors were thrown open, and the
+hall-porter stood in full livery awaiting the master&rsquo;s
+carriage.&nbsp; Larralde was already in the patio, and Conyngham
+ran through the marble-paved entrance hall, before the porter
+realised what was taking place.&nbsp; There was no second exit as
+the fugitive had hoped&mdash;so it was round the patio and out
+again into the dark street, leaving the hall-porter
+dumfoundered.</p>
+<p>Larralde turned sharply to the right as soon as he gained the
+Calle Preciados.&nbsp; It was a mere alley running the whole way
+round a church&mdash;and here again was solitude, but not
+silence, for the wind roared among the chimneys overhead as it
+roars through a ship&rsquo;s rigging at sea.&nbsp; The Calle
+Preciados again! and a momentary confusion among the tables of a
+caf&eacute; that stood upon the pavement, amid upturned chairs
+and a fallen, flapping awning.&nbsp; The pace was less killing
+now, but Larralde still held his own&mdash;one hand clutched over
+the precious letter regained at last&mdash;and Conyngham was
+conscious of a sharp pain where the Spaniard&rsquo;s knife had
+touched his lung.</p>
+<p>Larralde ran mechanically with open mouth and staring
+eyes.&nbsp; He never doubted that death was at his heels, should
+he fail to distance the pursuer.&nbsp; For he had recognised
+Conyngham in the patio of the great house, and as he ran the
+vague wonder filled his mind whether the Englishman carried a
+knife.&nbsp; What manner of death would it be if that long arm
+reached him?&nbsp; Esteban Larralde was afraid.&nbsp; His own
+life&mdash;Julia&rsquo;s life&mdash;the lives of a whole Carlist
+section were at stake.&nbsp; The history of Spain, perhaps of
+Europe, depended on the swiftness of his foot.</p>
+<p>The little crescent moon was shining clearly now between the
+long-drawn rifts of the rushing clouds.&nbsp; Larralde turned to
+the right again, up a narrow street which seemed to promise a
+friendly darkness.&nbsp; The ascent was steep, and the Spaniard
+gasped for breath as he ran&mdash;his legs were becoming
+numb.&nbsp; He had never been in this street before, and knew not
+whither it led.&nbsp; But it was at all events dark and
+deserted.&nbsp; Suddenly he fell upon a heap of bricks and
+rubbish, a whole stack of chimneys.&nbsp; He could smell the
+soot.&nbsp; Conyngham was upon him, touched him, but failed to
+get a grip.&nbsp; Larralde was afoot in an instant, and fell
+heavily down the far side of the barricade.&nbsp; He gained a few
+yards again, and, before Conyngham&rsquo;s eyes, was suddenly
+swallowed up in a black mass of falling masonry.&nbsp; It was
+more than a chimney this time; nothing less than a whole house
+carried bodily to the ground by the fall of the steeple of the
+church of Santa Maria del Monte.&nbsp; Conyngham stopped dead,
+and threw his arms over his head.&nbsp; The crash was terrific,
+deafening&mdash;and for a few moments the Englishman was
+stunned.&nbsp; He opened his eyes and closed them again, for the
+dust and powdered mortar whirled round him like smoke.&nbsp;
+Almost blinded, he crept back by the way he had come, and the
+street was already full of people.&nbsp; In the Calle Preciados
+he sat down on a door-step, and there waited until he had gained
+mastery over his limbs, which shook still.&nbsp; Presently he
+made his way back to the house where he had left Concha.</p>
+<p>The man Sebastian had, a week earlier, seen and recognised
+Conyngham as the bearer of the letter addressed to Colonel
+Monreal, and left at that officer&rsquo;s lodging in Xeres at the
+moment of his death in the streets.&nbsp; Sebastian approached
+Conyngham, and informed him that he had in his possession sundry
+papers belonging to the late Colonel Monreal, which might be of
+value to a Royalist.&nbsp; This was, therefore, not the first
+time that Conyngham had climbed the narrow stairs of the tall
+house with two doors.</p>
+<p>He found Concha busying himself by the bedside, where
+Sebastian lay in the unconsciousness of deep drink.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He has probably been drugged,&rsquo; said the
+priest.&nbsp; &lsquo;Or, he may be dying.&nbsp; What is more
+important to us is, that the letter is not here.&nbsp; I have
+searched.&nbsp; Larralde escaped you?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes; and of course has the letter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of course, amigo.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The priest looked at the prostrate man with a face of profound
+contempt, and, shrugging his shoulders, went towards the
+door.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;I must return to Toledo
+and Julia.&nbsp; It is thither that this Larralde always returns,
+and she, poor woman, believes in him.&nbsp; Ah, my
+friend&rsquo;&mdash;he paused and shook his long finger at
+Conyngham.&nbsp; &lsquo;When a woman believes in a man she makes
+him or mars him; there is no medium.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2><a name="page197"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+197</span>CHAPTER XVIII<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">IN TOLEDO</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;Meddle not with many matters; for if thou
+meddle much thou shalt not be innocent.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Caf&eacute; of the Ambassadeurs
+in the Calle de la Montera was at this time the fashionable
+resort of visitors to the city of Madrid.&nbsp; Its tone was
+neither political nor urban, but savoured rather of the
+cosmopolitan.&nbsp; The waiters at the first-class hotels
+recommended the Caf&eacute; of the Ambassadeurs, and stepped
+round to the manager&rsquo;s office at the time of the New Year
+to mention the fact.</p>
+<p>Sir John Pleydell had been rather nonplussed by his encounter
+with Conyngham, and, being a man of the world as well as a
+lawyer, sat down, as it were, to think.&nbsp; He had come to
+Spain in the first heat of a great revenge, and such men as he
+take, like the greater volcanoes, a long time to cool down.&nbsp;
+He had been prepossessed in the favour of the man who
+subsequently owned to being Frederick Conyngham.&nbsp; And the
+very manner in which this admission was made redounded in some
+degree to the honour of the young Englishman.&nbsp; Here, at
+least, was one who had no fear, and fearlessness appeals to the
+heart of every Briton from the peer to the navvy.</p>
+<p>Sir John took a certain cold interest in his surroundings, and
+in due course was recommended to spend an evening at the
+Caf&eacute; des Ambassadeurs, as it styled itself, for the habit
+of preferring French to Spanish designations for places of
+refreshment had come in since the great revolution.&nbsp; Sir
+John went, therefore, to the caf&eacute;, and with characteristic
+scorn of elemental disturbance chose to resort thither on the
+evening of the great gale.&nbsp; The few other occupants of the
+gorgeous room eyed his half-bottle of claret with a grave and
+decorous wonder, but made no attempt to converse with this
+chill-looking Englishman.&nbsp; At length, about ten
+o&rsquo;clock or a few minutes later, entered one who bowed to
+Sir John with an air full of affable promise.&nbsp; This was
+Larralde, who called a waiter and bade him fetch a
+coat-brush.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Would you believe it, sir?&rsquo; he said, addressing
+Sir John in broken English, &lsquo;but I have just escaped a
+terrible death.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He shrugged his shoulders, spread out his hands, and laughed
+good-humouredly, after the manner of one who has no foes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The fall of a chimney&mdash;so&mdash;within a metre of
+my shoulder.&rsquo;&nbsp; He threw back his cloak with a graceful
+swing of the arm and handed it to the waiter.&nbsp; Then he drew
+forward a chair to the table occupied by Sir John, who sipped his
+claret and bowed coldly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You must not think that Madrid is always like
+this,&rsquo; said Larralde.&nbsp; &lsquo;But perhaps you know the
+city&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No&mdash;this is my first visit.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Larralde turned aside to give his order to the waiter.&nbsp;
+His movements were always picturesque, and in the presence of
+Englishmen he had a habit of accentuating those characteristics
+of speech and manner which are held by our countrymen to be
+native to the Peninsula.&nbsp; There is nothing so disarming as
+conventionality&mdash;and nothing less suspicious.&nbsp; Larralde
+seemed ever to be a typical Spaniard&mdash;indolently polite,
+gravely indifferent&mdash;a cigarette-smoking nonentity.</p>
+<p>They talked of topics of the day, and chiefly of that great
+event, the hurricane, which was still raging.&nbsp; Larralde,
+whose habit it was to turn his neighbour to account&mdash;a seed
+of greatness this!&mdash;had almost concluded that the Englishman
+was useless when the conversation turned, as it was almost bound
+to turn between these two, upon Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There are but few of your countrymen in Madrid at the
+moment,&rsquo; Larralde had said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know but one,&rsquo; was the guarded reply.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And I also,&rsquo; said Larralde, flicking the ash from
+his cigarette.&nbsp; &lsquo;A young fellow who has made himself
+somewhat notorious in the Royalist cause&mdash;a cause in which I
+admit I have no sympathy.&nbsp; His name is Conyngham.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Then a silence fell upon the two men, and over raised glasses
+they glanced surreptitiously at each other.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know him,&rsquo; said Sir John at length, and the
+tone of his voice made Larralde glance up with a sudden gleam in
+his eyes.&nbsp; There thus sprang into existence between them the
+closest of all bonds&mdash;a common foe.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The man has done me more than one ill-turn,&rsquo; said
+Larralde after a pause, and he drummed on the table with his
+cigarette-stained fingers.</p>
+<p>Sir John, looking at him, coldly gauged the Spaniard with the
+deadly skill of his calling.&nbsp; He noted that Larralde was
+poor and ambitious&mdash;qualities that often raise the devil in
+a human heart when fate brings them there together.&nbsp; He was
+not deceived by the picturesque manner of Julia&rsquo;s lover,
+but knew exactly how much was assumed of that air of simple
+vanity to which Larralde usually treated strangers.&nbsp; He
+probably gauged at one glance the depth of the man&rsquo;s power
+for good or ill, his sincerity, his possible usefulness.&nbsp; In
+the hands of Sir John Pleydell, Larralde was the merest tool.</p>
+<p>They sat until long after midnight, and before they parted Sir
+John Pleydell handed to his companion a roll of notes, which he
+counted carefully and Larralde accepted with a grand air of
+condescension and indifference.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You know my address,&rsquo; said Sir John, with a
+slight suggestion of masterfulness which had not been noticeable
+before the money changed hands.&nbsp; &lsquo;I shall remain at
+the same hotel.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Larralde nodded his head.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I shall remember it,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;And
+now I go to take a few hours&rsquo; rest.&nbsp; I have had a hard
+day, and am as tired as a shepherd&rsquo;s dog.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And indeed the day had been busy enough.&nbsp; Se&ntilde;or
+Larralde hummed an air between his teeth as he struggled against
+the fierce wind.</p>
+<p>Before dawn the gale subsided, and daylight broke with a
+clear, calm freshness over the city, where sleep had been almost
+unknown during the night.&nbsp; The sun had not yet risen when
+Larralde took the road on his poor, thin black horse.&nbsp; He
+rode through the streets, still littered with the
+<i>d&eacute;bris</i> of fallen chimneys, slates, and shutters,
+with his head up and his mind so full of the great schemes which
+gave him no rest, that he never saw Concep&ccedil;ion Vara going
+to market with a basket on his arm and a cigarette, unlighted,
+between his lips.&nbsp; Concep&ccedil;ion turned and watched the
+horseman, shrugged his shoulders, and quietly followed until the
+streets were left behind and there could no longer be any doubt
+that Larralde was bound for Toledo.</p>
+<p>Thither, indeed, he journeyed throughout the day with a
+leisureliness begotten of the desire to enter the ancient city
+after nightfall only.&nbsp; Toledo was at this time the
+smouldering hotbed of those political intrigues which some years
+later burst into flame, and resulted finally in the expulsion of
+the Bourbons from the throne of Spain.&nbsp; Larralde was
+sufficiently dangerous to require watching, and, like many of his
+kind, considered himself of a greater importance than his enemies
+were pleased to attach to him.&nbsp; The city of Toledo is, as
+many know, almost surrounded by the rapid Tagus, and entrance to
+its narrow confine is only to be gained by two gates.&nbsp; To
+pass either of these barriers in open day would be to court a
+publicity singularly undesirable at this time, for Esteban
+Larralde was slipping down the social slope, which gradual
+progress is the hardest to arrest.&nbsp; If one is mounting there
+are plenty to help him&mdash;those from above seeking to make
+unto themselves friends of the mammon of unrighteousness; those
+from below hoping to tread in the footsteps he may leave.&nbsp;
+Each step, however, of the upward progress has to be gained at
+the expense of another.&nbsp; But on the descent there are none
+to stay and many to push behind, while those in front make room
+readily enough.&nbsp; Larralde had for the first time accepted a
+direct monetary reward for his services.&nbsp; That this had been
+offered and accepted in a polite Spanish manner as an advance of
+expenses to be incurred was, of course, only natural under the
+circumstances, but the fact remained that Esteban Larralde was no
+longer a picturesque conspirator, serving a failing cause with
+that devotion which can only be repaid later by high honours, and
+a post carrying with it emoluments of proportionate value.&nbsp;
+He had, in fact, been paid in advance; which is the surest sign
+of distrust upon one side or the other.</p>
+<p>The Barennas had been established at their house in Toledo
+some weeks, and, for Julia, life had been dull enough.&nbsp; She
+had hastened northward, knowing well that her lover&rsquo;s
+intrigues must necessarily bring him to the neighbourhood of the
+capital&mdash;perhaps to Toledo itself.&nbsp; Larralde had,
+however, hitherto failed to come near her, and the news of the
+day reported an increasing depression in the ranks of the
+Carlists.&nbsp; Indeed, that cause seemed now at such a low ebb
+that the franker mercenaries were daily drifting away to more
+promising scenes of warfare, while some cynically accepted
+commissions in the army of Espartero.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I always said that Don Carlos would fail if he employed
+such men&mdash;as&mdash;well, as he does,&rsquo; Madame Barenna
+took more than one opportunity of observing at this time, and her
+emphatic fan rapped the personal application home.</p>
+<p>She had just made this remark for perhaps the sixth time one
+evening when the door of the patio where she and Julia sat was
+thrown open, and Larralde&mdash;the person indirectly referred
+to&mdash;came towards the ladies.&nbsp; He was not afraid of
+Madame Barenna, and his tired face lightened visibly at the sight
+of Julia.&nbsp; Concha was right.&nbsp; According to his lights
+Larralde loved Julia.&nbsp; She, who knew every expression, noted
+the look in his face, and her heart leapt within her
+breast.&nbsp; She had long secretly rejoiced over the failure of
+the Carlist cause.&nbsp; Such, messieurs, is the ambition of a
+woman for the man she really loves.</p>
+<p>Se&ntilde;ora Barenna rose and held out her hand with a
+beaming smile.&nbsp; She was rather bored that evening, and it
+was pleasant to imagine herself in the midst of great political
+intrigues.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We were wondering if you would come,&rsquo; she
+said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am here&mdash;there&mdash;everywhere&mdash;but I
+always come back to the Casa Barenna,&rsquo; he said
+gallantly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You look tired,&rsquo; said Julia quietly.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Where are you from?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;At the moment I am from Madrid.&nbsp; The city has been
+wrecked by a tornado&mdash;I myself almost perished.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused, shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What will you?&rsquo; he added carelessly.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;What is life&mdash;a single life&mdash;in Spain
+to-day?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Julia winced.&nbsp; It is marvellous how an intelligent woman
+may blind herself into absolute belief in one man.&nbsp;
+Se&ntilde;ora Barenna shuddered.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Blessed Heaven!&rsquo; she whispered.&nbsp; &lsquo;Why
+does not someone do something?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One does one&rsquo;s best,&rsquo; answered Larralde,
+with his hand at his moustache.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But yes!&rsquo; said Madame eagerly.&nbsp; She had a
+shrewd common sense, as many apparently foolish women have, and
+probably put the right value on Se&ntilde;or Larralde&rsquo;s
+endeavours.&nbsp; Father Concha and the General were, however,
+far away, and all women are time-servers.</p>
+<p>Larralde spoke of general news, and when he at length proposed
+to Julia that they should take a &lsquo;paseo&rsquo; in the
+garden the elder lady made no objection.&nbsp; For some moments
+Julia was quite happy.&nbsp; She had schooled herself into a sort
+of contentment in the hope that her turn would come when ambition
+failed.&nbsp; Perhaps this moment had arrived.&nbsp; At all
+events, Larralde acquitted himself well, and seemed sincere
+enough in his joy at seeing her again.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you love me?&rsquo; he asked suddenly.</p>
+<p>Julia gave a little laugh.&nbsp; Heaven has been opened by
+such a laugh ere now, and men have seen for a moment the
+brightness of it.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Enough to leave Spain for ever and live in another
+country?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Enough to risk something now for my sake?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Enough to risk everything,&rsquo; she answered.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have tried to gain a great position for you,&rsquo;
+went on Larralde, &lsquo;and fortune has been against me.&nbsp; I
+have failed.&nbsp; The Carlist cause is dead, Julia.&nbsp; Our
+chief has failed us&mdash;that is the truth of it.&nbsp; We set
+him up as a king, but unless we hold him upright he falls.&nbsp;
+He is a man of straw.&nbsp; We are making one last effort, as you
+know, but it is a dangerous one, and we have had
+misfortunes.&nbsp; This pestilential Englishman!&nbsp; No one may
+say how much he knows.&nbsp; He has had the letter too long in
+his possession for our safety.&nbsp; But I have outwitted him
+this time.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Larralde paused, and drew from his pocket the letter in the
+pink envelope&mdash;somewhat soiled by its passage through the
+hands of Colonel Monreal&rsquo;s servant.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It requires two more signatures and will then be
+complete,&rsquo; said the upholder of Don Carlos.&nbsp; &lsquo;We
+shall then make our &ldquo;coup,&rdquo; but we cannot move while
+Conyngham remains in Spain.&nbsp; It would never do for me
+to&mdash;well, to get shot at this moment.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Julia breathed hard.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And that is what Mr. Conyngham is endeavouring to bring
+about.&nbsp; In the first place he wants this letter to show to
+Estella Vincente&mdash;some foolish romance.&nbsp; In the second
+place he hates me, and seeks promotion in the Royalist
+ranks.&nbsp; These Englishmen are unscrupulous.&nbsp; He tried to
+take my life&mdash;only last night.&nbsp; I bear him no
+ill-feeling.&nbsp; <i>A la guerre comme &agrave; la
+guerre</i>.&nbsp; My only intention is to get him quietly out of
+Spain.&nbsp; It can be managed easily enough.&nbsp; Will you help
+me&mdash;to save my own life?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; answered Julia.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I want you to write a letter to Conyngham saying that
+you are tired of political intrigue.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Heaven knows that would be true enough,&rsquo; put in
+Julia.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And that you will give him the letter he desires on the
+condition that he promises to show it to no one but Estella
+Vincente and return it to you.&nbsp; That you will also swear
+that it is the identical letter that he handed to you in the
+General&rsquo;s garden at Ronda.&nbsp; If Conyngham agrees, he
+must meet you at the back of the Church of Santo Tome in the
+Calle Pedro Martir here, in Toledo, next Monday evening at seven
+o&rsquo;clock.&nbsp; Will you write this letter,
+Julia?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And Estella Vincente?&rsquo; inquired Julia.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;She will forget him in a week,&rsquo; laughed
+Larralde.</p>
+<h2><a name="page208"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+208</span>CHAPTER XIX<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">CONCEP&Ccedil;ION TAKES THE
+ROAD</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">&lsquo;Who knows? the
+man is proven by the hour.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><span class="smcap">After</span> the great storm came a calm
+almost as startling.&nbsp; It seemed indeed as if Nature stood
+abashed and silent before the results of her sudden rage.&nbsp;
+Day after day the sun glared down from a cloudless sky, and all
+Castile was burnt brown as a desert.&nbsp; In the streets of
+Madrid there arose a hot dust and the subtle odour of warm earth
+that rarely meets the nostrils in England.&nbsp; It savoured of
+India and other sun-steeped lands where water is too precious to
+throw upon the roads.</p>
+<p>Those who could, remained indoors or in their shady patios
+until the heat of the day was past; and such as worked in the
+open lay unchallenged in the shade from midday till three
+o&rsquo;clock.&nbsp; During those days military operations were
+almost suspended, although the heads of departments were busy
+enough in their offices.&nbsp; The confusion of war, it seemed,
+was past, and the sore-needed peace was immediately turned to
+good account.&nbsp; The army of the Queen Regent was indeed in an
+almost wrecked condition, and among the field officers jealousy
+and backbiting, which had smouldered through the war-time, broke
+out openly.&nbsp; General Vincente was rarely at home, and
+Estella passed this time in quiet seclusion.&nbsp; Coming as she
+did from Andalusia, she was accustomed to an even greater heat,
+and knew how to avoid the discomfort of it.</p>
+<p>She was sitting one afternoon, with open windows and closed
+jalousies, during the time of the siesta, when the servant
+announced Father Concha.</p>
+<p>The old priest came into the room wiping his brow with simple
+ill manners.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have been hurrying and have no regard for the
+sun,&rsquo; said Estella.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You need not find shelter for an old ox,&rsquo; replied
+Concha, seating himself.&nbsp; &lsquo;It is the young ones that
+expose themselves unnecessarily.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella glanced at him sharply but said nothing.&nbsp; He sat,
+handkerchief in hand, and stared at a shaft of sunlight that lay
+across the floor from a gap in the jalousies.&nbsp; From the
+street under the windows came the distant sounds of traffic and
+the cries of the vendors of water, fruit, and newspapers.</p>
+<p>Father Concha looked puzzled, and seemed to be seeking his way
+out of a difficulty.&nbsp; Estella sat back in her chair, half
+hidden by her slow-waving, black fan.&nbsp; There is no pride so
+difficult as that which is unconscious of its own existence, no
+heart so hard to touch as that which has thrown its stake and
+asks neither sympathy nor admiration from the outside
+world.&nbsp; Concha glanced at Estella and wondered if he had
+been mistaken.&nbsp; There was in the old man&rsquo;s heart, as
+indeed there is in nearly all human hearts, a thwarted
+instinct.&nbsp; How many are there with maternal instincts who
+have no children; how many a poet has been lost by the crying
+need of hungry mouths!&nbsp; It was a thwarted instinct that made
+the old priest busy himself with the affairs of other people, and
+always of young people.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I came hoping to see your father,&rsquo; he said at
+length, blandly untruthful.&nbsp; &lsquo;I have just seen
+Conyngham, in whom we are all interested, I think.&nbsp; His lack
+of caution is singular.&nbsp; I have been trying to persuade him
+not to do something most rash and imprudent.&nbsp; You remember
+the incident in your garden at Ronda&mdash;a letter which he gave
+to Julia?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; answered Estella quietly, &lsquo;I
+remember.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For some reason which he did not explain I understand
+that he is desirous of regaining possession of that letter, and
+now Julia, writing from Toledo, tells him that she will give it
+to him if he will go there and fetch it.&nbsp; The Toledo road,
+as you will remember, is hardly to be recommended to Mr.
+Conyngham.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But Julia wishes him no harm,&rsquo; said Estella.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My child, rarely trust a political man and never a
+political woman.&nbsp; If Julia wished him to have the letter she
+could have sent it to him by post.&nbsp; But Conyngham, who is
+all eagerness, must needs refuse to listen to any argument, and
+starts this afternoon for Toledo&mdash;alone.&nbsp; He has not
+even his servant Concep&ccedil;ion Vara, who has suddenly
+disappeared, and a woman who claims to be the scoundrel&rsquo;s
+wife from Algeciras has been making inquiries at
+Conyngham&rsquo;s lodging.&nbsp; A hen&rsquo;s eyes are where her
+eggs lie.&nbsp; I offered to go to Toledo with Conyngham, but he
+laughed at me for a useless old priest, and said that the saddle
+would gall me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused, looking at her beneath his shaggy brows, knowing,
+as he had always known, that this was a woman beyond his
+reach&mdash;cleverer, braver, of a higher mind than her
+sisters&mdash;one to whom he might perchance tender some small
+assistance, but nothing better.&nbsp; For women are wiser in
+their generation than men, and usually know better what is for
+their own happiness.&nbsp; Estella returned his glance with
+steady eyes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He has gone,&rsquo; said Concha.&nbsp; &lsquo;I have
+not been sent to tell you that he is going.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I did not think that you had,&rsquo; she answered.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Conyngham has enemies in this country,&rsquo; continued
+the priest, &lsquo;and despises them&mdash;a mistake to which his
+countrymen are singularly liable.&nbsp; He has gone off on this
+foolish quest without preparation or precaution.&nbsp; Toledo is,
+as you know, a hotbed of intrigue and dissatisfaction.&nbsp; All
+the malcontents in Spain congregate there, and Conyngham would do
+well to avoid their company.&nbsp; Who lies down with dogs gets
+up with fleas.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused, tapping his snuffbox, and at that moment the door
+opened to admit General Vincente.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh! the Padre!&rsquo; cried the cheerful soldier.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;But what a sun, eh?&nbsp; It is cool here, however, and
+Estella&rsquo;s room is always a quiet one.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He touched her cheek affectionately, and drew forward a low
+chair wherein he sat, carefully disposing of the sword that
+always seemed too large for him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what news has the Padre?&rsquo; he asked, daintily
+touching his brow with his pocket-handkerchief.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Bad,&rsquo; growled Concha, and then told his tale over
+again in a briefer, blunter manner.&nbsp; &lsquo;It all
+arises,&rsquo; he concluded, &lsquo;from my pestilential habit of
+interfering in the affairs of other people.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said General Vincente; &lsquo;it arises from
+Conyngham&rsquo;s pestilential habit of acquiring friends
+wherever he goes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The door was opened again, and a servant entered.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Excellency,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;a man called
+Concep&ccedil;ion Vara, who desires a moment.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What did I tell you?&rsquo; said the General to
+Concha.&nbsp; &lsquo;Another of Conyngham&rsquo;s friends.&nbsp;
+Spain is full of them.&nbsp; Let Concep&ccedil;ion Vara come to
+this room.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The servant looked slightly surprised, and retired.&nbsp; If,
+however, this manner of reception was unusual, Concep&ccedil;ion
+was too finished a man of the world to betray either surprise or
+embarrassment.&nbsp; By good fortune he happened to be wearing a
+coat.&nbsp; His flowing unstarched shirt was as usual spotless,
+he wore a flower in the ribbon of the hat carried jauntily in his
+hand, and about his person in the form of handkerchief and faja
+were those touches of bright colour by means of which he so
+irresistibly attracted the eye of the fair.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Excellency,&rsquo; he murmured, bowing on the
+threshold; &lsquo;Reverendo,&rsquo; with one step forward and a
+respectful semi-religious inclination of the head towards Concha;
+&lsquo;Se&ntilde;orita!&rsquo;&nbsp; The ceremony here concluded
+with a profound obeisance to Estella full of gallantry and grave
+admiration.&nbsp; Then he stood upright, and indicated by a
+pleasant smile that no one need feel embarrassed, that in fact
+this meeting was most opportune.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A matter of urgency, Excellency,&rsquo; he said
+confidentially to Vincente.&nbsp; &lsquo;I have reason to suspect
+that one of my friends&mdash;in fact, the Se&ntilde;or Conyngham,
+with whom I am at the moment in service&mdash;happens to be in
+danger.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah! what makes you suspect that, my friend?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion waved his hand lightly, as if indicating
+that the news had been brought to him by the birds of the
+air.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;When one goes into the caf&eacute;,&rsquo; he said,
+&lsquo;one is not always so particular&mdash;one associates with
+those who happen to be there&mdash;muleteers, diligencia-drivers,
+bull-fighters, all and sundry, even contrabandistas.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He made this last admission with a face full of pious
+toleration, and Father Concha laughed grimly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That is true, my friend,&rsquo; said the General,
+hastening to cover the priest&rsquo;s little lapse of good
+manners, &lsquo;and from these gentlemen&mdash;honest enough in
+their way, no doubt&mdash;you have learnt&mdash;?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That the Se&ntilde;or Conyngham has enemies in
+Spain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So I understand; but he has also friends?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He has one,&rsquo; said Vara, taking up a fine,
+picturesque attitude, with his right hand at his waist where the
+deadly knife was concealed in the rolls of his faja.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then he is fortunate,&rsquo; said the General, with his
+most winning smile; &lsquo;why do you come to me, my
+friend.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I require two men,&rsquo; answered Concep&ccedil;ion
+airily, &lsquo;that is all.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&nbsp; What sort of men.&nbsp; Guardias
+Civiles?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Holy Saints forbid!&nbsp; Honest soldiers, if it
+please your Excellency.&nbsp; The Guardia Civil!&nbsp; See you,
+Excellency.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused, shaking his outspread hand from side to side, palm
+downwards, fingers apart, as if describing a low level of
+humanity.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A brutal set of men,&rsquo; he continued; &lsquo;with
+the finger ever on the trigger and the rifle ever loaded.&nbsp;
+Pam! and a life is taken&mdash;many of my friends&mdash;at least,
+many persons I have met&mdash;in the caf&eacute;!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is better to give him his two men,&rsquo; put in
+Father Concha, in his atrocious English, speaking to the
+General.&nbsp; &lsquo;The man is honest in his love of Conyngham,
+if in nothing else.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And if I accord you these two men, my friend,&rsquo;
+said the General, from whose face Estella&rsquo;s eyes had never
+moved, &lsquo;will you undertake that Mr. Conyngham comes to no
+harm?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will arrange it,&rsquo; replied Concep&ccedil;ion,
+with an easy shrug of the shoulders.&nbsp; &lsquo;I will arrange
+it, never fear.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You shall have two men,&rsquo; said General Vincente,
+drawing a writing-case towards himself and proceeding to write
+the necessary order.&nbsp; &lsquo;Men who are known to me
+personally.&nbsp; You can rely upon them at all times.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Since they are friends of his
+Excellency&rsquo;s,&rsquo; interrupted Concep&ccedil;ion with
+much condescension, &lsquo;that suffices.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He will require money,&rsquo; said Estella in
+English&mdash;her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed.&nbsp; For
+she came of a fighting race, and her repose of manner, the
+dignity which sat rather strangely on her slim young shoulders,
+were only signs of that self-control which had been handed down
+to her through the ages.</p>
+<p>The General nodded as he wrote.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Take that to headquarters,&rsquo; he said, handing the
+papers to Concep&ccedil;ion, &lsquo;and in less than half an hour
+your men will be ready.&nbsp; Mr. Conyngham is a friend of mine,
+as you know, and any expenses incurred on his behalf will be
+defrayed by myself&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion held up his hand.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is unnecessary, Excellency,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;At present Mr. Conyngham has funds.&nbsp; Only yesterday
+he gave me money.&nbsp; He liquidated my little account.&nbsp; It
+has always been a jest between us&mdash;that little
+account.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He laughed pleasantly, and moved towards the door.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Vara,&rsquo; said Father Concha.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, reverendo.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If I meet your wife in Madrid, what shall I say to
+her?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion turned and looked into the smiling face of
+the old priest.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In Madrid, reverendo?&nbsp; How can you think of such a
+thing?&nbsp; My wife lives in Algeciras, and at times, see
+you&mdash;&rsquo; he stopped, casting his eyes up to the ceiling
+and fetching an exaggerated sigh, &lsquo;at times my heart
+aches.&nbsp; But now I must get to the saddle.&nbsp; What a thing
+is Duty, reverendo!&nbsp; Duty!&nbsp; God be with your
+Excellencies.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And he hurried out of the room.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If you would make a thief honest, trust him,&rsquo;
+said Concha, when the door was closed.</p>
+<p>In less than an hour Concep&ccedil;ion was on the road
+accompanied by two troopers, who were ready enough to travel in
+company with a man of his reputation.&nbsp; For in Spain, if one
+cannot be a bull-fighter it is good to be a smuggler.&nbsp; At
+sunset the great heat culminated in a thunderstorm, which drew a
+veil of heavy cloud across the sky, and night fell before its
+time.</p>
+<p>The horsemen had covered two-thirds of their journey when he
+whom they followed came in sight of the lights of Toledo, set
+upon a rock like the jewels in a lady&rsquo;s ring, and almost
+surrounded by the swift Tagus.&nbsp; Conyngham&rsquo;s horse was
+tired, and stumbled more than once on the hill by which the
+traveller descends to the great bridge and the gate that Wamba
+built thirteen hundred years ago.</p>
+<p>Through this gate he passed into the city, which was a city of
+the dead, with its hundred ruined churches, its empty palaces and
+silent streets.&nbsp; Ichabod is written large over all these
+tokens of a bygone glory; where the Jews flying from Jerusalem
+first set foot; where the Moor reigned unmolested for nearly four
+hundred years; where the Goth and the Roman and the great
+Spaniard of the middle ages have trod on each other&rsquo;s
+heels.&nbsp; Truly these worn stones have seen the greatness of
+the greatest nations of the world.</p>
+<p>A single lamp hung slowly swinging in the arch of
+Wamba&rsquo;s Gate, and the streets were but ill lighted with an
+oil lantern at an occasional corner.&nbsp; Conyngham had been in
+Toledo before, and knew his way to the inn under the shadow of
+the great Alcazar, now burnt and ruined.&nbsp; Here he left his
+horse; for the streets of Toledo are so narrow and tortuous, so
+ill-paved and steep, that wheel traffic is almost unknown, while
+a horse can with difficulty keep his feet on the rounded cobble
+stones.&nbsp; In this city men go about their business on foot,
+which makes the streets as silent as the deserted houses.</p>
+<p>Julia had selected a spot which was easy enough to find, and
+Conyngham, having supped, made his way thither without asking for
+directions.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is at all events worth trying,&rsquo; he said to
+himself, &lsquo;and she can scarcely have forgotten that I saved
+her life on the Garonne as well as at Ronda.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>But there is often in a woman&rsquo;s life one man who can
+make her forget all.&nbsp; The streets were deserted, for it was
+a cold night, and the caf&eacute;s were carefully closed against
+the damp air.&nbsp; No one stirred in the Calle Pedro Martir, and
+Conyngham peered into the shadow of the high wall of the Church
+of San Tome in vain.&nbsp; Then he heard the soft tread of
+muffled feet, and turning on his heel realised Julia&rsquo;s
+treachery in a flash of thought.&nbsp; He charged to meet the
+charge of his assailants.&nbsp; Two of them went down like felled
+trees, but there were others&mdash;four others&mdash;who fell on
+him silently like hounds upon a fox, and in a few moments all was
+quiet again in the Calle Pedro Martir.</p>
+<h2><a name="page220"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+220</span>CHAPTER XX<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">ON THE TALAVERA ROAD</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">&lsquo;Les
+barri&egrave;res servent &agrave; indiquer o&ugrave; il faut
+passer.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><span class="smcap">An</span> hour&rsquo;s ride to the west of
+Toledo, on the road to Torrijos and Talavera, and in the
+immediate neighbourhood of the village of Galvez, two men sat in
+the shadow of a great rock, and played cards.&nbsp; They played
+quietly and without vociferation, illustrating the advantages of
+a minute coinage.&nbsp; They had gambled with varying fortune
+since the hour of the siesta, and a sprinkling of cigarette ends
+on the bare rocks around them testified to the indulgence in a
+kindred vice.</p>
+<p>The elder of the two men glanced from time to time over his
+shoulder, and down towards the dusty high road which lay across
+the arid plain beneath them like a tape.&nbsp; The country here
+is barren and stone-ridden, but to the west, where Torrijos
+gleamed whitely on the plain, the earth was green with lush corn
+and heavy blades of maize, now springing into ear.&nbsp; Where
+the two soldiers sat the herbage was scant and of an aromatic
+scent, as it mostly is in hot countries and in rocky
+places.&nbsp; That these men belonged to a mounted branch of the
+service was evident from their equipment, and notably from the
+great rusty spurs at their heels.&nbsp; They were clad in
+cotton&mdash;dusky white breeches, dusky blue tunics&mdash;a sort
+of undress, tempered by the vicissitudes of a long war and the
+laxity of discipline engendered by political trouble at home.</p>
+<p>They had left their horses in the stable of a venta, hidden
+among ilex trees by the roadside, and had clambered to this point
+of vantage above the highway, to pass the afternoon after the
+manner of their race.&nbsp; For the Spaniard will be found
+playing cards amid the wreck of the world and in the intervals
+between the stupendous events of the last day.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He comes,&rsquo; said the elder man at length, as he
+leisurely shuffled the greasy cards.&nbsp; &lsquo;I hear his
+horse&rsquo;s hoofs.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And, indeed, the great silence which seems to brood over the
+uplands of Spain&mdash;the silence, as it were, of an historic
+past and a dead present&mdash;was broken by the distant regular
+beat of hoofs.</p>
+<p>The trooper who had spoken was a bullet-headed Castilian, with
+square jaw and close-set eyes.&nbsp; His companion, a younger
+man, merely nodded his head, and studied the cards which had just
+been dealt to him.&nbsp; The game progressed, and
+Concep&ccedil;ion Vara, on the Toledo road, approached at a
+steady trot.&nbsp; This man showed to greater advantage on
+horseback and beneath God&rsquo;s open sky than in the streets of
+a city.&nbsp; Here, in the open and among the mountains, he held
+his head erect and faced the world, ready to hold his own against
+it.&nbsp; In the streets he wore a furtive air, and glanced from
+left to right fearing recognition.</p>
+<p>He now took his tired horse to the stable of the little venta,
+where, with his usual gallantry, he assisted a hideous old hag to
+find a place in the stalls.&nbsp; While uttering a gay
+compliment, he deftly secured for his mount a feed of corn which
+was much in excess of that usually provided for the money.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; he said, as he tipped the measure; &lsquo;I
+can always tell when a woman has been pretty; but with you,
+se&ntilde;ora, no such knowledge is required.&nbsp; You will have
+your beauty for many years yet.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Thus Vara and his horse fared ever well upon the road.&nbsp;
+He lingered at the stable door, knowing perhaps that corn poured
+into the manger may yet find its way back to the bin, and then
+turned his steps towards the mountain.</p>
+<p>The cards were still falling with a whispering sound upon the
+rock selected as a table, and, with the spirit of a true
+sportsman, Concep&ccedil;ion waited until the hand was played out
+before imparting his news.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is well,&rsquo; he said at length.&nbsp; &lsquo;A
+carriage has been ordered from a friend of mine in Toledo to take
+the road to-night to Talavera&mdash;and Talavera is on the way to
+Lisbon.&nbsp; What did I tell you?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The two soldiers nodded.&nbsp; One was counting his gains,
+which amounted to almost threepence.&nbsp; The loser wore a brave
+air of indifference, as behoved a reckless soldier taking loss or
+gain in a Spartan spirit.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There will be six men,&rsquo; continued
+Concep&ccedil;ion.&nbsp; &lsquo;Two on horseback, two on the box,
+two inside the carriage with their prisoner&mdash;my
+friend.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; said the younger soldier thoughtfully.</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion looked at him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What have you in your mind?&rsquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I was wondering how three men could best kill
+six.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Out of six,&rsquo; said the older man, &lsquo;there is
+always one who runs away.&nbsp; I have found it so in my
+experience.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And of five there is always one who cannot use his
+knife,&rsquo; added Concep&ccedil;ion.</p>
+<p>Still the younger soldier, who had medals all across his
+chest, shook his head.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am afraid,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;I am always
+afraid before I fight.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion looked at the man whom General Vincente had
+selected from a brigade of tried soldiers, and gave a little
+upward jerk of the head.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;With me,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;it is
+afterwards&mdash;when all is over.&nbsp; Then my hand shakes, and
+the wet trickles down my face.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He laughed, and spread out his hands.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And yet,&rsquo; he said gaily, &lsquo;it is the best
+game of all&mdash;is it not so?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The troopers shrugged their shoulders.&nbsp; One may have too
+much of even the best game.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The carriage is ordered for eight o&rsquo;clock,&rsquo;
+continued the practical Concep&ccedil;ion, rolling a cigarette,
+which he placed behind his ear where a clerk would carry his
+pen.&nbsp; &lsquo;Those who take the road when the night-birds
+come abroad have something to hide.&nbsp; We will see what they
+have in their carriage, eh?&nbsp; The horses are hired for the
+journey to Galvez, where a relay is doubtless ordered.&nbsp; It
+will be a fine night for a journey.&nbsp; There is a half moon,
+which is better than the full for those who use the knife; but
+the Galvez horses will not be required, I think.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The younger soldier, upon whose shoulder gleamed the stars of
+a rapid promotion, looked up to the sky, where a few fleecy
+clouds were beginning to gather above the setting sun like sheep
+about a gate.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A half moon for the knife and a full moon for
+firearms,&rsquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes; and they will shoot quick enough if we give them
+the chance,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion.&nbsp; &lsquo;They are
+Carlists!&nbsp; There is a river between this and Galvez&mdash;a
+little stream such as we have in Andalusia&mdash;so small that
+there is only a ford and no bridge.&nbsp; The bed of the river is
+soft; the horses will stop, or, at all events, must go at the
+walking pace.&nbsp; Across the stream are a few trees&rsquo; (he
+paused, illustrating his description with rapid gestures and an
+imaginary diagram drawn upon the rock with the forefinger),
+&lsquo;ilex, and here, to the left, some pines.&nbsp; The stream
+runs thus from north-east to south-west.&nbsp; This bank is high,
+and over here are low-lying meadows where pigs feed.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He looked up, and the two soldiers nodded.&nbsp; The position
+lay before them like a bird&rsquo;s-eye view; and
+Concep&ccedil;ion, in whom Spain had perhaps lost a guerilla
+general, had only set eyes on the spot once as he rode past
+it.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;This matter is best settled on foot; is it not
+so?&nbsp; We cross the stream, and tie our horses to the pine
+trees.&nbsp; I will recross the water, and come back to meet the
+carriage at the top of the hill&mdash;here.&nbsp; The horsemen
+will be in advance.&nbsp; We will allow them to cross the
+stream.&nbsp; The horses will come out of the water slowly, or I
+know nothing of horses.&nbsp; As they step up the incline, you
+take their riders, and remember to give them the chance of
+running away.&nbsp; In midstream I will attack the two on the
+box, pulling him who is not driving into the water by his legs,
+and giving him the blade in the right shoulder above the
+lung.&nbsp; He will think himself dead, but should recover.&nbsp;
+Then you must join me.&nbsp; We shall be three to three, unless
+the Englishman&rsquo;s hands are loose; then we shall be four to
+three, and need do no man any injury.&nbsp; The Englishman is as
+strong as two, and quick with it, as big men rarely
+are.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you take a hand?&rsquo; asked the Castilian,
+fingering the cards.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No; I have affairs.&nbsp; Continue your
+game.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>So the sun went down, and the two soldiers continued their
+game, while Concep&ccedil;ion sat beside them and slowly,
+lovingly sharpened his knife on a piece of slate which he carried
+in his pocket for the purpose.</p>
+<p>After sunset there usually arises a cold breeze which blows
+across the table-lands of Castile quite gently and
+unobtrusively.&nbsp; A local proverb says of this wind that it
+will extinguish a man but not a candle.&nbsp; When this arose,
+the three men descended the mountain-side and sat down to a
+simple if highly-flavoured meal provided by the ancient mistress
+of the venta.&nbsp; At half-past eight, when there remained
+nothing of the day but a faint greenish light in the western sky,
+the little party mounted their horses and rode away towards
+Galvez.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&rsquo;Tis better,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion, with
+a meaning and gallant bow to the hostess.&nbsp; &lsquo;&rsquo;Tis
+for my peace of mind.&nbsp; I am but a man.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Then he haggled over the price of the supper.</p>
+<p>They rode forward to the ford described by Concep&ccedil;ion,
+and there made their preparations&mdash;carefully and
+coolly&mdash;as men recognising the odds against them.&nbsp; The
+half moon was just rising as the soldiers splashed through the
+water leading Concep&ccedil;ion&rsquo;s horse, he remaining on
+the Toledo side of the river.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The saints protect us!&rsquo; said the nervous soldier,
+and his hand shook on the bridle.&nbsp; His companion smiled at
+the recollection of former fights passed through together.&nbsp;
+It is well, in love and war, to beware of him who says he is
+afraid.</p>
+<p>Shortly after nine o&rsquo;clock the silence of that deserted
+plain was broken by a distant murmur, which presently shaped
+itself into the beat of horses&rsquo; feet.&nbsp; To this was
+added soon the rumble of wheels.&nbsp; The elder soldier put a
+whole cigarette into his mouth and chewed it.&nbsp; The younger
+man made no movement now.&nbsp; They crouched low at their posts
+one on each side of the ford.&nbsp; Concep&ccedil;ion was across
+the river, but they could not see him.&nbsp; In Andalusia they
+say that a contrabandist can conceal himself behind half a
+brick.</p>
+<p>The two riders were well in front of the carriage, and, as had
+been foreseen, the horses lingered on the rise of the bank as if
+reluctant to leave the water without having tasted it.&nbsp; In a
+moment the younger soldier had his man out of the saddle, raising
+his own knee sharply as the man fell, so that the falling head
+and the lifted knee came into deadly contact.&nbsp; It was a
+trick well known to the trooper, who let the insensible form roll
+to the ground, and immediately darted down the bank to the
+stream.&nbsp; The other soldier was chasing his opponent up the
+hill, shelling him, as he rode away, with oaths and stones.</p>
+<p>In mid-stream the clumsy travelling carriage had come to a
+standstill.&nbsp; The driver on the box, having cast down his
+reins, was engaged in imploring the assistance of a black-letter
+saint, upon which assistance he did not hesitate to put a price,
+in candles.&nbsp; There was a scurrying in the water, which was
+about two feet deep, where Concep&ccedil;ion was settling
+accounts with the man who had been seated by the driver&rsquo;s
+side.&nbsp; A half-choked scream of pain appeared to indicate
+that Concep&ccedil;ion had found the spot he sought, above the
+right lung, and that amiable smuggler now rose dripping from the
+flood and hurried to the carriage.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Conyngham!&rsquo; he shouted, laying aside that
+ceremony upon which he never set great store.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; answered a voice from within.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Is that you, Concep&ccedil;ion?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of course; throw them out.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But the door is locked,&rsquo; answered Conyngham in a
+muffled voice.&nbsp; And the carriage began to rock and crack
+upon its springs, as if an earthquake were taking place inside
+it.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The window is good enough for such rubbish,&rsquo; said
+Concep&ccedil;ion.&nbsp; As he spoke a man, violently propelled
+from within, came head foremost, and most blasphemously
+vociferous, into Concep&ccedil;ion&rsquo;s arms, who immediately,
+and with the rapidity of a terrier, had him by the throat and
+forced him under water.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have hold of my leg&mdash;you, on the other
+side,&rsquo; shouted Conyngham from the turmoil within.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A thousand pardons, se&ntilde;or!&rsquo; said the
+soldier, and took a new grip of another limb.</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion, holding his man under water, heard the
+sharp crack of another head upon the soldier&rsquo;s kneecap, and
+knew that all was well.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That is all?&rsquo; he inquired.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That is all,&rsquo; replied the soldier, who did not
+seem at all nervous now.&nbsp; &lsquo;And we have killed no
+one.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Put a knife into that son of a mule who prays upon the
+box there,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion judicially.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;This is no time for prayer.&nbsp; Just where the neck
+joins the shoulder&mdash;that is a good place.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And a sudden silence reigned upon the box.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Pull the carriage to the bank,&rsquo; commanded
+Concep&ccedil;ion.&nbsp; &lsquo;There is no need for the English
+Excellency to wet his feet.&nbsp; He might catch a
+cold.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>They all made their way to the bank, where, in the dim
+moonlight, one man sat nursing his shoulder while another lay, at
+length, quite still, upon the pebbles.</p>
+<p>The young soldier laid a second victim to the same deadly
+trick beside him, while Concep&ccedil;ion patted his foe kindly
+on the back.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is well,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;you have swallowed
+water.&nbsp; You will be sick, and then you will be well.&nbsp;
+But if you move from that spot I will let the water out another
+way.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And, laughing pleasantly at this delicate display of humour,
+he turned to help Conyngham, who was clambering out of the
+carriage window.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Whom have you with you?&rsquo; asked Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Two honest soldiers of General Vincente&rsquo;s
+division.&nbsp; You see, se&ntilde;or, you have good
+friends.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, I see that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One of them,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion meaningly,
+&lsquo;is at Toledo at the moment, journeying after you.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Se&ntilde;or Pleydell.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then we will go back to meet him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I thought so,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion.</p>
+<h2><a name="page231"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+231</span>CHAPTER XXI<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">A CROSS-EXAMINATION</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">&lsquo;Wherein I am
+false I am honest&mdash;not true to be true.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&lsquo;I <span class="smcap">will</span> sing you a
+contrabandista song,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion, as the party
+rode towards Toledo in the moonlight.&nbsp; &lsquo;The song
+we&mdash;they sing when the venture has been successful.&nbsp;
+You may hear it any dark night in the streets of
+Gaucin.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sing,&rsquo; said the older soldier, &lsquo;if it is in
+your lungs.&nbsp; For us&mdash;we prefer to travel
+silent.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham, mounted on the horse from which the Carlist rider
+had been dragged unceremoniously enough, rode a few paces in
+front.&nbsp; The carriage had been left behind at the venta,
+where no questions were asked, and the injured men revived
+readily enough.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is well,&rsquo; answered Concep&ccedil;ion, in no
+way abashed.&nbsp; &lsquo;I will sing.&nbsp; In Andalusia we can
+all sing.&nbsp; The pigs sing better there than the men of
+Castile.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>It was after midnight when the party rode past the Church of
+the Cristo de la Vega, and faced the long hill that leads to the
+gate Del Cambron.&nbsp; Above them towered the city of
+Toledo&mdash;silent and dreamlike.&nbsp; Concep&ccedil;ion had
+ceased singing now, and the hard breathing of the horses alone
+broke the silence.&nbsp; The Tagus, emerging here from rocky
+fastness, flowed noiselessly away to the west&mdash;a gleaming
+ribbon laid across the breast of the night.&nbsp; In the summer
+it is no uncommon thing for travellers to take the road by night
+in Spain, and although many doubtless heard the clatter of
+horses&rsquo; feet on the polished cobble stones of the city,
+none rose from bed to watch the horsemen pass.</p>
+<p>At that time Toledo possessed, and indeed to the present day
+can boast of, but one good inn&mdash;a picturesque old house in
+the Plaza de Zocodover, overhung by the mighty Alcazar.&nbsp;
+Here Cervantes must have eaten and Lazarillo de Tormes no doubt
+caroused.&nbsp; Here those melancholy men and mighty humorists
+must have delighted the idler by their talk.&nbsp;
+Concep&ccedil;ion soon aroused the sleeping porter, and the great
+doors being thrown open, the party passed into the courtyard
+without quitting the saddle.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion, &lsquo;an English
+Excellency and his suite.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We have another such in the house,&rsquo; answered the
+sleepy doorkeeper, &lsquo;though he travels with but one
+servant.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We know that, my friend, which is the reason why we
+patronise your dog-hole of an inn.&nbsp; See that the two
+Excellencies breakfast together at a table apart in the
+morning.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You will have matters to speak about with the
+Se&ntilde;or Pleydell in the morning,&rsquo; said
+Concep&ccedil;ion, as he unpacked Conyngham&rsquo;s luggage a few
+minutes later.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, I should like to speak to Se&ntilde;or
+Pleydell.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And I,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion, turning round
+with a brush in his hand, &lsquo;should like a moment&rsquo;s
+conversation with Se&ntilde;or Larralde.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, Excellency, he is in this matter too.&nbsp; But
+the Se&ntilde;or Larralde is so modest&mdash;so modest!&nbsp; He
+always remains in the background.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>In the tents of Kedar men sleep as sound as those who lie on
+soft pillows, and Conyngham was late astir the next
+morning.&nbsp; Sir John Pleydell was, it transpired, already at
+his breakfast, and had ordered his carriage for an early hour to
+take the road to Talavera.&nbsp; It was thus evident that Sir
+John knew nothing of the arrival of his fellow-countryman at
+midnight.</p>
+<p>The cold face of the great lawyer wore a look of satisfaction
+as he sat at a small table in the patio of the hotel and drank
+his coffee.&nbsp; Conyngham watched him for a moment from the
+balcony of the courtyard, himself unseen, while Concep&ccedil;ion
+stood within his master&rsquo;s bedroom, and rubbed his brown
+hands together in anticipation of a dramatic moment.&nbsp;
+Conyngham passed down the stone steps and crossed the patio with
+a gay smile.&nbsp; Sir John recognised him as he emerged from the
+darkness of the stairway, but his face betrayed neither surprise
+nor fear.&nbsp; There was a look in the grey eyes, however, that
+seemed to betoken doubt.&nbsp; Such a look a man might wear who
+had long travelled with assurance upon a road which he took to be
+the right one, and then at a turning found himself in a strange
+country with no landmark to guide him.</p>
+<p>Sir John Pleydell had always outwitted his fellows.&nbsp; He
+had, in fact, been what is called a successful man&mdash;a little
+cleverer, a little more cunning than those around him.</p>
+<p>He looked up now at Conyngham, who was drawing forward a chair
+to the neighbouring table, and the cold eye, which had been the
+dread of many a criminal, wavered.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The waiter has set my breakfast near to yours,&rsquo;
+said Conyngham, unconcernedly seating himself.</p>
+<p>And Concep&ccedil;ion in the balcony above cursed the English
+for a cold-blooded race.&nbsp; This was not the sort of meeting
+he had anticipated.&nbsp; He could throw a knife very prettily,
+and gave a short sigh of regret as he turned to his peaceful
+duties.</p>
+<p>Conyngham examined the simple fare provided for him, and then
+looked towards his companion with that cheerfulness which is too
+rare in this world; for it is born of a great courage, and
+outward circumstances cannot affect it.&nbsp; Sir John Pleydell
+had lost all interest in his meal, and was looking keenly at
+Conyngham&mdash;dissecting, as it were, his face, probing his
+mind, searching through the outward manner of the man, and
+running helplessly against a motive which he failed to
+understand.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have in my long experience found that all men may be
+divided into two classes,&rsquo; he said acidly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Fools and knaves?&rsquo; suggested Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have practised at the Bar,&rsquo;
+parenthetically.</p>
+<p>Conyngham shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Unsuccessfully&mdash;anybody can do that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Which are you&mdash;a fool or a knave?&rsquo; asked Sir
+John.</p>
+<p>And suddenly Conyngham pitied him.&nbsp; For no man is proof
+against the quick sense of pathos aroused by the sight of man, or
+dumb animal, baffled.&nbsp; At the end of his life Sir John had
+engaged upon the greatest quest of it&mdash;an unworthy quest, no
+doubt, but his heart was in it&mdash;and he was an old man,
+though be bore his years well enough.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Perhaps that is the mistake you have always
+made,&rsquo; said Conyngham gravely.&nbsp; &lsquo;Perhaps men are
+not to be divided into two classes.&nbsp; There may be some who
+only make mistakes, Sir John.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Unconsciously he had lapsed into the advocate, as those who
+have once played the part are apt to do.&nbsp; This was not his
+own cause, but Geoffrey Horner&rsquo;s.&nbsp; And he served his
+friend so thoroughly that for the moment he really was the man
+whose part he had elected to play.&nbsp; Sir John Pleydell was no
+mean foe.&nbsp; Geoffrey Horner had succeeded in turning aside
+the public suspicion, and in the eternal march of events, of
+which the sound is louder as the world grows older and hollower,
+the murder of Alfred Pleydell had been forgotten by all save his
+father.&nbsp; Conyngham saw the danger, and never thought to
+avoid it.&nbsp; What had been undertaken half in jest would be
+carried out in deadly earnest.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Mistakes,&rsquo; said Sir John sceptically.&nbsp; In
+dealing with the seamy side of life men come to believe that it
+is all stitches.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Which they may pass the rest of their lives in
+regretting.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John looked sharply at his companion, with suspicion
+dawning in his eyes again.&nbsp; It was Conyngham&rsquo;s
+tendency to overplay his part.&nbsp; Later, when he became a
+soldier, and found that path in life for which he was best
+fitted, his superior officers and the cooler tacticians
+complained that he was over-eager, and in battle outpaced the men
+he led.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then you see now that it was a mistake?&rsquo;
+suggested Sir John.&nbsp; In cross-examinations the suggestions
+of Sir John Pleydell are remembered in certain courts of justice
+to this day.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of course.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To have mixed yourself in such an affair at
+all?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John seemed to be softening, and Conyngham began to see a
+way out of this difficulty which had never suggested itself to
+him before.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Such mistakes have to be paid for&mdash;and the law
+assesses the price.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is easy enough to say you are sorry&mdash;the law
+can make no allowance for regret.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham turned his attention to his breakfast, deeming it
+useless to continue the topic.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It was a mistake to attend the meeting at
+Durham&mdash;you admit that?&rsquo; continued Sir John.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes&mdash;I admit that, if it is any satisfaction to
+you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then it was worse than a mistake to actually lead the
+men out to my house for the purpose of breaking the
+windows.&nbsp; It was almost a crime.&nbsp; I would suggest to
+you, as a soldier for the moment, to lead a charge up a steep
+hill against a body of farm labourers and others entrenched
+behind a railing.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That is a mere matter of opinion.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And yet you did that,&rsquo; said Sir John.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;If you are going to break the law you should insure
+success before embarking on your undertaking.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham made no answer.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It was also a stupid error, if I may say so, to make
+your way back to Durham by Ravensworth, where you were seen and
+recognised.&nbsp; You see I have a good case against you, Mr.
+Conyngham.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, I admit you have a good case against me, but you
+have not caught me yet.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John Pleydell looked at him coldly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You do not even take the trouble to deny the facts I
+have named.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why should I, when they are true?&rsquo; asked
+Conyngham carelessly.</p>
+<p>Sir John Pleydell leant back in his chair.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have classified you,&rsquo; he said with a queer
+laugh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; answered Conyngham, suddenly uneasy.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes&mdash;as a fool.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He leant forward with a deprecating gesture of his thin white
+hand.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do not be offended,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;and do not
+reproach yourself for having given your case away.&nbsp; You
+never had a case, Mr. Conyngham.&nbsp; Chartists are not made of
+your material at all.&nbsp; As soon as you gave me your card in
+Madrid, I had a slight suspicion.&nbsp; I thought you were
+travelling under a false name.&nbsp; It was plain to the merest
+onlooker that you were not the man I sought.&nbsp; You are too
+easy-going, too much of a gentleman to be a Chartist.&nbsp; You
+are screening somebody else.&nbsp; You have played the part well,
+and with an admirable courage and fidelity.&nbsp; I wish my boy
+Alfred had had a few such friends as you.&nbsp; But you are a
+fool, Mr. Conyngham.&nbsp; No man on earth is worth the sacrifice
+that you have made.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham slowly stirred his coffee.&nbsp; He was
+meditating.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have pieced together a very pretty tale,&rsquo; he
+said at length.&nbsp; &lsquo;Some new scheme to get me within the
+reach of the English law, no doubt.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is a pretty tale&mdash;too pretty for practical
+life.&nbsp; And if you want proofs I will mention the fact that
+the Chartist meeting was at Chester-le-Street, not Durham; that
+my house stands in a hollow and not on a hill; that you could not
+possibly go to Durham <i>vi&acirc;</i> Ravensworth, for they lie
+in opposite directions.&nbsp; No, Mr. Conyngham, you are not the
+man I seek.&nbsp; And, strange to say, I took a liking to you
+when I first saw you.&nbsp; I am no believer in instinct, or
+mutual sympathy, or any such sentimental nonsense.&nbsp; I do not
+believe in much, Mr. Conyngham, and not in human nature at
+all.&nbsp; I know too much about it for that.&nbsp; But there
+must have been something in that liking for you at first
+sight.&nbsp; I wish you no harm, Mr. Conyngham.&nbsp; I am like
+Balaam&mdash;I came to curse, and now stay to bless.&nbsp; Or,
+perhaps, I am more like Balaam&rsquo;s companion and
+adviser&mdash;I bray too much.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He sat back again with a queer smile.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You may go home to England to-morrow if you care
+to,&rsquo; he added, after a pause, &lsquo;and if that affair is
+ever raked up against you I will be your counsel, if you will
+have me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thank you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You do not want to go home to England?&rsquo; suggested
+Sir John, whose ear was as quick as his eye.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, I have affairs in Spain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Or&mdash;perhaps a castle here.&nbsp; Beware of
+such&mdash;I once had one.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And the cold grey face softened for an instant.&nbsp; It
+seemed at times as if there were after all a man behind that
+marble casing.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A man who can secure such a friendship as yours has
+proved itself to be,&rsquo; said Sir John after a short silence,
+&lsquo;can scarcely be wholly bad.&nbsp; He may, as you say, have
+made a mistake.&nbsp; I promise nothing; but perhaps I will make
+no further attempts to find him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham was silent.&nbsp; To speak would have been to
+admit.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So far as I am concerned,&rsquo; said Sir John, rising,
+&lsquo;you are safe in this or any country.&nbsp; But I warn
+you&mdash;you have a dangerous enemy in Spain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know,&rsquo; answered Conyngham, with a laugh,
+&lsquo;Mr. Esteban Larralde.&nbsp; I once undertook to deliver a
+letter for him.&nbsp; It was not what he represented it to be,
+and after I had delivered it he began to suspect me of having
+read it.&nbsp; He is kind enough to consider me of some
+importance in the politics of this country owing to the
+information I am supposed to possess.&nbsp; I know nothing of the
+contents of the letter, but I want to regain it&mdash;if only for
+a few moments.&nbsp; That is the whole story, and that is how
+matters stand between Larralde and myself.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2><a name="page242"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+242</span>CHAPTER XXII<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">REPARATION</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">&lsquo;Il s&rsquo;en
+faut bien que l&rsquo;innocence trouve autant de protection que
+le crime.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><span class="smcap">For</span> those minded to leave Spain at
+this time, there was but one route, namely, the south, for the
+northern exits were closed by the Carlists, still in power there,
+though thinning fast.&nbsp; Indeed, Don Carlos was now
+illustrating the fact, which any may learn by the study of the
+world&rsquo;s history, that it is not the great causes, but the
+great men, who have made and destroyed nations.&nbsp; Nearly half
+of Spain was for Don Carlos.&nbsp; The Church sided with him, and
+the best soldiers were those who, unpaid, unfed, and half clad,
+fought on the southern slopes of the Pyrenees for a man who dared
+not lead them.</p>
+<p>Sir John Pleydell had intended crossing the frontier into
+Portugal, following the carriage conveying his prisoner to the
+seaport of Lisbon, where he anticipated no difficulty in finding
+a ship captain who would be willing to carry Conyngham to
+England.&nbsp; All this, however, had been frustrated by so
+unimportant a person as Concep&ccedil;ion Vara, and the carriage
+ordered for nine o&rsquo;clock to proceed to Talavera now stood
+in the courtyard of the hotel, while the Baronet in his lonely
+apartment sat and wondered what he should do next.&nbsp; He had
+dealt with justice all his life, and had ensued it not from love,
+but as a matter of convenience and a means of livelihood.&nbsp;
+From the mere habit, he now desired to do justice to
+Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;See if you can find out for me the whereabouts of
+General Vincente at the moment, and let the carriage wait,&rsquo;
+he said to his servant, a valet-courier of taciturn habit.</p>
+<p>The man was absent about half an hour, and returned with a
+face that promised little.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There is a man in the hotel, sir,&rsquo; he said,
+&lsquo;the servant of Mr. Conyngham, who knows, but will not tell
+me.&nbsp; I am told, however, that a lady living in Toledo, a
+Contessa Barenna, will undoubtedly have the information.&nbsp;
+General Vincente was lately in Madrid, but his movements are so
+rapid and uncertain, that he has become a by-word in
+Spain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So I understand.&nbsp; I will call on this Contessa
+this afternoon, unless you can get the information elsewhere
+during the morning.&nbsp; I shall not want the
+carriage.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John walked slowly to the window, deep in thought.&nbsp;
+He was interested in Conyngham, despite himself.&nbsp; It is
+possible that he had not hitherto met a man capable of so far
+forgetting his own interests as to undertake a foolish and
+dangerous escapade without anything in the nature of gain or
+advantage to recommend it.&nbsp; The windows of the hotel of the
+Comercio in Toledo look out upon the market-place, and Sir John,
+who was an indoor man, and mentally active enough to be intensely
+bored at times, frequently used this opportunity of studying
+Spanish life.</p>
+<p>He was looking idly through the vile panes, when an old priest
+passed by, and glanced up beneath shaggy brows.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Seen that man before,&rsquo; said Sir John.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; muttered Father Concha, as he hurried on
+towards the Palazzo Barenna.&nbsp; &lsquo;So far, so good.&nbsp;
+Where the fox is, will be found the stolen fowl.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion Vara, who was saddling his horse in the
+stable yard of the inn, saw the Padre pass.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, clever one!&rsquo; he muttered, &lsquo;with your
+jokes about my wife.&nbsp; Now you may make a false journey for
+all the help you receive from me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And a few minutes later Concep&ccedil;ion rode across the
+Bridge of Alcantara, some paces behind Conyngham, who deemed it
+wise to return to his duties at Madrid without delay.</p>
+<p>Despite the great heat on the plains, which, indeed, made it
+almost dangerous to travel at midday, the streets of Toledo were
+cool and shady enough, as Sir John Pleydell traversed them in
+search of the Palazzo Barenna.&nbsp; The Contessa was in, and the
+Englishman was ushered into a vast room, which even the taste of
+the day could not entirely deprive of its medi&aelig;val
+grandeur.&nbsp; Sir John explained to the servant in halting
+Spanish that his name was unknown to the Se&ntilde;ora Barenna,
+but that&mdash;a stranger in some slight difficulty&mdash;he had
+been recommended to seek her assistance.</p>
+<p>Sir John was an imposing-looking man, with that grand air
+which enables some men not only to look, but to get over a wall
+while an insignificant wight may not so much as approach the
+gate.&nbsp; The se&ntilde;ora&rsquo;s curiosity did the
+rest.&nbsp; In a few minutes the rustle of silk made Sir John
+turn from the contemplation of a suit of armour.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Madame speaks French?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But yes, se&ntilde;or.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Madame Barenna glanced towards a chair, which Sir John
+hastened to bring forward.&nbsp; He despised her already, and she
+admired his manner vastly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have taken the immense liberty of intruding myself
+upon your notice, Madame.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not to sell me a Bible?&rsquo; exclaimed Se&ntilde;ora
+Barenna, with her fan upheld in warning.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A Bible!&nbsp; I believe I have one at home, in
+England, Madame, but&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is well,&rsquo; said Madame sinking back and fanning
+herself rather faintly.&nbsp; &lsquo;Excuse my fears.&nbsp; But
+there is an Englishman&mdash;what is his name?&nbsp; I
+forget.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Borrow.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes; that is it, Borrow.&nbsp; And he sells Bibles; and
+Father Concha, my confessor, a bear, but a holy man&mdash;a holy
+bear, as one might say&mdash;has forbidden me to buy one.&nbsp; I
+am so afraid of disobeying him, by heedlessness or
+forgetfulness.&nbsp; There are, it appears, some things in the
+Bible which one ought not to read, and one
+naturally&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She finished the sentence with a shrug, and an expressive
+gesture of the fan.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One naturally desires to read them,&rsquo; suggested
+Sir John.&nbsp; &lsquo;The privilege of all Eve&rsquo;s
+daughters, Madame.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Se&ntilde;ora Barenna treated the flatterer to what the French
+call a <i>fin sourire</i>, and wondered how long Julia would stay
+away.&nbsp; This man would pay her a compliment in another
+moment.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I merely called on the excuse of a common friendship,
+to ask if you can tell me the whereabouts of General
+Vincente,&rsquo; said Sir John, stating his business in haste and
+when the opportunity presented itself.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is it politics?&rsquo; asked the lady, with a hasty
+glance round the room.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, it is scarcely politics; but why do you ask?&nbsp;
+You are surely too wise, Madame, to take part in such.&nbsp; It
+is a woman&rsquo;s mission to please&mdash;and when it is so
+easy!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He waved his thin white hand in completion of a suggestion
+which made his hearer bridle her stout person.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, no,&rsquo; she whispered, glancing over her
+shoulder at the door.&nbsp; &lsquo;No; it is my daughter.&nbsp;
+Ah! se&ntilde;or, you can scarce imagine what it is to live upon
+a volcano!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And she pointed to the oaken floor with her fan.&nbsp; Sir
+John deemed it wise to confine his display of sympathy to a
+glance of the deepest concern.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; he said; &lsquo;it is merely a personal
+matter.&nbsp; I have a communication to make to my friend General
+Vincente or to his daughter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To Estella?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To the Se&ntilde;orita Estella.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you think her beautiful?&nbsp; Some do, you
+know.&nbsp; Eyes&mdash;I admit&mdash;yes, lovely.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I admire the se&ntilde;orita exceedingly.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah yes, yes.&nbsp; You have not seen my daughter, have
+you, se&ntilde;or?&nbsp; Julia&mdash;she rather resembles
+Estella.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Se&ntilde;ora Barenna paused and examined her fan with a
+careless air.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Some say,&rsquo; she went on, apparently with
+reluctance, &lsquo;that Julia is&mdash;well&mdash;has some
+advantages over Estella.&nbsp; But <i>I</i> do not, of
+course.&nbsp; I admire Estella, excessively&mdash;oh yes,
+yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And the se&ntilde;ora&rsquo;s dark eyes searched Sir
+John&rsquo;s face.&nbsp; They might have found more in sculptured
+marble.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you know where she is?&rsquo; asked Sir John, almost
+bluntly.&nbsp; Like a workman who has mistaken his material, he
+was laying aside his finer conversational tools.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, I believe they arrive in Toledo this
+evening.&nbsp; I cannot think why.&nbsp; But with General
+Vincente one never knows.&nbsp; He is so pleasant, so
+playful&mdash;such a smile&mdash;but you know him.&nbsp; Well,
+they say in Spain that he is always where he is wanted.&nbsp;
+Ah!&rsquo; Madame paused and cast her eyes up to the ceiling,
+&lsquo;what it is to be wanted somewhere,
+se&ntilde;or.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And she gave him the benefit of one of her deepest
+sighs.&nbsp; Sir John mentally followed the direction of her
+glance, and wondered what the late Count thought about it.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, I am deeply interested in Estella&mdash;as indeed
+is natural, for she is my niece.&nbsp; She has no mother, and the
+General has such absurd ideas.&nbsp; He thinks that a girl is
+capable of choosing a husband for herself.&nbsp; But to
+you&mdash;an Englishman&mdash;such an idea is naturally not
+astonishing.&nbsp; I am told that in your country it is the girls
+who actually propose marriage.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not in words, Madame&mdash;not more in England than
+elsewhere.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah,&rsquo; said Madame, looking at him doubtfully, and
+thinking, despite herself, of Father Concha.</p>
+<p>Sir John rose from the chair he had taken at the
+se&ntilde;ora&rsquo;s silent invitation.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then I may expect the General to arrive at my hotel
+this evening,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;I am staying at the
+Comercio, the only hotel, as I understand, in Toledo.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, he will doubtless descend there.&nbsp; Do you know
+Frederick Conyngham, se&ntilde;or?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But everyone knows him!&rsquo; exclaimed the lady
+vivaciously.&nbsp; &lsquo;Tell me how it is.&nbsp; A most
+pleasant young man, I allow you&mdash;but without introductions
+and quite unconnected.&nbsp; Yet he has friends
+everywhere.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She paused and, closing her fan, leant forward in an attitude
+of intense confidence and secrecy.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And how about his little affair?&rsquo; she
+whispered.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;His little affair, Madame?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;De c&oelig;ur,&rsquo; explained the lady, tapping her
+own breast with an eloquent fan.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Estella,&rsquo; she whispered after a pause.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; said Sir John, as if he knew too much about
+it to give an opinion.&nbsp; And he took his leave.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That is the sort of woman to break one&rsquo;s heart in
+the witness box,&rsquo; he said as he passed out into the
+deserted street, and Se&ntilde;ora Barenna, in the great room
+with the armour, reflected complacently that the English lord had
+been visibly impressed.</p>
+<p>General Vincente and Estella arrived at the hotel in the
+evening, but did not of course appear in the public rooms.&nbsp;
+The dusty old travelling carriage was placed in a quiet corner of
+the courtyard of the hotel, and the General appeared on this, as
+on all occasions, to court retirement and oblivion.&nbsp; Unlike
+many of his brothers-in-arms, he had no desire to catch the
+public eye.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There is doubtless something astir,&rsquo; said the
+waiter, who, in the intervals of a casual attendance on Sir John,
+spoke of these things, cigarette in mouth.&nbsp; &lsquo;There is
+doubtless something astir, since General Vincente is on the
+road.&nbsp; They call him the Stormy Petrel, for when he appears
+abroad there usually follows a disturbance.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John sent his servant to the General&rsquo;s apartment
+about eight o&rsquo;clock in the evening asking permission to
+present himself.&nbsp; In reply, the General himself came to Sir
+John&rsquo;s room.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My dear sir,&rsquo; he cried, taking both the
+Englishman&rsquo;s hands in an affectionate grasp, &lsquo;to
+think that you were in the hotel and that we did not dine
+together.&nbsp; Come, yes, come to our poor apartment, where
+Estella awaits the pleasure of renewing your
+acquaintance.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then the se&ntilde;orita,&rsquo; said Sir John,
+following his companion along the dimly-lighted passage,
+&lsquo;has her father&rsquo;s pleasant faculty of forgetting any
+little <i>contretemps</i> of the past?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ask her,&rsquo; exclaimed the General in his cheery
+way.&nbsp; &lsquo;Ask her.&rsquo;&nbsp; And he threw open the
+door of the dingy salon they occupied.</p>
+<p>Estella was standing with her back to the window, and her
+attitude suggested that she had not sat down since she had heard
+of Sir John&rsquo;s presence in the hotel.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Se&ntilde;orita,&rsquo; said the Englishman, with that
+perfect knowledge of the world which usually has its firmest
+basis upon indifference to criticism, &lsquo;se&ntilde;orita, I
+have come to avow a mistake and to make my excuses.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is surely unnecessary,&rsquo; said Estella, rather
+coldly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Say rather,&rsquo; broke in the General in his
+smoothest way, &lsquo;that you have come to take a cup of coffee
+with us and to tell us your news.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John took the chair which the General brought forward.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;At all events,&rsquo; he said, still addressing
+Estella, &lsquo;it is probably a matter of indifference to you,
+as it is merely an opinion expressed by myself which I wish to
+retract.&nbsp; When I first had the pleasure of meeting you, I
+took it upon myself to speak of a guest in your father&rsquo;s
+house, fortunately in the presence of that guest himself, and I
+now wish to tell you that what I said does not apply to Frederick
+Conyngham himself, but to another whom Conyngham is
+screening.&nbsp; He has not confessed so much to me, but I have
+satisfied myself that he is not the man I seek.&nbsp; You,
+General, who know more of the world than the se&ntilde;orita, and
+have been in it almost as long as I have, can bear me out in the
+statement that the motives of men are not so easy to discern as
+younger folks imagine.&nbsp; I do not know what induced Conyngham
+to undertake this thing; probably he entered into it in a spirit
+of impetuous and reckless generosity, which would only be in
+keeping with his character.&nbsp; I only know that he has carried
+it out with a thoroughness and daring worthy of all praise.&nbsp;
+If such a tie were possible between an old man and a young, I
+should like to be able to claim Mr. Conyngham as a friend.&nbsp;
+There, se&ntilde;orita&mdash;thank you, I will take coffee.&nbsp;
+I made the accusation in your presence.&nbsp; I retract it before
+you.&nbsp; It is, as you see, a small matter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But it is of small matters that life is made up,&rsquo;
+put in the General in his deferential way.&nbsp; &lsquo;Our
+friend,&rsquo; he went on after a pause, &lsquo;is unfortunate in
+misrepresenting himself.&nbsp; We also have a little grudge
+against him&mdash;a little matter of a letter which has not been
+explained.&nbsp; I admit that I should like to see that
+letter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And where is it?&rsquo; asked Sir John.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; replied Vincente, with a shrug of the
+shoulders and a gay little laugh, &lsquo;who can tell?&nbsp;
+Perhaps in Toledo, my dear sir&mdash;perhaps in
+Toledo.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2><a name="page254"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+254</span>CHAPTER XXIII<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">LARRALDE&rsquo;S PRICE</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">&lsquo;It is as
+difficult to be entirely bad as it is to be entirely
+good.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><span class="smcap">To</span> those who say that there is no
+Faith, Spain is in itself a palpable answer.&nbsp; No country in
+the world can show such cathedrals as those of Granada, Cordova,
+Seville, Toledo, Burgos.&nbsp; In any other land any one of these
+great structures would suffice.&nbsp; But in Spain these huge
+monuments to that Faith which has held serenely through war and
+fashion, through thought and thoughtlessness, are to be found in
+all the great cities.&nbsp; And the queen of them all is
+Toledo.</p>
+<p>Father Concha, that sour-visaged philosopher, had a queer
+pride in his profession and in the history of that Church which
+is to-day seen in its purest form in the Peninsula, while it is
+so entangled with the national story of Spain that the two are
+but one tale told from a different point of view.&nbsp; As a
+private soldier may take pleasure in standing on a great
+battlefield noting each spot of interest&mdash;here a valley of
+death, there the scene of a cavalry charge of which the thunder
+will echo down through all the ages&mdash;so Concha, a mere
+country priest, liked to pace the aisles of a great cathedral,
+indulging the while in a half-cynical pride.&nbsp; He was no
+great general, no leader, of no importance in the ranks.&nbsp;
+But he was of the army, and partook in a minute degree in those
+victories that belonged to the past.&nbsp; It was his habit thus
+to pay a visit to Toledo Cathedral whensoever his journeys led
+him to Castile.&nbsp; It was, moreover, his simple custom to
+attend the early mass which is here historical; and, indeed, to
+walk through the church, grey and cool, with the hush that seems
+to belong only to buildings of stupendous age, is in itself a
+religious service.</p>
+<p>Concha was passing across the nave, hat in hand, a gaunt,
+ill-clad, and somewhat pathetic figure, when he caught sight of
+Sir John Pleydell.&nbsp; The Englishman paused involuntarily and
+looked at the Spaniard.&nbsp; Concha bowed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We met,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;for a moment in the
+garden of General Vincente&rsquo;s house at Ronda.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;True,&rsquo; answered Sir John.&nbsp; &lsquo;Are you
+leaving the Cathedral?&nbsp; We might walk a little way
+together.&nbsp; One cannot talk idly&mdash;here.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused and looked up at the great oak screen&mdash;at the
+towering masonry.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; answered Concha gravely.&nbsp; &lsquo;One
+cannot talk idly here.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concha held back the great leathern <i>porti&egrave;re</i>,
+and the Englishman passed out.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;This is a queer country, and you are a queer
+people,&rsquo; he said presently.&nbsp; &lsquo;When I was at
+Ronda I met a certain number of persons&mdash;I can count them on
+my fingers.&nbsp; General Vincente, his daughter, Se&ntilde;ora
+Barenna, Se&ntilde;orita Barenna, the Englishman Conyngham,
+yourself, Se&ntilde;or Concha.&nbsp; I arrived in Toledo
+yesterday morning; in twenty-four hours I have caught sight of
+all the persons mentioned, here in Toledo.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And here, in Toledo, is another of whom you have not
+caught sight,&rsquo; said Concha.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes; Se&ntilde;or Larralde.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is he here?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said Concha.</p>
+<p>They walked on in silence for some minutes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What are we all doing here, Padre?&rsquo; inquired Sir
+John, with his cold laugh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What are you doing here, se&ntilde;or?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John did not answer at once.&nbsp; They were walking
+leisurely.&nbsp; The streets were deserted, as indeed the streets
+of Toledo usually are.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am putting two and two together,&rsquo; the great
+lawyer answered at length.&nbsp; &lsquo;I began doing so in
+idleness, and now I have become interested.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&nbsp; I have become interested.&nbsp; They say,
+Padre, that a pebble set in motion at the summit of a mountain
+may gather other pebbles and increase in bulk and speed until, in
+the form of an avalanche, it overwhelms a city in the
+valley.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, se&ntilde;or.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And I have conceived the strange fancy that Frederick
+Conyngham, when he first came to this country, set such a pebble
+in motion at the summit of a very high mountain.&nbsp; It has
+been falling and falling silently ever since, and it is gaining
+in bulk.&nbsp; And you, and General Vincente, and Estella
+Vincente, and Se&ntilde;orita Barenna, and Frederick Conyngham,
+and in a minor degree myself, are on the slope in the track of
+the avalanche, and are sliding down behind it.&nbsp; And the
+General and Estella, and yourself and Conyngham, are trying to
+overtake it and stop it.&nbsp; And, reverendo, in the valley
+below is the monarchy of Spain&mdash;the Bourbon
+cause.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Father Concha, remembering his favourite maxim that no flies
+enter a shut mouth, was silent.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The pebble was a letter,&rsquo; said Sir John.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And Larralde has it,&rsquo; he added after a
+pause.&nbsp; &lsquo;And that is why you are all in
+Toledo&mdash;why the air is thick with apprehension, and why all
+Spain seems to pause and wait breathlessly.&nbsp; Will the
+avalanche be stopped, or will it not?&nbsp; Will the
+Bourbons&mdash;than whom history has known no more interesting
+and more unsatisfactory race, except our own Stuarts&mdash;will
+the Bourbons fall, Se&ntilde;or Padre?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; said Concha, whose furrowed face and
+pessimistic glance betrayed nothing.&nbsp; &lsquo;Ah!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You will not tell me, of course.&nbsp; You know much
+that you will not tell me, and I merely ask you from
+curiosity.&nbsp; You perhaps know one thing, and that I wish to
+learn from you&mdash;not out of curiosity, but because I, too,
+would fain overtake the avalanche and stop it.&nbsp; I am no
+politician, se&ntilde;or, though of course I have my views.&nbsp;
+When a man has reached my age, he knows assuredly that politics
+merely mean self-aggrandisement, and nothing else.&nbsp;
+No&mdash;the Bourbons may fall; Spain may follow the lead of
+France and make an exhibition of herself before the world as a
+Republic.&nbsp; I am indifferent to these events.&nbsp; But I
+wish to do Frederick Conyngham a good turn, and I ask you to tell
+me where I shall find Larralde&mdash;you who know everything,
+Se&ntilde;or Padre.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concha reflected while they walked along on the shady side of
+the narrow street.&nbsp; It happened to be the street where the
+saddlers live, and the sharp sound of their little hammers on
+leather and wood came from almost every darkened doorway.&nbsp;
+The Padre had a wholesome fear of Esteban Larralde, and an
+exaggerated estimation of that schemer&rsquo;s ability.&nbsp; He
+was a humble-minded old man, and ever hesitated to pit his own
+brain against that of another.&nbsp; He knew that Sir John was a
+cleverer man than Larralde, deeper versed in that side of human
+nature where the seams are and the knots and the unsightly
+stitches; older, more experienced, and probably no more
+scrupulous.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the priest, &lsquo;I can tell you
+that.&nbsp; Larralde lodges in the house of a malcontent, one
+Lamberto, a scribbling journalist, who is hurt because the world
+takes him at its own valuation and not at his.&nbsp; The house is
+next to the little synagogue in the Calle de Madrid, a small
+stationer&rsquo;s shop, where one may buy the curse of this
+generation&mdash;pens and paper.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thank you,&rsquo; said Sir John, civilly and
+simply.&nbsp; This man has no doubt been ill-painted, but some
+may have seen that with different companions he wore a different
+manner.&nbsp; He was, as all successful men are, an unconscious
+actor, and in entering into the personality of the companion of
+the moment he completely sank his own.&nbsp; He never sought to
+be all things to all men, and yet he came near to the
+accomplishment of that hard task.&nbsp; Sir John was not a
+sympathetic man; he merely mistook life for a court of justice,
+and arraigned all human nature in the witness-box, with the
+inward conviction that this should by rights be exchanged for the
+felon&rsquo;s dock.</p>
+<p>With Concha he was as simple, as direct, and as
+unsophisticated as the old priest himself, and now took his leave
+without attempting to disguise the fact that he had accomplished
+a foreset purpose.</p>
+<p>Without difficulty he found the small stationer&rsquo;s shop
+next to the synagogue in the Calle de Madrid, and bade the
+stationer&mdash;a spectacled individual with upright hair and the
+air of seeking something in the world which is not usually behind
+a counter&mdash;take his card to Se&ntilde;or Larralde.&nbsp; At
+first the stationer pretended ignorance of the name, but on
+discovering that Sir John had not sufficient Spanish to conduct a
+conversation of intrigue, disappeared into a back room, whence
+emanated a villanous smell of cooking.</p>
+<p>While Sir John waited in the little shop, Father Concha walked
+to the Plazuela de l&rsquo;Iglesia Vieja, which small square,
+overhanging the Tagus and within reach of its murmuring voice, is
+deserted except at midday, when the boys play at bull-fighting
+and a few workmen engage in a grave game of bowls.&nbsp; Concha
+sat, book in hand, opened honestly at the office of the day and
+hour, and read no word.&nbsp; Instead, he stared across the gorge
+at the brown bank of land which commands the city and renders it
+useless as a fortress in the days of modern artillery.&nbsp; He
+sat and stared grimly, and thought perhaps of those secret
+springs within the human heart that make one man successful and
+unhappy, while another, possessing brains and ability and energy,
+fails in life, yet is perhaps the happier of the two.&nbsp; For
+it had happened to Father Concha, as it may happen to writer and
+reader at any moment, to meet one who in individuality bears a
+resemblance to that self which we never know and yet are ever
+conscious of.</p>
+<p>Sir John Pleydell, a few hundred yards away, obeyed the
+shopman&rsquo;s invitation to step upstairs with something
+approaching alacrity.</p>
+<p>Larralde was seated at a table strewn with newspapers and
+soiled by cigarette ash.&nbsp; He had the unkempt and pallid look
+of one who has not seen the sun or breathed fresh air for
+days.&nbsp; For, as Concep&ccedil;ion had said, this was a
+conspirator who preferred to lurk in friendly shelter while
+others played the bolder game at the front.&nbsp; Larralde had,
+in fact, not stirred abroad for nearly a week.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, se&ntilde;or,&rsquo; he said, with a false air of
+bravado.&nbsp; &lsquo;How fares it with your little
+undertaking?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That,&rsquo; replied Sir John, &lsquo;is past&mdash;and
+paid for.&nbsp; And I have another matter for your
+consideration.&nbsp; Conyngham is not, after all, the man I
+seek.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John&rsquo;s manner had changed.&nbsp; He spoke as one
+having authority.&nbsp; And Larralde shrugged his shoulders,
+remembering a past payment.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; he said, rolling a cigarette with a fine air
+of indifference.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;On the one hand,&rsquo; continued Sir John judicially,
+&lsquo;I come to make you an offer which can only be beneficial
+to you; on the other hand, Se&ntilde;or Larralde, I know enough
+to make things particularly unpleasant for you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Larralde raised his eyebrows and sought the matchbox.&nbsp;
+His thoughts seemed to amuse him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have reason to assume that a certain letter is now in
+your possession again.&nbsp; I do not know the contents of this
+letter, and I cannot say that I am at all interested in it.&nbsp;
+But a friend of mine is particularly anxious to have possession
+of it for a short space of time.&nbsp; I have, unasked, taken
+upon myself the office of intermediary.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Larralde&rsquo;s eyes flashed through the smoke.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are about to offer me money; be careful,
+se&ntilde;or,&rsquo; he said hotly, and Sir John smiled.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Be careful, that it is enough,&rsquo; he
+suggested.&nbsp; &lsquo;Keep your grand airs for your fellows,
+Se&ntilde;or Larralde.&nbsp; Yes, I am about to offer you two
+hundred pounds&mdash;say three thousand pesetas&mdash;for the
+loan of that letter for a few hours only.&nbsp; I will guarantee
+that it is read by one person only, and that a lady.&nbsp; This
+lady will probably glance at the first lines, merely to satisfy
+herself as to the nature of its contents.&nbsp; Three thousand
+pesetas will enable you to escape to Cuba if your schemes
+fail.&nbsp; If you succeed, three thousand pesetas will always be
+of use, even to a member of a Republican Government.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Larralde reflected.&nbsp; He had lately realised the fact that
+the Carlist cause was doomed.&nbsp; There is a time in the
+schemes of men, and it usually comes just before the crisis, when
+the stoutest heart hesitates and the most reckless conspirator
+thinks of his retreat.&nbsp; Esteban Larralde had begun to think
+of Cuba during the last few days, and the mention of that haven
+for Spanish failures almost unnerved him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In a week,&rsquo; suggested Sir John again, &lsquo;it
+may be&mdash;well&mdash;settled one way or the other.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Larralde glanced at him sharply.&nbsp; This Englishman was
+either well-informed or very cunning.&nbsp; He seemed to have
+read the thought in Larralde&rsquo;s mind.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No doubt,&rsquo; went on the Englishman, &lsquo;you
+have divined for whom I want the letter and who will read
+it.&nbsp; We have both mistaken our man.&nbsp; We both owe
+Conyngham a good turn&mdash;I, in reparation, you, in gratitude;
+for he undoubtedly saved the Se&ntilde;orita Barenna from
+imprisonment for life.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Larralde shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Each man,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;must fight for
+himself.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And the majority of us for a woman as well,&rsquo;
+amended Sir John.&nbsp; &lsquo;At least, in Spain, chivalry is
+not dead.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Larralde laughed.&nbsp; He was vain, and Sir John knew
+it.&nbsp; He had a keen sight for the breach in his
+opponent&rsquo;s armour.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have put your case well,&rsquo; said the Spaniard
+patronisingly, &lsquo;and I do not see why, at the end of a week,
+I should not agree to your proposal.&nbsp; It is, as you say, for
+the sake of a woman.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Precisely.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Larralde leant back in his chair, remembering the legendary
+gallantry of his race, and wearing an appropriate expression.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For a woman,&rsquo; he repeated with an eloquent
+gesture.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Precisely.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then I will do it, se&ntilde;or.&nbsp; I will do
+it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For two hundred pounds?&rsquo; inquired Sir John
+coldly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As you will,&rsquo; answered the Spaniard, with a noble
+indifference to such sordid matters.</p>
+<h2><a name="page265"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+265</span>CHAPTER XXIV<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">PRIESTCRAFT</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;No man I fear can effect great benefits for
+his country without some sacrifice of the minor
+virtues.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Se&ntilde;ora Barenna was a
+leading social light in Toledo, insomuch as she never refused an
+invitation.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One has one&rsquo;s duties towards society,&rsquo; she
+would say with a sigh.&nbsp; &lsquo;Though the saints know that I
+take no pleasure in these affairs.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Then she put on her best Seville mantilla and bustled off to
+some function or another, where she talked volubly and without
+discretion.</p>
+<p>Julia had of late withdrawn more and more from that life of
+continued and mild festivity of which it is to be feared the
+existence of many women is composed.&nbsp; This afternoon she sat
+alone in the great gloomy house in Toledo, waiting for
+Larralde.&nbsp; For she, like thousands of her sisters, loved an
+unworthy object&mdash;<i>faute de mieux</i>&mdash;with open eyes
+and a queer philosophy that bade her love Larralde rather than
+love none.&nbsp; She had lately spent a large part of her
+existence in waiting for Larralde, who, indeed, was busy enough
+at this time, and rarely stirred abroad while the sun was up.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Julia,&rsquo; said Se&ntilde;ora Barenna to Concha,
+&lsquo;is no longer a companion to me.&nbsp; She does not even
+attempt to understand my sensitive organisation.&nbsp; She is a
+mere statue, and thinks of nothing but politics.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For her, Madame, as for all women, there would be no
+politics if there were no politicians,&rsquo; the priest
+replied.</p>
+<p>This afternoon Julia was more restless than ever.&nbsp;
+Larralde had not been to see her for many days, and had only
+written a hurried note from time to time in answer to her urgent
+request, telling her that he was well and in no danger.</p>
+<p>She now no longer knew whether he was in Toledo or not, but
+had sufficient knowledge of the schemes in which he was engaged
+to be aware of the fact that these were coming to a crisis.&nbsp;
+Esteban Larralde had indeed told her more than was either
+necessary or discreet, and it was his vanity that led him into
+this imprudence.&nbsp; We are all ready enough to impart
+information which will show our neighbours that we are more
+important than we appear.</p>
+<p>After a broiling day the sun was now beginning to lose a
+little of his terrific power, and, in the shade of the patio upon
+which the windows of Julia&rsquo;s room opened, the air was quite
+cool and pleasant.&nbsp; A fountain plashed continuously in a
+little basin that had been white six centuries ago, when the
+Moors had brought the marble across the Gulf of Lyons to build
+it.&nbsp; The very sound of the water was a relief to
+overstrained nerves, and seemed to diminish the tension of the
+shimmering atmosphere.</p>
+<p>Julia was alone, and barely made pretence to read the book she
+held in her hand.&nbsp; From her seat she could see the bell
+suspended on the opposite wall of the courtyard, of which the
+deep voice at any time of day or night had the power of stirring
+her heart to a sudden joy.&nbsp; At last the desired sound broke
+the silence of the great house, and Julia stood breathless at the
+window while the servant leisurely crossed the patio and threw
+open the great door, large enough to admit a carriage and
+pair.&nbsp; It was not Larralde, but Father Concha, brought
+hither by a note he had received from Sir John Pleydell earlier
+in the afternoon.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I shall have the letter in a week from now,&rsquo; the
+Englishman had written.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Which will be too late,&rsquo; commented Concha
+pessimistically.</p>
+<p>The se&ntilde;ora was out, they told him, but the
+se&ntilde;orita had remained at home.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is the se&ntilde;orita I desire to see.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And Julia, at the window above, heard the remark with a
+sinking heart.&nbsp; The air seemed to be weighted with the
+suggestion of calamity.&nbsp; Concha had the manner of one
+bringing bad news.&nbsp; She forgot that this was his usual
+mien.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, my child,&rsquo; he said, coming into the room a
+minute later and sitting down rather wearily.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What?&rsquo; she asked, her two hands at her
+breast.</p>
+<p>He glanced at her beneath his brows.&nbsp; The wind was in the
+north-east, dry and tingling.&nbsp; The sun had worn a coppery
+hue all day.&nbsp; Such matters affect women and those who are in
+mental distress.&nbsp; After such a day as had at last worn to
+evening, the mind is at a great tension, the nerves are
+strained.&nbsp; It is at such times that men fly into sudden
+anger and whip out the knife.&nbsp; At such times women are
+reckless, and the stories of human lives take sudden turns.</p>
+<p>Concha knew that he had this woman at a disadvantage.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What?&rsquo; he echoed.&nbsp; &lsquo;I wish I
+knew.&nbsp; I wish at times I was no priest.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Because I could help you better.&nbsp; Sometimes it is
+the man and not the priest who is the truest friend.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why do you speak like this?&rsquo; she cried.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Is there danger?&nbsp; What has happened?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You know best, my child, if there is danger; you know
+what is likely to happen.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Julia stood looking at him with hard eyes&mdash;the eyes of
+one in mortal fear.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have always been my friend,&rsquo; she said slowly,
+&lsquo;my best friend.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&nbsp; A woman&rsquo;s lover is never her best
+friend.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Has anything happened to Esteban?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The priest did not answer at once, but paused, reflecting, and
+dusting his sleeve, where there was always some snuff requiring
+attention at such moments.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know so little,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;I am no
+politician.&nbsp; What can I say?&nbsp; What can I advise you
+when I am in the dark?&nbsp; And the time is slipping
+by&mdash;slipping by.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I cannot tell you,&rsquo; she answered, turning away
+and looking out of the window.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You cannot tell the priest&mdash;tell the
+man.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Then, suddenly, she reached the end of her endurance.&nbsp;
+Standing with her back towards him, she told her story, and
+Concha listened with a still, breathless avidity as one who,
+having long sought knowledge, finds it at last when it seemed out
+of reach.&nbsp; The little fountain plashed in the courtyard
+below; a frog in the basin among the water-lilies croaked
+sociably while the priest and the beautiful woman in the room
+above made history.&nbsp; For it is not only in kings&rsquo;
+palaces nor yet in Parliaments that the story of the world is
+shaped.</p>
+<p>Concha spoke no word, and Julia, having begun, left nothing
+unsaid, but told him every detail in a slow mechanical voice, as
+if bidden thereto by a stronger will than her own.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He is all the world to me,&rsquo; she said simply, in
+conclusion.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes; and the happiest women are those who live in a
+small world.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>A silence fell upon them.&nbsp; The old priest surreptitiously
+looked at his watch.&nbsp; He was essentially a man of
+action.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My child,&rsquo; he said, rising, &lsquo;when you are
+an old woman with children to harass you and make your life worth
+living, you will probably look back with thankfulness to this
+moment.&nbsp; For you have done that which was your only chance
+of happiness.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why do you always help me?&rsquo; she asked, as she had
+asked a hundred times.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Because happiness is so rare that I hate to see it
+wasted,&rsquo; he answered, going towards the door with a grim
+laugh.</p>
+<p>He passed out of the room and crossed the patio slowly.&nbsp;
+Then, when the great door had closed behind him, he gathered up
+the skirts of his cassock and hurried down the narrow
+street.&nbsp; In such thoroughfares as were deserted he ran with
+the speed and endurance of a spare, hard-living man.&nbsp;
+Woman-like, Julia had, after all, done things by half.&nbsp; She
+had timed her confession too late.</p>
+<p>At the hotel they told the Padre that General Vincente was at
+dinner and could not be disturbed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He sees no one,&rsquo; the servant said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You do not know who I am,&rsquo; said Concha, in an
+irony which, under the circumstances, he alone could enjoy.&nbsp;
+Then he passed up the stairs and bade the waiter begone.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But I carry the General&rsquo;s dessert,&rsquo;
+protested the man.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said Concha half to himself, &lsquo;I have
+that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Vincente was indeed at table with Estella.&nbsp; He looked up
+as the priest entered, fingering a cigarette delicately.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How soon can you take the road?&rsquo; asked Concha
+abruptly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ten minutes&mdash;the time for a cup of coffee,&rsquo;
+was the answer, given with a pleasant laugh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then order your carriage.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Vincente looked at his old friend, and the smile never left
+his lips, though his eyes were grave enough.&nbsp; It was hard to
+say whether aught on earth could disturb this man&rsquo;s
+equanimity.&nbsp; Then the General rose and went to the window
+which opened upon the courtyard.&nbsp; In the quiet corner near
+the rain-tank, where a vine grows upon trellis-work, the dusty
+travelling-carriage stood, and upon the step of it, eating a
+simple meal of bread and dried figs, sat the man who had the
+reputation of being the fastest driver in Spain.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In ten minutes, my good Manuel,&rsquo; said the
+General.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Bueno,&rsquo; grumbled the driver, with his mouth
+full&mdash;a man of few words.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is it to go far?&rsquo; asked the General, turning on
+his heel and addressing Concha.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A long journey.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To take the road, Manuel,&rsquo; cried Vincente,
+leaning out.&nbsp; He closed the window before resuming his
+seat.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And now, have you any more orders?&rsquo; he asked with
+a gay carelessness.&nbsp; &lsquo;I counted on sleeping in a bed
+to-night.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You will not do that,&rsquo; replied Concha,
+&lsquo;when you hear my news.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But first you must promise me not to make use of the
+information I give you against any suspected persons&mdash;to
+take, in fact, only preventive measures.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have only to name it, my friend.&nbsp;
+Proceed.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The old priest paused and passed his hand across his
+brow.&nbsp; He was breathless still, and looked worn.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;a very grave
+matter.&nbsp; I have not had much experience in such things, for
+my path has always lain in small parochial affairs&mdash;dealings
+with children and women.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella was already pouring some wine into a glass.&nbsp; With
+a woman&rsquo;s instinct she saw that the old man was overwrought
+and faint.&nbsp; It was a Friday, and in his simple way there was
+no more austere abstinent than Father Concha, who had probably
+touched little food throughout the long hot day.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Take your time, my friend; take your time,&rsquo; said
+the General, who never hurried and was never too late.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;A pinch of snuff now&mdash;it stimulates the
+nerves.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is,&rsquo; said Concha at length&mdash;breaking a
+biscuit in his long bony fingers and speaking unembarrassedly
+with his mouth full&mdash;&rsquo;it is that I have by the merest
+accident lighted upon a matter of political
+importance.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General nodded, and held his wine up to the light.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There are matters of much political importance,&rsquo;
+he said, &lsquo;in the air just now.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A plot,&rsquo; continued Concha, &lsquo;spreading over
+all Spain; the devil is surely in it, and I know the Carlists
+are.&nbsp; A plot, believe me, to assassinate and rob and
+kidnap.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the General with his tolerant little
+smile.&nbsp; &lsquo;Yes, my dear Padre.&nbsp; Some men are so
+bloodthirsty; is it not so?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;This plot is directed against the little Queen; against
+the Queen Regent; against many who are notable Royalists
+occupying high posts in the Government or the army.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He glanced at Estella, and then looked meaningly at the
+General, who could scarcely fail to comprehend.&nbsp; &lsquo;Let
+us deal with the Queen and the Queen Regent,&rsquo; said
+Vincente; &lsquo;the others are probably able to take care of
+themselves.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;None can guard himself against
+assassination.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General seemed for a moment inclined to dispute this
+statement, but shrugged his shoulders and finally passed it
+by.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Queen,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;What of
+her?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>In response, Concha took a newspaper from his pocket and
+spread it out on the table.&nbsp; After a brief search up and
+down the ill-printed columns, he found the desired paragraph, and
+read aloud:</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Queen is in Madrid.&nbsp; The Queen Regent journeys
+from Seville to rejoin her daughter in the capital, prosecuting
+her journey by easy stages and accompanied by a small
+guard.&nbsp; Her Majesty sleeps at Ciudad Real to-night, and at
+Toledo to-morrow night.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;This,&rsquo; said Concha, folding the newspaper,
+&lsquo;is a Carlist and revolutionary rag whose readers are
+scarcely likely to be interested for a good motive in the
+movements of the Queen Regent.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;True, my dear Padre&mdash;true,&rsquo; admitted
+Vincente, half reluctantly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Many kiss hands they would fain see chopped off.&nbsp;
+In the streets and on the Plaza I have seen many reading this
+newspaper and talking over it with unusual interest.&nbsp; Like a
+bad lawyer, I am giving the confirmation of the argument before
+the argument itself.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No matter&mdash;no matter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah! but we have no time to do things ill or
+carelessly,&rsquo; said the priest.&nbsp; &lsquo;My story is a
+long one, but I will tell it as quickly as I can.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Take your time,&rsquo; urged the General
+soothingly.&nbsp; &lsquo;This great plot, you say, which is to
+spread over all Spain&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is for to-morrow night, my friend.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2><a name="page276"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+276</span>CHAPTER XXV<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">SWORDCRAFT</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;Rien n&rsquo;est plus courageux qu&rsquo;un
+c&oelig;ur patient, rien n&rsquo;est plus s&ucirc;r de soi
+qu&rsquo;un &eacute;sprit doux.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><span class="smcap">The</span> General set down his glass, and
+a queer light came into his eyes, usually so smiling and
+pleasant.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&nbsp; Then you are right, my friend.&nbsp; Tell us
+your story as quickly as possible.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It appears,&rsquo; said Concha, &lsquo;that there has
+been in progress for many months a plot to assassinate the Queen
+Regent and to seize the person of the little Queen, expelling her
+from Spain, and bringing in, not Don Carlos, who is a spent
+firework, but a Republic&mdash;a more dangerous firework, that
+usually bursts in the hands of those that light it.&nbsp; This
+plot has been finally put into shape by a
+letter&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused, tapped on the table with his bony fingers, and
+glanced at Estella.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A letter which has been going the round of all the
+malcontents in the Peninsula.&nbsp; Each faction-leader, to show
+that he has read it and agrees to obey its commands, initials the
+letter.&nbsp; It has then been returned to an intermediary, who
+sends it to the next&mdash;never by post, because the post is
+watched&mdash;always by hand, and usually by the hand of a person
+innocent of its contents.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; murmured the General absently, and there
+was a queer little smile on Estella&rsquo;s lips.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To think,&rsquo; cried Concha, with a sudden fire less
+surprising in Spain than in England, &lsquo;to think that we have
+all seen it&mdash;have touched it!&nbsp; Name of a saint!&nbsp; I
+had it under my hand in the hotel at Algeciras, and I left it on
+the table.&nbsp; And now it has been the round, and all the
+initials are placed upon it, and it is for to-morrow
+night.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Where have you learnt this?&rsquo; asked the General in
+a voice that made Estella look at him.&nbsp; She had never seen
+him as his enemies had seen him, and even they confessed that he
+was always visible enough in action.&nbsp; Perhaps there was
+another man behind the personality of this deprecating,
+pleasant-spoken little sybarite&mdash;a man who only appeared (oh
+<i>rara avis</i>!) when he was wanted.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No matter,&rsquo; replied Concha, in a voice as hard
+and sharp.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No; after all, it is of no matter, so long as your
+information is reliable.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You may stake your life on that,&rsquo; said Concha,
+and remembered the words ever after.&nbsp; &lsquo;It has been
+decided to make this journey from Seville to Madrid the
+opportunity of assassinating the Queen Regent.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It will not be the first time they have tried,&rsquo;
+put in the General.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No.&nbsp; But this time they will succeed, and it is to
+be here&mdash;to-morrow night&mdash;in Toledo.&nbsp; After the
+Queen Regent&rsquo;s death, and in the confusion that will
+supervene, the little Queen will disappear, and then upon the
+rubbish-heap will spring up the mushrooms as they did in France;
+and this rubbish-heap, like the other, will foul the whole air of
+Europe.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He shook his head pessimistically till the long, wispy grey
+hair waved from side to side, and his left hand, resting on the
+wrist-bone on the table, made an indescribable gesture that
+showed a f&oelig;tid air tainted by darksome growths.</p>
+<p>There was a silence in the room broken by no outside sound but
+the chink of champed bits as the horses stood in their traces
+below.&nbsp; Indeed, the city of Toledo seemed strangely still
+this evening, and the very air had a sense of waiting in
+it.&nbsp; The priest sat and looked at his lifelong friend, his
+furrowed face the incarnation of cynical hopelessness.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;What is, is worst,&rsquo; he seemed to say.&nbsp; His
+yellow, wise old eyes watched the quick face with the air of one
+who, having posed an insoluble problem, awaits with a sarcastic
+humour the admission of failure.</p>
+<p>General Vincente, who had just finished his wine, wiped his
+moustache delicately with his table-napkin.&nbsp; He was
+thinking&mdash;quickly, systematically, as men learn to think
+under fire.&nbsp; Perhaps, indeed, he had the thoughts half
+matured in his mind&mdash;as the greatest general the world has
+seen confessed that he ever had&mdash;that he was never taken
+quite by surprise.&nbsp; Vincente smiled as he thought: a habit
+he had acquired on the field, where a staff, and perhaps a whole
+army, took its cue from his face and read the turn of fortune
+there.&nbsp; Then he looked up straight at Estella, who was
+watching him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Can you start on a journey, now&mdash;in five
+minutes?&rsquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; she answered, rising and going towards the
+door.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Have you a white mantilla among your travelling
+things?&rsquo; he asked again.</p>
+<p>Estella turned at the doorway and nodded.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; she said again.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then take it with you, and a cloak, but no heavy
+luggage.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella closed the door.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You can come with us?&rsquo; said the General to
+Concha, half command, half interrogation.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If you wish it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You may be wanted.&nbsp; I have a plan&mdash;a little
+plan,&rsquo; and he gave a short laugh.&nbsp; &lsquo;It may
+succeed.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He went to a side table, where some cold meats still stood,
+and, taking up a small chicken daintily with a fork, he folded it
+in a napkin.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It will be Saturday,&rsquo; he said simply,
+&lsquo;before we have reached our journey&rsquo;s end, and you
+will be hungry.&nbsp; Have you a pocket?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Has a priest a pocket?&rsquo; asked Concha, with a grim
+humour, and he slipped the provisions into the folds of his
+cassock.&nbsp; He was still eating a biscuit hurriedly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I believe you have no money?&rsquo; said the General
+suddenly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have only enough,&rsquo; admitted the old man,
+&lsquo;to take me back to Ronda; whither, by the way, my duty
+calls me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I think not.&nbsp; Your Master can spare you for a
+while; my mistress cannot do without you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>At this moment Estella came back into the room ready for her
+journey.&nbsp; The girl had changed of late.&nbsp; Her face had
+lost a little roundness and had gained exceedingly in
+expression.&nbsp; Her eyes, too, were different.&nbsp; That
+change had come to them which comes to all women between the ages
+of twenty and thirty, quite irrespective of their state.&nbsp; A
+certain restlessness, or a quiet content, are what one usually
+sees in a woman&rsquo;s face.&nbsp; Estella&rsquo;s eyes wore
+that latter look, which seems to indicate a knowledge of the
+meaning of life and a contentment that it should be no
+different.</p>
+<p>Vincente was writing at the table.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We shall want help,&rsquo; he said, without looking
+up.&nbsp; &lsquo;I am sending for a good man.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And he smiled as he shook the small sand-castor over the
+paper.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;May one ask,&rsquo; said Concha, &lsquo;where we are
+going?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We are going to Ciudad Real, my dear friend, since you
+are so curious.&nbsp; But we shall come back&mdash;we shall come
+back.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He was writing another despatch as he spoke, and at a sign
+from him Estella went to the door and clapped her hands, the only
+method of summoning a servant in general use at that time in
+Spain.&nbsp; The call was answered by an orderly, who stood at
+attention in the doorway for a full five minutes while the
+General wrote further orders in his neat, small
+calligraphy.&nbsp; There were half a dozen letters in
+all&mdash;curt military despatches without preamble and without
+mercy.&nbsp; For this soldier conducted military matters in a
+singularly domestic way, planning his campaigns by the fireside
+and bringing about the downfall of an enemy while sitting in his
+daughter&rsquo;s drawing-room.&nbsp; Indeed, Estella&rsquo;s
+blotting-book bore the impress of more than one death warrant or
+an order as good as such, written casually on her stationery and
+with her pen.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Will you have the goodness to despatch these at
+once?&rsquo; was the message taken by the orderly to the
+General&rsquo;s aide-de-camp, and the gallopers, who were always
+in readiness, smiled as they heard the modest request.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It will be pleasant to travel in the cool of the
+evening, provided that one guards against a chill,&rsquo; said
+the General, making his final preparations.&nbsp; &lsquo;I
+require but a moment to speak to my faithful aide-de-camp, and
+then we embark.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The moon was rising as the carriage rattled across the Bridge
+of Alcantara, and Larralde, taking the air between Wamba&rsquo;s
+Gate and the little fort that guards the entrance to the city,
+recognised the equipage as it passed him.&nbsp; He saw also the
+outline of Concha&rsquo;s figure in the darkest corner of the
+carriage, with his back to the horses, his head bowed in
+meditation.&nbsp; Estella he saw and recognised, while two
+mounted attendants clattering in the rear of the carriage
+testified by their presence to the fact that the General had
+taken the road again.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is well,&rsquo; said Larralde to himself.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;They are all going back to Ronda, and Julia will be rid of
+their influence.&nbsp; Ronda will serve as well as Toledo so far
+as Vincente is concerned.&nbsp; But I will wait to make sure that
+they are not losing sight of him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>So Se&ntilde;or Larralde, cloaked to the eyebrows, leant
+gracefully against the wall, and, like many another upon the
+bridge after that breathless day, drank in the cool air that rose
+from the river.&nbsp; Presently&mdash;indeed, before the sound of
+the distant wheels was quite lost&mdash;two horsemen, cloaked and
+provided with such light luggage as the saddle can accommodate,
+rode leisurely through the gateway and up the incline that makes
+a short cut to the great road running southward to Ciudad
+Real.&nbsp; Larralde gave a little nod of self-confidence and
+satisfaction, as one who, having conceived and built up a great
+scheme, is pleased to see each component part of it act
+independently, and slip into its place.</p>
+<p>The General&rsquo;s first thought was for Estella&rsquo;s
+comfort, and he utilised the long hill which they had to ascend
+on leaving the town to make such arrangements as space would
+allow for their common ease.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You must sleep, my child,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;We cannot hope to reach Ciudad Real before midday
+to-morrow, and it is as likely as not that we shall have but a
+few hours&rsquo; rest there.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And Estella, who had travelled vast distances over vile roads
+so long as her memory went back, who had never known what it is
+to live in a country that is at peace, leant back in her corner
+and closed her eyes.&nbsp; Had she really been disposed to sleep,
+however, she could scarcely have done it, for the General&rsquo;s
+solicitude manifested itself by a hundred little devices for her
+greater repose.&nbsp; For her comfort he made Concha move.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;An old traveller like you must shift for
+yourself,&rsquo; he said gaily.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No need to seek shelter for an old ox,&rsquo; replied
+Concha, moving into the other corner, where he carefully unfolded
+his pocket-handkerchief and laid it over his face, where his long
+nose, protruding, caused it to fall into fantastic folds.&nbsp;
+He clasped his hands upon his hat, which lay on his knee, and,
+leaning back, presently began to snore gently and
+regularly&mdash;a peaceful, sleep-inducing sound, and an
+excellent example.&nbsp; The General, whose sword seemed to take
+up half the carriage, still watched Estella, and if the air made
+her mantilla flutter, drew up the window with the solicitude of a
+lover and a maternal noiselessness.&nbsp; Then, with one hand on
+hers, and the other grasping his sword, he leant back, but did
+not close his eyes.</p>
+<p>Thus they travelled on through the luminous night.&nbsp; The
+roads were neither worse nor better than they are to-day in
+Spain&mdash;than they were in England in the Middle
+Ages&mdash;and their way lay over the hill ranges that lie
+between the watersheds of the Tagus and the Guadiana.&nbsp; At
+times they passed through well-tended valleys, where corn and
+olives and vines seemed to grow on the same soil, but for the
+greater part of the night they ascended and descended the upper
+slopes, where herds of goats, half awakened as they slept in a
+ring about their guardian, looked at them with startled
+eyes.&nbsp; The shepherds and goatherds, who, like those of old,
+lay cloaked upon the ground, and tended their flocks by night,
+did not trouble to raise their heads.</p>
+<p>Concha alone slept, for the General had a thousand thoughts
+that kept him awake and bright-eyed, while Estella knew from her
+father&rsquo;s manner and restlessness that these were no small
+events that now stirred Spain, and seemed to close men&rsquo;s
+mouths, so that near friends distrusted one another, and brother
+was divided against brother.&nbsp; Indeed, others were on the
+road that night, and horsemen passed the heavy carriage from time
+to time.</p>
+<p>In the early morning a change of horses was effected at a
+large inn near the summit of a pass above Malagon, and here an
+orderly, who seemed to recognise the General, was climbing into
+the saddle as the Vincentes quitted their carriage and passed
+into the common room of the venta for a hasty cup of coffee.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is the Queen&rsquo;s courier,&rsquo; said the
+innkeeper grandly, &lsquo;who takes the road before her Majesty
+in order to secure horses.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah,&rsquo; said the General, breaking his bread and
+dropping it into his cup.&nbsp; &lsquo;Is that so?&nbsp; The
+Queen Regent, you mean?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Queen or Queen Regent, she requires four horses this
+evening, Excellency&mdash;that is all my concern.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;True, my friend; true.&nbsp; That is well said.&nbsp;
+And the horses will be forthcoming, no doubt.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They will be forthcoming,&rsquo; said the man.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;And the Excellency&rsquo;s carriage is ready.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>In the early morning light they drove on, now descending
+towards the great valley of the Guadiana, and at midday, as
+Vincente had foreseen, gained a sight of the ancient city of
+Ciudad Real lying amid trees below them.&nbsp; Ciudad Real is
+less interesting than its name, and there is little that is royal
+about its dirty streets and ill-kept houses.&nbsp; No one gave
+great heed to the travelling-carriage, for this is a great centre
+where travellers journeying east or west, north or south, must
+needs pause for a change of horses.&nbsp; At the inn there were
+vacant rooms, and that hasty welcome accorded to the traveller at
+wayside houses where none stay longer than they can help.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said the landlord, in answer to the
+General&rsquo;s query.&nbsp; &lsquo;We are not busy, though we
+expect a lady who will pass the hour of the siesta here and then
+proceed northward.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2><a name="page287"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+287</span>CHAPTER XXVI<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">WOMANCRAFT</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">&lsquo;Il est rare que
+la t&ecirc;te des rois soit faite &agrave; la mesure de leur
+couronne.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the best room of the inn where
+Vincente and his tired companions sought a few hours&rsquo; rest
+there sat alone, and in thought, a woman of middle age.&nbsp;
+Somewhat stout, she yet had that air which arouses the attention
+without being worthy of the name of beauty.&nbsp; This lady had
+doubtless swayed men&rsquo;s hearts by a word or a glance, for
+she still carried herself with assurance, and a hundred little
+details of her dress would have told another woman that she still
+desired to please.&nbsp; She wore a white mantilla.</p>
+<p>The hour of the siesta was over, and after the great heat of
+the day a cool air was swinging down on the bosom of the river to
+the parched lowlands.&nbsp; It stirred the leaves of a climbing
+heliotrope which encircled the open windows, and wafted into the
+ill-furnished room a scent of stable-yard and dust.</p>
+<p>The lady, sitting with her chin resting in the palm of her
+small white hand, seemed to have lately roused herself from
+sleep, and now had the expectant air of one who awaits a carriage
+and is about to set out on a long journey.&nbsp; Her eyes were
+dark and tired-looking, and their expression was not that of a
+good woman.&nbsp; A sensual man is usually weak, but women are
+different; and this face, with its faded complexion and tired
+eyes, this woman of the majestic presence and beautiful hands,
+was both strong and sensual.&nbsp; This, in a word, was a Queen
+who never forgot that she was a woman.&nbsp; As it was said of
+the Princess Christina, so it has been spoken of the Queen, that
+many had killed themselves for hopeless love of her.&nbsp; For
+this was the most dangerous of the world&rsquo;s
+creatures&mdash;a royal coquette.&nbsp; Such would our own Queen
+Bess have been had not God, for the good of England, given her a
+plain face and an ungainly form.&nbsp; For surely the devil is in
+it when a woman can command both love and men.&nbsp; Queen
+Christina, since the death of a husband who was years older than
+herself (and, as some say, before that historic event), had
+played a woman&rsquo;s game with that skill which men only half
+recognise, and had played it with the additional incentive that
+behind her insatiable vanity lay the heavier stake of a
+crown.</p>
+<p>She was not the first to turn the strong current of
+man&rsquo;s passion to her own deliberate gain&mdash;nay,
+ninety-nine out of a hundred women do it.&nbsp; But the majority
+only play for a suburban villa and a few hundred pounds a year;
+Queen Christina of Spain handled her cards for a throne and the
+continuance of an ill-starred dynasty.</p>
+<p>As she sat in the hotel chamber in Ciudad Real&mdash;that
+forlornest of royal cities&mdash;her face wore the pettish look
+of one who, having passed through great events, having tasted of
+great passions and moved amid the machinery of life and death,
+finds the ordinary routine of existence intolerably
+irksome.&nbsp; Many faces wear such a look in this country; every
+second beautiful face in London has it.&nbsp; And these
+women&mdash;heaven help them&mdash;find the morning hours dull,
+because every afternoon has not its great event and every evening
+the excitement of a social function.</p>
+<p>The Queen was travelling incognita, and that fact alone robbed
+her progress of a sense of excitement.&nbsp; She had to do
+without the shout of the multitude&mdash;the passing admiration
+of the man in the street.&nbsp; She knew that she was yet many
+hours removed from Madrid, where she had admirers, and the next
+best possession&mdash;enemies.&nbsp; Ciudad Real was intolerably
+dull and provincial.&nbsp; A servant knocked at the door.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;General Vincente, your Majesty, craves the favour of a
+moment.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; exclaimed the Queen, the light returning to
+her eyes, a faint colour flushing her cheek.&nbsp; &lsquo;In five
+minutes I will receive him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And there is no need to say how the Queen spent those
+minutes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Your Majesty,&rsquo; said the General, bending over her
+hand, which he touched with his lips, &lsquo;I have news of the
+greatest importance.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The suggestion of a scornful smile flickered for a moment in
+the royal eyes.&nbsp; It was surely news enough for any man that
+she was a woman&mdash;beautiful still&mdash;possessing still that
+intangible and fatal gift of pleasing.&nbsp; The woman slowly
+faded from her eyes as they rested on the great soldier&rsquo;s
+face, and the Queen it was who, with a gracious gesture, bade him
+be seated.&nbsp; But the General remained standing.&nbsp; He
+alone perhaps of all the men who had to deal with her&mdash;of
+all those military puppets with whom she played her royal
+game&mdash;had never crossed that vague boundary which many had
+overstepped to their own inevitable undoing.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It concerns your Majesty&rsquo;s life,&rsquo; said
+Vincente bluntly, and calm in the certainty of his own theory
+that good blood, whether it flow in the veins of man or woman,
+assuredly carries a high courage.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; said the Queen Regent, whose humour still
+inclined towards those affairs which interested her before the
+affairs of State.&nbsp; &lsquo;But with men such as you about me,
+my dear General, what need I fear?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Treachery, Madame,&rsquo; he answered, with his sudden
+smile and a bow.&nbsp; &lsquo;Treachery.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She frowned.&nbsp; When a Queen stoops to dalliance a subject
+must not be too practical.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&nbsp; What is it that concerns my life?&nbsp;
+Another plot?&rsquo; she inquired shortly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Another plot, but one of greater importance than those
+that exist in the republican caf&eacute;s of every town in your
+Majesty&rsquo;s kingdom.&nbsp; This is a widespread conspiracy,
+and I fear that many powerful persons are concerned in it; but
+that, your Majesty, is not my department nor concern.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What is your concern, General?&rsquo; she asked,
+looking at him over her fan.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To save your Majesty&rsquo;s life to-night.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To-night!&rsquo; she echoed, her coquetry gone.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To-night.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But how and where?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Assassination, Madame, in Toledo.&nbsp; You are three
+hours late in your journey.&nbsp; But all Toledo will be astir
+awaiting you, though it be till dawn.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The Queen Regent closed her fan slowly.&nbsp; She was, as the
+rapid events of her reign and regency have proved, one of those
+women who rise to the occasion.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then one must act at once,&rsquo; she said.</p>
+<p>The General bowed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What have you done?&rsquo; she asked.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have sent to Madrid for a regiment that I know; they
+are as my own children.&nbsp; I have killed so many of them that
+the remainder love me.&nbsp; I have travelled from Toledo to meet
+your Majesty on the road, or here.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what means have you of preventing this
+thing?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have brought the means with me, Madame.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Troops?&rsquo; asked the Queen doubtfully, knowing
+where the canker-worm lay hidden.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A woman and a priest, Madame.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And I propose that your Majesty journey to Madrid in my
+carriage, attended only by my orderlies, by way of
+Aranjuez.&nbsp; You will be safe in Madrid, where the Queen will
+require her mother&rsquo;s care.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&nbsp; And the remainder of your plan?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will travel back to Toledo in your Majesty&rsquo;s
+carriage with the woman and the priest and your
+bodyguard&mdash;just as your Majesty is in the habit of
+travelling.&nbsp; Toledo wants a fight; nothing else will satisfy
+them.&nbsp; They shall have it&mdash;before dawn.&nbsp; The very
+best I have to offer them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And General Vincente gave a queer, cheery little laugh, as if
+he were arranging a practical joke.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But the fight will be round my
+carriage&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Possibly.&nbsp; I would rather that it took place in
+the Calle de la Ciudad, or around the Casa del Ayuntamiento,
+where your Majesty is expected to sleep to-night.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And these persons&mdash;this woman who risks her life
+to save mine&mdash;who is she?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My daughter,&rsquo; answered the General gravely.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;She is here&mdash;in the hotel now?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General bowed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have heard that she is beautiful,&rsquo; said the
+Queen, with a quick glance towards her companion.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;How is it that you have never brought her to Court, you
+who come so seldom yourself?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Vincente made no reply.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;However, bring her to me now.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;She has travelled far, Madame, and is not prepared for
+presentation to her Queen.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;This is no time for formalities.&nbsp; She is about to
+run a great risk for my sake, a greater risk than I could ever
+ask her to run.&nbsp; Present her as one woman to another,
+General.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>But General Vincente bowed gravely and made no reply.&nbsp;
+The colour slowly rose to the Queen Regent&rsquo;s face&mdash;a
+dull red.&nbsp; She opened her fan, closed it again, and sat with
+furtive downcast eyes.&nbsp; Suddenly she looked up and met his
+gaze.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You refuse,&rsquo; she said, with an insolent air of
+indifference.&nbsp; &lsquo;You think that I am unworthy
+to&mdash;meet your daughter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I think only of the exigency of the moment,&rsquo; was
+his reply.&nbsp; &lsquo;Every minute we lose is a gain to our
+enemies.&nbsp; If our trick is discovered Aranjuez will be no
+safer for your Majesty than is Toledo.&nbsp; You must be safely
+in Madrid before it is discovered in Toledo that you have taken
+the other route, and that the person they have mistaken for you
+is in reality my daughter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But she may be killed,&rsquo; exclaimed the Queen.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We may all be killed, Madame,&rsquo; he replied
+lightly.&nbsp; &lsquo;I beg that you will start at once in my
+carriage with your chaplain and the holy lady who is doubtless
+travelling with you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The Queen glanced sharply at him.&nbsp; It was known that
+although her own life was anything but exemplary, she loved to
+associate with women who, under the cloak of religion and an
+austere virtue, intrigued with all parties and condoned the
+Queen&rsquo;s offences.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I cannot understand you,&rsquo; she said, with that
+sudden lapse into familiarity which had led to the undoing of
+more than one ambitious courtier.&nbsp; &lsquo;You seem to
+worship the crown and despise the head it rests on.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So long as I serve your Majesty
+faithfully&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But you have no right to despise me,&rsquo; she
+interrupted passionately.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If I despised you, should I be here now&mdash;should I
+be doing you this service?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do not know.&nbsp; I tell you I do not understand
+you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And the Queen looked hard at the man who, for this very
+reason, interested one who had all her life dealt and intrigued
+with men of obvious motive and unblushing ambition.</p>
+<p>So strong is a ruling passion that even in sight of death (for
+the Queen Regent knew that Spain was full of her enemies and
+rendered callous to bloodshed by a long war) vanity was alert in
+this woman&rsquo;s breast.&nbsp; Even while General Vincente,
+that unrivalled strategist, detailed his plans, she kept harking
+back to the question that puzzled her, and but half listened to
+his instructions.</p>
+<p>Those desirous of travelling without attracting attention in
+Spain are wise to time their arrival and departure for the
+afternoon.&nbsp; At this time, while the sun is yet hot, all
+shutters are closed, and the business of life, the haggling in
+the market-place, the bustle of the barrack yard, the leisurely
+labour of the fields, are suspended.&nbsp; It was about four
+o&rsquo;clock&mdash;indeed, the city clocks were striking that
+hour&mdash;when the two carriages in the inn yard at Ciudad Real
+were made ready for the road.&nbsp; Father Concha, who never took
+an active part in passing incidents while his old friend and
+comrade was near, sat in a shady corner of the patio and smoked a
+cigarette.&nbsp; An affable ostler had in vain endeavoured to
+engage him in conversation.&nbsp; Two small children had begged
+of him, and now he was left in meditative solitude.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In a short three minutes,&rsquo; said the ostler,
+&lsquo;and the Excellencies can then depart.&nbsp; In which
+direction, reverendo, if one may ask?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One may always ask, my friend,&rsquo; replied the
+priest.&nbsp; &lsquo;Indeed, the holy books are of opinion that
+it cannot be overdone.&nbsp; That chin strap is too
+tight.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, I see the reverendo knows a horse.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And an ass,&rsquo; added Concha.</p>
+<p>At this moment the General emerged from the shadow of the
+staircase, which was open and of stone.&nbsp; He was followed by
+Estella, as it would appear, and they hurried across the
+sunlighted patio, the girl carrying her fan to screen her
+face.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are you rested, my child?&rsquo; asked Concha at the
+carriage door.</p>
+<p>The lady lowered the fan for a moment and met his eyes.&nbsp;
+A quick look of surprise flashed across Concha&rsquo;s face and
+he half bowed.&nbsp; Then he repeated his question in a louder
+voice:</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are you rested, my child, after our long
+journey?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thank you, my father, yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And the ostler watched with open-mouthed interest.</p>
+<p>The other carriage had been drawn up to that side of the
+courtyard where the open stairway was, and here also the bustle
+of departure and a hurrying female form, anxious to gain the
+shade of the vehicle, were discernible.&nbsp; It was all done so
+quickly, with such a military completeness of detail, that the
+carriages had passed through the great doorway and the
+troopers&mdash;merely a general&rsquo;s escort&mdash;had
+clattered after them before the few onlookers had fully realised
+that these were surely travellers of some note.</p>
+<p>The ostler hurried to the street to watch them go.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They are going to the north,&rsquo; he said to himself,
+as he saw the carriages turn in the direction of the river and
+the ancient Puerta de Toledo.&nbsp; &lsquo;They go to the
+north&mdash;and assuredly the General has come to conduct her to
+Toledo.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Strange to say, although it was the hour of rest, many
+shutters in the narrow street were open, and more than one
+peeping face was turned towards the departing carriages.</p>
+<h2><a name="page298"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+298</span>CHAPTER XXVII<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">A NIGHT JOURNEY</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">&lsquo;Let me but bear
+your love, I&rsquo;ll bear your cares.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><span class="smcap">At</span> the cross-roads on the northern
+side of the river the two carriages parted company, the dusty
+equipage of General Vincente taking the road to Aranjuez that
+leads to the right and mounts steadily through olive
+groves.&nbsp; The other carriage&mdash;which, despite its plain
+and sombre colours, still had an air of grandeur and almost of
+royalty, with its great wheels and curved springs&mdash;turned to
+the left and headed for Toledo.&nbsp; Behind it clattered a dozen
+troopers, picked men, with huge swinging swords and
+travel-stained clothes.&nbsp; The dust rose in a cloud under the
+horses&rsquo; feet and hovered in the sullen air.&nbsp; There was
+no breath of wind, and the sun shone through a faint haze which
+seemed only to add to the heat.</p>
+<p>Concha lowered the window and thrust forward his long
+inquiring nose.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What is it?&rsquo; asked the General.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thunder&mdash;I smell it.&nbsp; We shall have a storm
+to-night.&rsquo;&nbsp; He looked out mopping his brow.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Name of a saint! how thick the air is.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It will be clear before the morning,&rsquo; said
+Vincente the optimist.</p>
+<p>And the carriage rattled on towards the city of strife, where
+Jew, Goth and Roman, Moor and Inquisitor, have all had their
+day.&nbsp; Estella was silent, drooping with fatigue.&nbsp; The
+General alone seemed unmoved and heedless of the heat&mdash;a man
+of steel, as bright and ready as his own sword.</p>
+<p>There is no civilised country in the world so bare as Spain,
+and no part of the Peninsula so sparsely populated as the
+Castiles.&nbsp; The road ran for the most part over brown and
+barren uplands, with here and there a valley where wheat and
+olives and vineyards graced the lower slopes.&nbsp; The crying
+need of all nature was for shade; for the ilex is a small-leaved
+tree giving a thin shadow with no cool depths amid the
+branches.&nbsp; All was brown and barren and parched.&nbsp; The
+earth seemed to lie fainting and awaiting the rain.&nbsp; The
+horses trotted with extended necks and open mouths, their coats
+wet with sweat.&nbsp; The driver&mdash;an Andalusian, with a face
+like a Moorish pirate&mdash;kept encouraging them with word and
+rein, jerking and whipping only when they seemed likely to fall
+from sheer fatigue and sun-weariness.&nbsp; At last the sun began
+to set in a glow like that of a great furnace, and the reflection
+lay over the land in ruddy splendour.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; said Concha, looking out, &lsquo;it will be
+a great storm&mdash;and it will soon come.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Vast columns of cloud were climbing up from the sunset into a
+sullen sky, thrown up in spreading mares&rsquo; tails by a
+hundred contrary gusts of wind, as if there were explosive matter
+in the great furnace of the west.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nature is always on my side,&rsquo; said Vincente, with
+his chuckling laugh.&nbsp; He sat, watch in hand, noting the
+passage of the kilometres.</p>
+<p>At last the sun went down behind a distant line of
+hill&mdash;the watershed of the Tagus&mdash;and immediately the
+air was cool.&nbsp; Without stopping, the driver wrapped his
+cloak round him, and the troopers followed his example.&nbsp; A
+few minutes later a cold breeze sprung up suddenly, coming from
+the north and swirling the dust high in the air.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is well,&rsquo; said Vincente, who assuredly saw
+good in everything; &lsquo;the wind comes first, and therefore
+the storm will be short.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>As he spoke the thunder rolled among the hills.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is almost like guns,&rsquo; he added, with a queer
+look in his eyes suggestive of some memory.</p>
+<p>Then, preceded by a rushing wind, the rain came, turning to
+hail, and stopping suddenly in a breathless pause, only to
+recommence with a renewed and splashing vigour.&nbsp; Concha drew
+up the windows, and the water streamed down them in a continuous
+ripple.&nbsp; Estella, who had been sleeping, roused
+herself.&nbsp; She looked fresh, and her eyes were bright with
+excitement.&nbsp; She had brought home with her from her English
+school that air of freshness and a dainty vigour which makes
+Englishwomen different from all other women in the world, and an
+English schoolgirl one of the brightest, purest, and sweetest of
+God&rsquo;s creatures.</p>
+<p>Concha looked at her with his grim smile&mdash;amused at a
+youthfulness which could enable her to fall asleep at such a time
+and wake up so manifestly refreshed.</p>
+<p>A halt was made at a roadside venta, where the travellers
+partook of a hurried meal.&nbsp; Darkness came on before the
+horses were sufficiently rested, and by the light of an
+ill-smelling lamp the General had his inevitable cup of
+coffee.&nbsp; The rain had now ceased, but the sky remained
+overcast and the night was a dark one.&nbsp; The travellers took
+their places in the carriage, and again the monotony of the road,
+the steady trot of the horses, the sing-song words of
+encouragement of their driver, monopolised the thoughts of sleepy
+minds.&nbsp; It seemed to Estella that life was all journeys, and
+that she had been on the road for years.&nbsp; The swing of the
+carriage, the little varieties of the road, but served to add to
+her somnolence.&nbsp; She only half woke up when, about ten
+o&rsquo;clock, a halt was made to change horses, and the General
+quitted the carriage for a few minutes to talk earnestly with two
+horsemen, who were apparently awaiting their arrival.&nbsp; No
+time was lost here, and the carriage went forward with an
+increased escort.&nbsp; The two new-comers rode by the carriage,
+one on either side.</p>
+<p>When Estella woke up, the moon had risen and the carriage was
+making slow progress up a long hill.&nbsp; She noticed that a
+horseman was on either side, close by the carriage window.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who is that?&rsquo; she asked.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Conyngham,&rsquo; replied the General.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You sent for him?&rsquo; inquired Estella, in a hard
+voice.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella was wakeful enough now, and sat upright, looking
+straight in front of her.&nbsp; At times she glanced towards the
+window, which was now open, where the head of Conyngham&rsquo;s
+charger appeared.&nbsp; The horse trotted steadily, with a queer
+jerk of the head and that willingness to do his best which gains
+for horses a place in the hearts of all who have to do with
+them.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Will there be fighting?&rsquo; asked Estella
+suddenly.</p>
+<p>The General shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One cannot call it fighting.&nbsp; There may be a
+disturbance in the streets,&rsquo; he answered.</p>
+<p>Concha, quiet in his corner, with his back to the horses,
+watched the girl, and saw that her eyes were wide with anxiety
+now&mdash;quite suddenly.&nbsp; She, who had never thought of
+fear till this moment.&nbsp; She moved uneasily in her seat,
+fidgeting as the young ever do when troubled.&nbsp; It is only
+with years that we learn to bear a burden quietly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who is that?&rsquo; she asked shortly, pointing to the
+other window, which was closed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Concep&ccedil;ion Vara&mdash;Conyngham&rsquo;s
+servant,&rsquo; replied the General, who for some reason was
+inclined to curtness in his speech.</p>
+<p>They were approaching Toledo, and passed through a village
+from time to time, where the caf&eacute;s were still lighted up,
+and people seemed to be astir in the shadow of the houses.&nbsp;
+At last, in the main thoroughfare of a larger village within a
+stage of Toledo, a final halt was made to change horses.&nbsp;
+The street, dimly lighted by a couple of oil lamps swinging from
+gibbets at the corners of a crossroad, seemed to be peopled by
+shadows surreptitiously lurking in doorways.&nbsp; There was a
+false air of quiet in the houses, and peeping eyes looked out
+from behind the bars that covered every window, for even modern
+Spanish houses are barred as if for a siege, and in the ancient
+villages every man&rsquo;s house is indeed his castle.</p>
+<p>The driver had left the box, and seemed to be having some
+trouble with the ostlers and stable-helps; for his voice could be
+heard raised in anger and urging them to greater haste.</p>
+<p>Conyngham, motionless in the saddle, touched his horse with
+his heel, advancing a few paces so as to screen the window.&nbsp;
+Concep&ccedil;ion, on the other side, did the same, so that the
+travellers in the interior of the vehicle saw but the dark shape
+of the horses and the long cloaks of their riders.&nbsp; They
+could perceive Conyngham quickly throw back his cape in order to
+have a free hand.&nbsp; Then there came the sound of scuffling
+feet and an indefinable sense of strife in the very air.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But we will see&mdash;we will see who is in the
+carriage!&rsquo; cried a shrill voice, and a hoarse shout from
+many bibulous throats confirmed the desire.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Quick!&rsquo; said Conyngham&rsquo;s voice.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Quick&mdash;take your reins&mdash;never mind the
+lamps.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And the carriage swayed as the man leapt to his place.&nbsp;
+Estella made a movement to look out of the window, but Concha had
+stood up against it, opposing his broad back alike to curious
+glances or a knife or a bullet.&nbsp; At the other window the
+General, better versed in such matters, held the leather cushion
+upon which he had been sitting across the sash.&nbsp; With his
+left hand he restrained Estella.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Keep still,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;Sit
+back.&nbsp; Conyngham can take care of himself.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The carriage swayed forward, and a volley of stones rattled on
+it like hail.&nbsp; It rose jerkily on one side, and bumped over
+some obstacle.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One who has his quietus,&rsquo; said Concha;
+&lsquo;these royal carriages are heavy.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The horses were galloping now.&nbsp; Concha sat down rubbing
+his back.&nbsp; Conyngham was galloping by the window, and they
+could see his spur flashing in the moonlight as he used it.&nbsp;
+The reins hung loose, and both his hands were employed elsewhere,
+for he had a man half across the saddle in front of him, who held
+to him with one arm thrown round his neck, while the other was
+raised and a gleam of steel was at the end of it.&nbsp;
+Concep&ccedil;ion, from the other side, threw a knife over the
+roof of the carriage&mdash;he could hit a cork at twenty paces
+but he missed this time.</p>
+<p>The General, from within, leant across Estella, sword in hand,
+with gleaming eyes.&nbsp; But Conyngham seemed to have got the
+hold he desired, for his assailant came suddenly swinging over
+the horse&rsquo;s neck, and one of his flying heels crashed
+through the window by Concha&rsquo;s head, making that
+ecclesiastic swear like any layman.&nbsp; The carriage was lifted
+on one side again, and bumped heavily.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Another,&rsquo; said Concha, looking for broken glass
+in the folds of his cassock.&nbsp; &lsquo;That is a pretty trick
+of Conyngham&rsquo;s.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And the man is a horseman,&rsquo; added the General,
+sheathing his sword&mdash;&lsquo;a horseman.&nbsp; It warms the
+heart to see it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Then he leant out of the window and asked if any were
+hurt.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am afraid, Excellency, that I hurt one,&rsquo;
+answered Vara.&nbsp; &lsquo;Where the neck joins the
+shoulder.&nbsp; It is a pretty spot for the knife&mdash;nothing
+to turn a point.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He rubbed a sulphur match on the leg of his trouser, and
+lighted a cigarette as he rode along.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;On our side no accidents,&rsquo; continued Vara, with a
+careless grandeur, &lsquo;unless the reverendo received a kick in
+the face.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The reverendo received a stone in the small of the
+back,&rsquo; growled Concha pessimistically, &lsquo;where there
+was already a corner of lumbago.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham, standing in his stirrups, was looking back.&nbsp; A
+man lay motionless on the road, and beyond, at the cross-roads,
+another was riding up a hill to the right at a hand gallop.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is the road to Madrid,&rsquo; said
+Concep&ccedil;ion, noting the direction of the Englishman&rsquo;s
+glance.</p>
+<p>The General, leaning out of the carriage window, was also
+looking back anxiously.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They have sent a messenger to Madrid, Excellency, with
+the news that the Queen is on the road to Toledo,&rsquo; said
+Concep&ccedil;ion.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is well,&rsquo; answered Vincente, with a laugh.</p>
+<p>As they journeyed, although it was nearly midnight, there
+appeared from time to time, and for the most part in the
+neighbourhood of a village, one who seemed to have been awaiting
+their passage, and immediately set out on foot or horseback by
+one of the shorter bridle-paths that abound in Spain.&nbsp; No
+one of these spies escaped the notice of Concep&ccedil;ion, whose
+training amid the mountains of Andalusia had sharpened his
+eyesight and added keenness to every sense.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is like a cat walking down an alley full of
+dogs,&rsquo; he muttered.</p>
+<p>At last the lights of Toledo hove in sight, and across the
+river came the sound of the city clocks tolling the hour.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Midnight,&rsquo; said Concha.&nbsp; &lsquo;And all
+respectable folk are in their beds.&nbsp; At night all cats are
+grey.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>No one heeded him.&nbsp; Estella was sitting upright,
+bright-eyed and wakeful.&nbsp; The General looked out of the
+window at every moment.&nbsp; Across the river they could see
+lights moving, and many houses that had been illuminated were
+suddenly dark.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;See,&rsquo; said the General, leaning out of the window
+and speaking to Conyngham, &lsquo;they have heard the sound of
+our wheels.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>At the farther end of the Bridge of Alcantara, on the road
+which now leads to the railway station, two horsemen were
+stationed, hidden in the shadow of the trees that border the
+pathway.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Those should be Guardias Civiles,&rsquo; said
+Concep&ccedil;ion, who had studied the ways of those gentry all
+his life.&nbsp; &lsquo;But they are not.&nbsp; They have horses
+that have never been taught to stand still.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>As he spoke the men vanished, moving noiselessly in the thick
+dust which lay on the Madrid road.</p>
+<p>The General saw them go&mdash;and smiled.&nbsp; These men
+carried word to their fellows in Madrid for the seizure of the
+little Queen.&nbsp; But before they could reach the capital the
+Queen Regent herself would be there&mdash;a woman in a thousand,
+of inflexible nerve, of infinite resource.</p>
+<p>The carriage rattled over the narrow bridge which rings hollow
+to the sound of wheels.&nbsp; It passed under the gate that Wamba
+built and up the tree-girt incline to the city.&nbsp; The streets
+were deserted, and no window showed a light.&nbsp; A watchman in
+his shelter, at the corner by the synagogue, peered at them over
+the folds of his cloak, and noting the clank of scabbard against
+spur, paid no further heed to a traveller who took the road with
+such outward signs of authority.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is still enough&mdash;and quiet,&rsquo; said Concha,
+looking out.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As quiet as a watching cat,&rsquo; replied
+Vincente.</p>
+<h2><a name="page309"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+309</span>CHAPTER XXVIII<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">THE CITY OF STRIFE</span></h2>
+
+<blockquote><p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;What
+lot is mine<br />
+Whose foresight preaches peace, my heart so slow<br />
+To feel it!&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><span class="smcap">Through</span> these quiet streets the
+party clattered noisily enough, for the rain had left the rounded
+stones slippery, and the horses were too tired for a sure
+step.&nbsp; There were no lights at the street corners, for all
+had been extinguished at midnight, and the only glimmer of a lamp
+that relieved the darkness was shining through the stained-glass
+windows of the Cathedral, where the sacred oil burnt night and
+day.</p>
+<p>The Queen was evidently expected at the Casa del Ayuntamiento,
+for at the approach of the carriage the great doors were thrown
+open and a number of servants appeared in the patio, which was
+but dimly lighted.&nbsp; By the General&rsquo;s orders the small
+body-guard passed through the doors, which were then closed,
+instead of continuing their way to the barracks in the
+Alcazar.</p>
+<p>This Casa del Ayuntamiento stands, as many travellers know, in
+the Plaza of the same name, and faces the Cathedral, which is
+without doubt the oldest, as it assuredly is the most beautiful,
+church in the world.&nbsp; The mansion-house of Toledo, in
+addition to some palatial halls which are of historic renown, has
+several suites of rooms used from time to time by great
+personages passing through or visiting the city.&nbsp; The house
+itself is old, as we esteem age in England, while in comparison
+to the buildings around it it is modern.&nbsp; Built, however, at
+a period when beauty of architecture was secondary to power of
+resistance, the palace is strong enough, and General Vincente
+smiled happily as the great doors were closed.&nbsp; He was the
+last to look out into the streets and across the little Plaza del
+Ayuntamiento, which was deserted and looked peaceful enough in
+the light of a waning moon.</p>
+<p>The carriage door was opened by a lacquey, and Conyngham gave
+Estella his hand.&nbsp; All the servants bowed as she passed up
+the stairs, her face screened by the folds of her white
+mantilla.&nbsp; There was a queer hush in this great house, and
+in the manner of the servants.&nbsp; The cathedral clock rang out
+the half-hour.&nbsp; The General led the way to the room on the
+first floor that overlooks the Plaza del Ayuntamiento.&nbsp; It
+is a vast apartment, hung with tapestries and pictures such as
+men travel many miles to see.&nbsp; The windows, which are large
+in proportion to the height of the room, open upon a stone
+balcony, which runs the length of the house and looks down upon
+the Plaza and across this to the great fa&ccedil;ade of the
+Cathedral.&nbsp; Candles, hurriedly lighted, made the room into a
+very desert of shadows.&nbsp; At the far end, a table was spread
+with cold meats and lighted by high silver candelabra.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; said Concha, going towards the
+supper-table.</p>
+<p>Estella turned, and for the first time met Conyngham&rsquo;s
+eyes.&nbsp; His face startled her.&nbsp; It was so grave.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Were you hurt?&rsquo; she asked sharply.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not this time, se&ntilde;orita.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Then she turned with a sudden laugh towards her father.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Did I play my part well?&rsquo; she asked.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, my child.&rsquo;&nbsp; And even he was grave.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Unless I am mistaken,&rsquo; he continued, glancing at
+the shuttered windows, &lsquo;we have only begun our
+task.&rsquo;&nbsp; He was reading, as he spoke, some despatches
+which a servant had handed to him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There is one advantage in a soldier&rsquo;s
+life,&rsquo; he said, smiling at Conyngham, &lsquo;which is not,
+I think, sufficiently recognised&mdash;namely, that one&rsquo;s
+duty is so often clearly defined.&nbsp; At the present moment it
+is a question of keeping up the deception we have practised upon
+these good people of Toledo sufficiently long to enable the Queen
+Regent to reach Madrid.&nbsp; In order to make certain of this we
+must lead the people to understand that the Queen is in this
+house until, at least, daylight.&nbsp; Given so much advantage, I
+think that her Majesty can reach the capital an hour before any
+messenger from Toledo.&nbsp; Two horsemen quitted the Bridge of
+Alcantara as we crossed it, riding towards Madrid; but they will
+not reach the capital&mdash;I have seen to that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused and walked to one of the long windows, which he
+opened.&nbsp; The outer shutters remained closed, and he did not
+unbar them, but stood listening.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;All is still as yet,&rsquo; he said, returning to the
+table, where Father Concha was philosophically cutting up a cold
+chicken.&nbsp; &lsquo;That is a good idea of yours,&rsquo; he
+said.&nbsp; &lsquo;We may all require our full forces of mind and
+body before the dawn.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He drew forward a chair, and Estella, obeying his gesture, sat
+down and so far controlled her feelings as to eat a little.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do queens always feed on old birds such as this?&rsquo;
+asked Concha discontentedly; and Vincente, spreading out his
+napkin, laughed with gay good humour.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Before the dawn,&rsquo; he said to Conyngham, &lsquo;we
+may all be great men, and the good Concha here on the high road
+to a bishopric.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He would rather be in bed,&rsquo; muttered the priest,
+with his mouth full.</p>
+<p>It was a queer scene, such as we only act in real life.&nbsp;
+The vast room, with its gorgeous hangings, the flickering
+candles, the table spread with delicacies, and the strange party
+seated at it&mdash;Concha eating steadily, the General looking
+round with his domesticated little smile, Estella with a new
+light in her eyes and a new happiness on her face, Conyngham, a
+giant among these southerners, in his dust-laden
+uniform&mdash;all made up a picture that none forgot.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They will probably attack this place,&rsquo; said the
+General, pouring out a glass of wine; &lsquo;but the house is a
+strong one.&nbsp; I cannot rely on the regiments stationed at
+Toledo, and have sent to Madrid for cavalry.&nbsp; There is
+nothing like cavalry&mdash;in the streets.&nbsp; We can stand a
+siege&mdash;till the dawn.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He turned, looking over his shoulder towards the door; for he
+had heard a footstep unnoticed by the others.&nbsp; It was
+Concep&ccedil;ion Vara who came into the room, coatless, his face
+grey with dust, adding a startling and picturesque incongruity to
+the scene.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Pardon, Excellency,&rsquo; he said, with that easy
+grasp of the situation which always made an utterly unabashed
+smuggler of him, &lsquo;but there is one in the house whom I
+think his Excellency should speak with.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Se&ntilde;orita Barenna.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General rose from the table.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How did she get in here?&rsquo; he asked sharply.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;By the side door in the Calle de la Ciudad.&nbsp; The
+keeper of that door, Excellency, is a mule.&nbsp; The
+se&ntilde;orita forced him to admit her.&nbsp; The sex can do so
+much,&rsquo; he added, with a tolerant shrug of the
+shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And the other&mdash;this Larralde?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion raised his hand with outspread fingers, and
+shook it slowly from side to side from the wrist, with the palm
+turned towards his interlocutor&mdash;a gesture which seemed to
+indicate that the subject was an unpleasant, almost an
+indelicate, one.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Larralde, Excellency,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;is one of
+those who are never found at the front.&nbsp; He will not be in
+Toledo to-night&mdash;that Larralde.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Where is the Se&ntilde;orita Barenna?&rsquo; asked the
+General.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;She is downstairs&mdash;commanding his
+Excellency&rsquo;s soldiers to let her pass.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You go down, my friend, and bring her here.&nbsp; Then
+take that door yourself.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion bowed ceremoniously and withdrew.&nbsp; He
+might have been an ambassador, and his salutation was worthy of
+an Imperial Court.</p>
+<p>A moment later Julia Barenna came into the room, her dark eyes
+wide with terror, her face pale and drawn.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Where is the Queen Regent?&rsquo; she asked, looking
+from one face to the other, and seeing all her foes assembled as
+if by magic before her.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Her Majesty is on the road between Aranjuez and
+Madrid&mdash;in safety, my dear Julia,&rsquo; replied the General
+soothingly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But they think she is here.&nbsp; The people are in the
+streets.&nbsp; Look out of the window.&nbsp; They are in the
+Plaza.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know it, my dear,&rsquo; said the General.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They are armed&mdash;they are going to attack this
+house.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am aware of it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Their plan is to murder the Queen.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So we understand,&rsquo; said the General gently.&nbsp;
+He had a horror of anything approaching sensation or a scene, a
+feeling which Spaniards share with Englishmen.&nbsp; &lsquo;That
+is the Queen for the time being,&rsquo; added Vincente, pointing
+to Estella.</p>
+<p>Julia stood looking from one to the other&mdash;a
+self-contained woman made strong by love.&nbsp; For there is
+nothing in life or human experience that raises and strengthens
+man or woman so much as a great and abiding love.&nbsp; But Julia
+Barenna was driven and almost panic-stricken.&nbsp; She held
+herself in control by an effort that was drawing lines in her
+face never to be wiped out.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But you will tell them?&nbsp; I will do it.&nbsp; Let
+me go to them.&nbsp; I am not afraid.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No one must leave this house now,&rsquo; said the
+General.&nbsp; &lsquo;You have come to us, my dear, you must now
+throw in your lot with ours.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But Estella must not take this risk,&rsquo; exclaimed
+Julia.&nbsp; &lsquo;Let me do it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And some woman&rsquo;s instinct sent her to Estella&rsquo;s
+side&mdash;two women alone in that great house amid this
+man&rsquo;s work, this strife of reckless politicians.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And you, and Se&ntilde;or Conyngham,&rsquo; she cried,
+&lsquo;you must not run this great risk.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is what we are paid for, my dear Julia,&rsquo;
+answered the General, holding out his arm and indicating the gold
+stripes upon it.</p>
+<p>He walked to the window and opened the massive shutters, which
+swung back heavily.&nbsp; Then he stepped out on to the balcony
+without fear or hesitation.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;See,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;the square is full of
+them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He came back into the room, and Conyngham, standing beside
+him, looked down into the moonlit Plaza.&nbsp; The square was,
+indeed, thronged with dark and silent shadows, while others,
+stealing from the doorways and narrow alleys with which Toledo
+abounds, joined the groups with stealthy steps.&nbsp; No one
+spoke, though the sound of their whispering arose in the still
+night air like the murmur of a breeze through reeds.&nbsp; A
+hundred faces peered upwards through the darkness at the two
+intrepid figures on the balcony.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And these are Spaniards, my dear Conyngham,&rsquo;
+whispered the General.&nbsp; &lsquo;A hundred of them against one
+woman.&nbsp; Name of God!&nbsp; I blush for them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The throng increased every moment, and withal the silence
+never lifted, but brooded breathlessly over the ancient
+town.&nbsp; Instead of living men, these might well have been the
+shades of the countless and forgotten dead who had come to a
+violent end in the streets of a city where Peace has never found
+a home since the days of Nebuchadnezzar.&nbsp; Vincente came back
+into the room, leaving shutter and window open.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They cannot see in,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;the building
+is too high.&nbsp; And across the Plaza there is nothing but the
+Cathedral, which has no windows accessible without
+ladders.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused, looking at his watch.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They are in doubt,&rsquo; he said, speaking to
+Conyngham.&nbsp; &lsquo;They are not sure that the Queen is
+here.&nbsp; We will keep them in doubt for a short time.&nbsp;
+Every minute lost by them is an inestimable gain to us.&nbsp;
+That open window will whet their curiosity, and give them
+something to whisper about.&nbsp; It is so easy to deceive a
+crowd.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He sat down and began to peel a peach.&nbsp; Julia looked at
+him, wondering wherein this man&rsquo;s greatness lay, and yet
+perceiving dimly that, against such as he, men like Esteban
+Larralde could do nothing.</p>
+<p>Concha, having supped satisfactorily, was now sitting back in
+his chair seeking for something in the pockets of his
+cassock.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is to be presumed,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;that one
+may smoke&mdash;even in a palace.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And under their gaze he quietly lighted a cigarette with the
+deliberation of one in whom a long and solitary life had bred
+habits only to be broken at last by death.</p>
+<p>Presently the General rose and went to the window again.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They are still doubtful,&rsquo; he said, returning,
+&lsquo;and I think their numbers have decreased.&nbsp; We cannot
+allow them to disperse.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused, thinking deeply.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My child,&rsquo; he said suddenly to Estella,
+&lsquo;you must show yourself on the balcony.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella rose at once; but Julia held her back.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; she said; &lsquo;let me do it.&nbsp; Give me
+the white mantilla.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>There was a momentary silence while Estella freed herself from
+her cousin&rsquo;s grasp.&nbsp; Conyngham looked at the woman he
+loved while she stood, little more than a child, with something
+youthful and inimitably graceful in the lines of her throat and
+averted face.&nbsp; Would she accept Julia&rsquo;s offer?&nbsp;
+Conyngham bit his lip and awaited her decision.&nbsp; Then, as if
+divining his thought, she turned and looked at him gravely.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; she said; &lsquo;I will do it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She went towards the window.&nbsp; Her father and Conyngham
+had taken their places, one on each side, as if she were the
+Queen indeed.&nbsp; She stood for a moment on the threshold, and
+then passed out into the moonlight, alone.&nbsp; Immediately
+there arose the most terrifying of all earthly sounds&mdash;the
+dull, antagonistic roar of a thousand angry throats.&nbsp;
+Estella walked to the front of the balcony and stood, with an
+intrepidity which was worthy of the royal woman whose part she
+played, looking down on the upturned faces.&nbsp; A red flash
+streaked the darkness of a far corner of the square, and a bullet
+whistled through the open window into the woodwork of a
+mirror.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come back,&rsquo; whispered General Vincente.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Slowly, my child&mdash;slowly.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella stood for a moment looking down with a royal
+insolence, then turned, and with measured steps approached the
+window.&nbsp; As she passed in she met Conyngham&rsquo;s eyes,
+and that one moment assuredly made two lives worth living.</p>
+<h2><a name="page320"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+320</span>CHAPTER XXIX<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">MIDNIGHT AND DAWN</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;I have
+set my life upon a cast<br />
+And I will stand the hazard of the die.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&lsquo;<span class="smcap">Excellency</span>,&rsquo; reported
+a man who entered the room at this moment, &lsquo;they are
+bringing carts of fuel through the Calle de la Ciudad to set
+against the door and burn it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To set against which door, my honest friend?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The great door on the Plaza, Excellency; the other is
+an old door of iron.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And they cannot burn it or break it open?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, Excellency.&nbsp; And, besides, there are loopholes
+in the thickness of the wall at the side.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General smiled on this man as being after his own
+heart.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One may not shoot to-night, my friend.&nbsp; I have
+already given the order.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But one may prick them with the sword,
+Excellency?&rsquo; suggested the trooper, with a sort of
+suppressed enthusiasm.</p>
+<p>The General shrugged his shoulders, wisely tolerant.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh yes,&rsquo; he answered, &lsquo;I suppose one may
+prick them with the sword.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham, who had been standing half in and half out of the
+open window, listening to this conversation, now came
+forward.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I think,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;that I can clear the
+Plaza from time to time if you give me twenty men.&nbsp; We can
+thus gain time.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Street-fighting,&rsquo; answered the General
+gravely.&nbsp; &lsquo;Do you know anything of it?&nbsp; It is
+nasty work.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know something of it.&nbsp; One has to shout very
+loud.&nbsp; I studied it&mdash;at Dublin University.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To be sure&mdash;I forgot.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Julia and Estella watched and listened.&nbsp; Their lot had
+been cast in the paths of war, and since childhood they had
+remembered naught else.&nbsp; But neither had yet been so near to
+the work, nor had they seen and heard men talk and plan with a
+certain grim humour&mdash;a curt and deliberate scorn of haste or
+excitement&mdash;as these men spoke and planned now.&nbsp;
+Conyngham and Concep&ccedil;ion Vara were altered by these
+circumstances&mdash;there was a light in their eyes which women
+rarely see, but the General was the same little man of peace and
+of a high domestic virtue, who seemed embarrassed by a sword
+which was obviously too big for him.&nbsp; Yet in all their
+voices there rang alike a queer note of exultation.&nbsp; For man
+is a fighting animal, and from St. Paul down to the humblest
+little five-foot-one recruit, would find life a dull affair were
+there no strife in it.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the General, after a moment&rsquo;s
+reflection, &lsquo;that is a good idea, and will gain time.&nbsp;
+But let them first bring their fuel and set it up.&nbsp; Every
+moment is a gain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>At this instant some humorist in the crowd threw a stone in at
+the open window.&nbsp; The old priest picked up the missile and
+examined it curiously.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is fortunate,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;that the stones
+are fixed in Toledo.&nbsp; In Xeres they are loose, and are
+always in the air.&nbsp; I wonder if I can hit a
+citizen.&rsquo;&nbsp; And he threw the stone back.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Close the shutters,&rsquo; said the General.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Let us avoid arousing ill-feeling.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The priest drew the jalousies together, but did not quite shut
+them.&nbsp; Vincente stood and looked out through the aperture at
+the moonlit square and the dark shadows moving there.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I wish they would shout,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;It is unnatural.&nbsp; They are like children.&nbsp; When
+there is noise there is little mischief.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Then he remained silent for some minutes, watching
+intently.&nbsp; All in the room noted his every movement.&nbsp;
+At length he turned on his heel.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Go, my friend,&rsquo; he said to Conyngham.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Form your men in the Calle de la Ciudad, and charge round
+in line.&nbsp; Do not place yourself too much in advance of your
+men, or you will be killed, and remember&mdash;the point!&nbsp;
+Resist the temptation to cut&mdash;the point is best.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He patted Conyngham on the arm affectionately, as if he were
+sending him to bed with a good wish, and accompanied him to the
+door.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I knew,&rsquo; he said, returning to the window and
+rubbing his hands together, &lsquo;that that was a good man the
+first moment I saw him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He glanced at Estella, and then, turning, opened another
+window, setting the shutters ajar so as to make a second point of
+observation.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My poor child,&rsquo; he whispered, as she went to the
+window and looked out, &lsquo;it is an ill-fortune to have to do
+with men whose trade this is.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella smiled&mdash;a little whitely&mdash;and said
+nothing.&nbsp; The moon was now shining from an almost cloudless
+sky.&nbsp; The few fleecy remains of the storm sailing towards
+the east only added brightness to the night.&nbsp; It was almost
+possible to see the faces of the men moving in the square below,
+and to read their expressions.&nbsp; The majority stood in a
+group in the centre of the Plaza, while a daring few, reckoning
+on the Spanish aversion to firearms, ran forward from time to
+time and set a bundle of wood or straw against the door beneath
+the balcony.</p>
+<p>Some, who appeared to be the leaders, looked up constantly and
+curiously at the windows, wondering if any resistance would be
+made.&nbsp; Had they known that General Vincente was in that
+silent house they would probably have gone home to bed, and the
+crowd would have dispersed like smoke.</p>
+<p>Suddenly there arose a roar to the right hand of the square
+where the Calle de la Ciudad was situated, and Conyngham appeared
+for a moment alone, running towards the group, with the moonlight
+flashing on his sword.&nbsp; At his heels an instant later a
+single line of men swung round the corner and charged across the
+square.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Dear, dear,&rsquo; muttered the General; &lsquo;too
+quick, my friend, too quick!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>For Conyngham was already among the crowd, which broke and
+surged back towards the Cathedral.&nbsp; He paused for a moment
+to draw his sword out of a dark form that lay upon the ground, as
+a cricketer draws a stump.&nbsp; He had, at all events,
+remembered the point.&nbsp; The troopers swept across the square
+like a broom, sending the people as dust before them, and leaving
+the clean, moonlit square behind.&nbsp; They also left behind one
+or two shadows, lying stark upon the around.&nbsp; One of these
+got upon its knees and crawled painfully away, all one-sided,
+like a beetle that has been trodden underfoot.&nbsp; Those
+watching from the windows saw with a gasp of horror that part of
+him&mdash;part of an arm&mdash;had been left behind, and a sigh
+of relief went up when he stopped crawling and lay quite
+still.</p>
+<p>The troopers were now retreating slowly towards the Calle de
+la Ciudad.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Be careful, Conyngham,&rsquo; shouted the General from
+the balcony.&nbsp; &lsquo;They will return.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And as he spoke a rattling fire was opened upon them from the
+far corner of the square, where the crowd had taken refuge in the
+opening of the Calle del Arco.&nbsp; Immediately, the people,
+having noted that the troopers were few in number, charged down
+upon them.&nbsp; The men fought in line, retreating step by step,
+their swords gleaming in the moonlight.&nbsp; Estella, hearing
+footsteps in the room behind her, turned in time to see her
+father disappearing through the doorway.&nbsp; Concep&ccedil;ion
+Vara, coatless, as he loved to work, his white shirtsleeves
+fluttering as his arm swung, had now joined the troopers, and was
+fighting by Conyngham&rsquo;s side.</p>
+<p>Estella and Julia were out on the balcony now, leaning over
+and forgetting all but the breathless interest of battle.&nbsp;
+Concha stood beside them, muttering and cursing like any
+soldier.</p>
+<p>They saw Vincente appear at the corner of the Calle de la
+Ciudad and throw away his scabbard as he ran.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Now, my children!&rsquo; he cried in a voice that
+Estella had never heard before, which rang out across the square,
+and was answered by a yell that was nothing but a cry of sheer
+delight.&nbsp; The crowd swayed back as if before a gust of wind,
+and the General, following it, seemed to clear a space for
+himself as a reaper clears away the standing corn before
+him.&nbsp; It was, however, only for a moment.&nbsp; The crowd
+surged back, those in front against their will, and on to the
+glittering steel&mdash;those behind shouting encouragement.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Name of God!&rsquo; shouted Concha, and was gone.&nbsp;
+They saw him a minute later appear in the square, having thrown
+aside his cassock.&nbsp; He made a strange lean figure of a man
+with his knee-breeches and dingy purple stockings, his grey
+flannel shirt, and the moonlight shining on his tonsured
+head.&nbsp; He fought without skill, and heedless of danger,
+swinging a great sword that he had picked up from the hand of a
+fallen trooper, and each blow that he got home killed its
+victim.&nbsp; The metal of the man had suddenly shown itself
+after years of suppression.&nbsp; This, as Vincente had
+laughingly said, was no priest, but a soldier.&nbsp;
+Concep&ccedil;ion, in the thick of it, using the knife now with a
+deadly skill, looked over his shoulder and laughed.</p>
+<p>Suddenly the crowd swayed.&nbsp; The faint sound of a distant
+bugle came to the ears of all.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is nothing,&rsquo; shouted Concha, in English.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;It is nothing.&nbsp; It is I who sent the bugler
+round.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And his great sword whistled into a man&rsquo;s brain.&nbsp;
+In another moment the square was empty, for the politicians who
+came to murder a woman had had enough steel.&nbsp; The sound of
+the bugle, intimating, as they supposed, the arrival of troops,
+completed the work of demoralisation which the recognition of
+General Vincente had begun.</p>
+<p>The little party&mdash;the few defenders of the Casa del
+Ayuntamiento&mdash;were left in some confusion in the Plaza, and
+Estella saw with a sudden cold fear that Conyngham and Concha
+were on their knees in the midst of a little group of hesitating
+men.&nbsp; It was Concha who rose first and held up his hand to
+the watchers on the balcony, bidding them stay where they
+were.&nbsp; Then Conyngham rose to his feet slowly, as one
+bearing a burden.&nbsp; Estella looked down in a sort of dream,
+and saw her lover carrying her father towards the house, her mind
+only half comprehending, in that semi-dreamlike reception of
+sudden calamity which is one of Heaven&rsquo;s deepest
+mercies.</p>
+<p>It was Concep&ccedil;ion who came into the room first, his
+white shirt dyed with blood in great patches like the colour on a
+piebald horse.&nbsp; A cut in his cheek was slowly
+dripping.&nbsp; He went straight to a sofa covered in gorgeous
+yellow satin, and set the cushions in order.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Se&ntilde;orita,&rsquo; he said, and spread out his
+hands.&nbsp; The tears were in his eyes, &lsquo;Half of
+Spain,&rsquo; he added, &lsquo;would rather that it had been the
+Queen&mdash;and the world is poorer.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>A moment later Concha came into the room dragging on his
+cassock.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My child, we are in God&rsquo;s hand,&rsquo; he said,
+with a break in his gruff voice.</p>
+<p>And then came the heavy step of one carrying sorrow.</p>
+<p>Conyngham laid his burden on the sofa.&nbsp; General Vincente
+was holding his handkerchief to his side, and his eyes, which had
+a thoughtful look, saw only Estella&rsquo;s face.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have sent for a doctor,&rsquo; said Conyngham.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Your father is wounded.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said Vincente immediately; &lsquo;but I am
+in no pain, my dear child.&nbsp; There is no reason, surely, for
+us to distress ourselves.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He looked round and smiled.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And this good Conyngham,&rsquo; he added,
+&lsquo;carried me like a child.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Julia was on her knees at the foot of the sofa, her face
+hidden in her hands.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My dear Julia,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;why this
+distress?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Because all of this is my doing,&rsquo; she answered,
+lifting her drawn and terror-stricken face.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, no!&rsquo; said Vincente, with a characteristic
+pleasantry.&nbsp; &lsquo;You take too much upon yourself.&nbsp;
+All these things are written down for us beforehand.&nbsp; We
+only add the punctuation&mdash;delaying a little or hurrying a
+little.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>They looked at him silently, and assuredly none could mistake
+the shadows that were gathering on his face.&nbsp; Estella, who
+was holding his hand, knelt on the floor by his side, quiet and
+strong, offering silently that sympathy which is woman&rsquo;s
+greatest gift.</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion, who perhaps knew more of this matter than
+any present, looked at Concha and shook his head.&nbsp; The
+priest was buttoning his cassock, and began to seek something in
+his pocket.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Your breviary?&rsquo; whispered Concep&ccedil;ion;
+&lsquo;I saw it lying out there&mdash;among the dead.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is a comfort to have one&rsquo;s duty clearly
+defined,&rsquo; said the General suddenly, in a clear
+voice.&nbsp; He was evidently addressing Conyngham.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;One of the advantages of a military life.&nbsp; We have
+done our best, and this time we have succeeded.&nbsp;
+But&mdash;it is only deferred.&nbsp; It will come at length, and
+Spain will be a republic.&nbsp; It is a failing
+cause&mdash;because, at the head of it, is a bad
+woman.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham nodded, but no one spoke.&nbsp; No one seemed
+capable of following his thoughts.&nbsp; Already he seemed to
+look at them as from a distance, as if he had started on a
+journey and was looking back.&nbsp; During this silence there
+came a great clatter in the streets, and a sharp voice cried
+&lsquo;Halt!&rsquo;&nbsp; The General turned his eyes towards the
+window.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The cavalry,&rsquo; said Conyngham, &lsquo;from
+Madrid.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I did not expect&mdash;them,&rsquo; said Vincente
+slowly, &lsquo;before the dawn.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The sound of the horses&rsquo; feet and the clatter of arms
+died away as the troop passed on towards the Calle de la Ciudad,
+and the quiet of night was again unbroken.</p>
+<p>Then Concha, getting down on to his knees, began reciting from
+memory the office&mdash;which, alas! he knew too well.</p>
+<p>When it was finished, and the gruff voice died away, Vincente
+opened his eyes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Every man to his trade,&rsquo; he said, with a little
+laugh.</p>
+<p>Then suddenly he made a grimace.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A twinge of pain,&rsquo; he said deprecatingly, as if
+apologising for giving them the sorrow of seeing it.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;It will pass&mdash;before the dawn.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Presently he opened his eyes again and smiled at Estella,
+before he moved with a tired sigh and turned his face towards
+that Dawn which knows no eventide.</p>
+<h2><a name="page331"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+331</span>CHAPTER XXX<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">THE DAWN OF PEACE</span></h2>
+<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">&lsquo;Quien no ama, no
+vive.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><span class="smcap">The</span> fall of Morella had proved to
+be, as many anticipated, the knell of the Carlist cause.&nbsp;
+Cabrera, that great general and consummate leader, followed Don
+Carlos, who had months earlier fled to France.&nbsp; General
+Espartero&mdash;a man made and strengthened by
+circumstances&mdash;was now at the height of his fame, and for
+the moment peace seemed to be assured to Spain.&nbsp; It was now
+a struggle between Espartero and Queen Christina.&nbsp; But with
+these matters the people of Spain had little to do.&nbsp; Such
+warfare of the council-chamber and the boudoir is carried on
+quietly, and the sound of it rarely reaches the ear, and never
+the heart, of the masses.&nbsp; Politics, indeed, had been the
+daily fare of the Spaniards for so long that their palates were
+now prepared to accept any sop so long as it was flavoured with
+peace.&nbsp; Aragon was devastated, and the northern provinces
+had neither seed nor labourers for the coming autumn.&nbsp; The
+peasants who, having lost faith in Don Carlos, rallied round
+Cabrera, now saw themselves abandoned by their worshipped leader,
+and turned hopelessly enough homewards.&nbsp; Thus gradually the
+country relapsed into quiet, and empty garners compelled many to
+lay aside the bayonet and take up the spade who, having tasted
+the thrill of battle, had no longer any taste for the ways of
+peace.</p>
+<p>Frederick Conyngham was brought into sudden prominence by the
+part he played in the disturbance at Toledo&mdash;which
+disturbance proved, as history tells, to be a forerunner of the
+great revolution a year later in Madrid.&nbsp; Promotion was at
+this time rapid, and the Englishman made many strides in a few
+months.&nbsp; Jealousy was so rife among the Spanish leaders,
+Christinos distrusted so thoroughly the reformed Carlists, that
+one who was outside these petty considerations received from both
+sides many honours on the sole recommendation of his
+neutrality.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And besides,&rsquo; said Father Concha, sitting in the
+sunlight on his church steps at Ronda, reading to the barber, and
+the shoemaker, and other of his parishioners, the latest
+newspaper, &lsquo;and besides&mdash;he is clever.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused, slowly taking a pinch of snuff.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Where the river is deepest it makes least noise,&rsquo;
+he added.</p>
+<p>The barber wagged his head after the manner of one who will
+never admit that he does not understand an allusion.&nbsp; And
+before any could speak the clatter of horses in the narrow street
+diverted attention.&nbsp; Concha rose to his feet.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; he said, and went forward to meet Conyngham,
+who was riding with Concep&ccedil;ion at his side.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So you have come, my son,&rsquo; he said, shaking
+hands.&nbsp; He looked up into the Englishman&rsquo;s face, which
+was burnt brown by service under a merciless sun.&nbsp; Conyngham
+looked lean and strong, but his eyes had no rest in them.&nbsp;
+This was not a man who had all he wanted.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are you come to Ronda, or are you passing
+through?&rsquo; asked the priest.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To Ronda.&nbsp; As I passed the Casa Barenna I made
+inquiries.&nbsp; The ladies are in the town, it
+appears.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes; they are with Estella in the house you
+know&mdash;unless you have forgotten it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; answered Conyngham getting out of the
+saddle.&nbsp; &lsquo;No; I have forgotten nothing.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion came forward and led the horse away.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will walk to the Casa Vincente.&nbsp; Have you the
+time to accompany me?&rsquo; said Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have always time&mdash;for my neighbour&rsquo;s
+business,&rsquo; replied Concha.&nbsp; And they set off
+together.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You walk stiffly,&rsquo; said Concha.&nbsp; &lsquo;Have
+you ridden far?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;From Osuna&mdash;forty miles since daybreak.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are in a hurry.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, I am in a hurry.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Without further comment he extracted from inside his smart
+tunic a letter&mdash;the famous letter in a pink
+envelope&mdash;which he handed to Concha.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the priest, turning it over.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;You and I first saw this in the Hotel de la Marina at
+Algeciras, when we were fools not to throw it into the nearest
+brazier.&nbsp; We should have saved a good man&rsquo;s life, my
+friend.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He handed the letter back, and thoughtfully dusted his cassock
+where it was worn and shiny with constant dusting, so that the
+snuff had nought to cling to.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And you have got it&mdash;at last.&nbsp; Holy
+saints&mdash;these Englishmen!&nbsp; Do you always get what you
+want, my son?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not always,&rsquo; replied Conyngham, with an uneasy
+laugh.&nbsp; &lsquo;But I should be a fool not to try.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Assuredly,&rsquo; said Concha, &lsquo;assuredly.&nbsp;
+And you have come to Ronda&mdash;to try?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>They walked on in silence, on the shady side of the street,
+and presently passed and saluted a priest&mdash;one of
+Concha&rsquo;s colleagues in this city of the South.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There walks a tragedy,&rsquo; said Concha, in his curt
+way.&nbsp; &lsquo;Inside every cassock there walks a
+tragedy&mdash;or a villain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>After a pause it was Concha who again broke the silence.&nbsp;
+Conyngham seemed to be occupied with his own thoughts.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And Larralde&mdash;?&rsquo; said the priest.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I come from him&mdash;from Barcelona,&rsquo; answered
+Conyngham, &lsquo;where he is in safety.&nbsp; Catalonia is full
+of such as he.&nbsp; Sir John Pleydell, before leaving Spain,
+bought this letter for two hundred pounds&mdash;a few months
+ago&mdash;when I was a poor man and could not offer a price for
+it.&nbsp; But Larralde disappeared when the plot failed, and I
+have only found him lately in Barcelona.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In Barcelona?&rsquo; echoed Concha.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes; where he can take a passage to Cuba, and where he
+awaits Julia Barenna.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; said Concha, &lsquo;so he also is
+faithful&mdash;because life is not long, my son.&nbsp; That is
+the only reason.&nbsp; How wise was the great God when He made a
+human life short! &lsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have a letter,&rsquo; continued Conyngham,
+&lsquo;from Larralde to the Se&ntilde;orita Barenna.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So you parted friends in Barcelona&mdash;after
+all&mdash;when his knife has been between your
+shoulders?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;God bless you, my son!&rsquo; said the priest, in
+Latin, with his careless, hurried gesture of the Cross.</p>
+<p>After they had walked a few paces he spoke again.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I shall go to Barcelona with her,&rsquo; he said,
+&lsquo;and marry her to this man.&nbsp; When one has no affairs
+of one&rsquo;s own there always remain&mdash;for old women and
+priests&mdash;the affairs of one&rsquo;s neighbour.&nbsp; Tell
+me&mdash;&rsquo; he paused and looked fiercely at him under
+shaggy brows&mdash;&lsquo;tell me why you came to
+Spain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You want to know who and what I am&mdash;before we
+reach the Calle Mayor?&rsquo; said Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know what you are, <i>amigo mio</i>, better than
+yourself, perhaps.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>As they walked through the narrow streets Conyngham told his
+simple history, dwelling more particularly on the circumstances
+preceding his departure from England, and Concha listened with no
+further sign of interest than a grimace or a dry smile here and
+there.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The mill gains by going, and not by standing
+still,&rsquo; he said, and added, after a pause, &lsquo;But it is
+always a mistake to grind another&rsquo;s wheat for
+nothing.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>They were now approaching the old house in the Calle Mayor,
+and Conyngham lapsed into a silence which his companion
+respected.&nbsp; They passed under the great doorway into the
+patio, which was quiet and shady at this afternoon hour.&nbsp;
+The servants, of whom there are a multitude in all great Spanish
+houses, had apparently retired to the seclusion of their own
+quarters.&nbsp; One person alone was discernible amid the orange
+trees and in the neighbourhood of the murmuring fountain.&nbsp;
+She was asleep in a rocking-chair, with a newspaper on her
+lap.&nbsp; She preferred the patio to the garden, which was too
+quiet for one of her temperament.&nbsp; In the patio she found
+herself better placed to exchange a word with those engaged in
+the business of the house, to learn, in fact, from the servants
+the latest gossip, to ask futile questions of them, and to sit in
+that idleness which will not allow others to be employed.&nbsp;
+In a word, this was the Se&ntilde;ora Barenna, and Concha, seeing
+her, stood for a moment in hesitation.&nbsp; Then, with a signal
+to Conyngham, he crept noiselessly across the tessellated
+pavement to the shadow of the staircase.&nbsp; They passed up the
+broad steps without sound and without awaking the sleeping
+lady.&nbsp; In the gallery above, the priest paused and looked
+down into the courtyard, his grim face twisted in a queer
+smile.&nbsp; Then, at the woman sitting there&mdash;at life and
+all its illusions, perhaps&mdash;he shrugged his shoulders and
+passed on.</p>
+<p>In the drawing-room they found Julia, who leapt to her feet
+and hurried across the floor when she saw Conyngham.&nbsp; She
+stood looking at him breathlessly, her whole history written in
+her eyes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; she whispered, as if he had called
+her.&nbsp; &lsquo;Yes&mdash;what is it?&nbsp; Have you come to
+tell me&mdash;something?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have come to give you a letter,
+se&ntilde;orita,&rsquo; he answered, handing her Larralde&rsquo;s
+missive.&nbsp; She held out her hand, and never took her eyes
+from his face.</p>
+<p>Concha walked to the window&mdash;the window whence the
+Alcalde of Ronda had seen Conyngham hand Julia Barenna another
+letter.&nbsp; The old priest stood looking down into the garden,
+where, amid the feathery foliage of the pepper trees and the
+bamboos, he could perceive the shadow of a black dress.&nbsp;
+Conyngham also turned away, and thus the two men who held this
+woman&rsquo;s happiness in the hollow of their hands stood
+listening to the crisp rattle of the paper as she tore the
+envelope and unfolded her lover&rsquo;s letter.&nbsp; A great
+happiness and a great sorrow are alike impossible of
+realisation.&nbsp; We only perceive their extent when their
+importance has begun to wane.</p>
+<p>Julia Barenna read the letter through to the end, and it is
+possible (for women are blind in such matters) failed to perceive
+the selfishness in every line of it.&nbsp; Then, with the message
+of happiness in her hand, she returned to the chair she had just
+quitted, with a vague wonder in her mind, and the very human
+doubt that accompanies all possession, as to whether the price
+paid has not been too high.</p>
+<p>Concha was the first to move.&nbsp; He turned and crossed the
+room towards Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I see,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;Estella in the
+garden.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And they passed out of the room together, leaving Julia
+Barenna alone with her thoughts.&nbsp; On the broad stone balcony
+Concha paused.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will stay here,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; He looked over
+the balustrade.&nbsp; Se&ntilde;ora Barenna was still asleep.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do not awake her,&rsquo; he whispered.&nbsp; &lsquo;Let
+all sleeping things sleep.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham passed down the stairs noiselessly, and through the
+doorway into the garden.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And at the end&mdash;the Gloria is chanted,&rsquo; said
+Concha, watching him go.</p>
+<p>The scent of the violets greeted Conyngham as he went forward
+beneath the trees planted there in the Moslems&rsquo; day.&nbsp;
+The running water murmured sleepily as it hurried in its narrow
+channel towards the outlet through the grey wall, whence it leapt
+four hundred feet into the Tajo below.</p>
+<p>Estella was seated in the shade of a gnarled fig tree, where
+tables and chairs indicated the Spanish habit of an out-of-door
+existence.&nbsp; She rose as he came towards her, and met his
+eyes gravely.&nbsp; A gleam of sun glancing through the leaves
+fell on her golden hair, half hidden by the mantilla, and showed
+that she was pale with some fear or desire.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Se&ntilde;orita,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;I have brought
+you the letter.&rsquo;&nbsp; He held it out, and she took it,
+turning over the worn envelope absent-mindedly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have not read it myself, and am permitted to give it
+to you on one condition&mdash;namely, that you destroy it as soon
+as you have read it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She looked at it again.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It contains the lives of many men&mdash;their lives and
+the happiness of those connected with them,&rsquo; said
+Conyngham.&nbsp; &lsquo;That is what you hold in your hand,
+se&ntilde;orita&mdash;as well as my life and
+happiness.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She raised her dark eyes to his for a moment, and their
+tenderness was not of earth or of this world at all.&nbsp; Then
+she tore the envelope and its contents slowly into a hundred
+pieces, and dropped the fluttering papers into the stream pacing
+in its marble bed towards the Tajo and the oblivion of the
+sea.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There&mdash;I have destroyed the letter,&rsquo; she
+said, with a thoughtful little smile.&nbsp; Then, looking up, she
+met his eyes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I did not want it.&nbsp; I am glad you gave it to
+me.&nbsp; It will make a difference to our lives.&nbsp;
+Though&mdash;I never wanted it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Then she came slowly towards him.</p>
+
+<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
+<p style="text-align: center">Printed by <span
+class="smcap">Ballantyne</span>, <span
+class="smcap">Hanson</span> &amp; <span
+class="smcap">Co</span>.<br />
+Edinburgh &amp; London</p>
+<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN KEDAR'S TENTS***</p>
+<pre>
+
+
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of In Kedar's Tents, by Henry Seton Merriman
+(#2 in our series by Henry Seton Merriman)
+
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+Title: In Kedar's Tents
+
+Author: Henry Seton Merriman
+
+Release Date: June, 2004  [EBook #5987]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on October 8, 2002]
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+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, IN KEDAR'S TENTS ***
+
+
+
+
+Transcribed from the 1909 Smith, Elder and Co. edition by Les
+Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset.
+
+
+
+IN KEDAR'S TENTS
+by Henry Seton Merriman.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+CHAPTER
+I.        ONE SOWETH.
+II.       ANOTHER REAPETH.
+III.      LIKE SHIPS UPON THE SEA.
+IV.       LE PREMIER PAS.
+V.        CONTRABAND.
+VI.       AT RONDA.
+VII.      IN A MOORISH GARDEN.
+VIII.     THE LOVE LETTER.
+IX.       A WAR OF WIT.
+X.        THE CITY OF DISCONTENT.
+XI.       A TANGLED WEB.
+XII.      ON THE TOLEDO ROAD.
+XIII.     A WISE IGNORAMUS.
+XIV.      A WEIGHT OF EVIDENCE.
+XV.       AN ULTIMATUM.
+XVI.      IN HONOUR.
+XVII.     IN MADRID.
+XVIII.    IN TOLEDO.
+XIX.      CONCEPCION TAKES THE ROAD.
+XX.       ON THE TALAVERA ROAD.
+XXI.      A CROSS-EXAMINATION.
+XXII.     REPARATION.
+XXIII.    LARRALDE'S PRICE.
+XXIV.     PRIESTCRAFT.
+XXV.      SWORDCRAFT.
+XXVI.     WOMANCRAFT.
+XXVII.    A NIGHT JOURNEY.
+XXVIII.   THE CITY OF STRIFE.
+XXIX.     MIDNIGHT AND DAWN.
+XXX.      THE DAWN OF PEACE.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. ONE SOWETH.
+
+
+
+'If it be a duty to respect other men's claims, so also is it a duty
+to maintain our own.'
+
+It is in the staging of her comedies that fate shows herself
+superior to mere human invention.  While we, with careful regard to
+scenery, place our conventional puppets on the stage and bid them
+play their old old parts in a manner as ancient, she rings up the
+curtain and starts a tragedy on a scene that has obviously been set
+by the carpenter for a farce.  She deals out the parts with a fine
+inconsistency, and the jolly-faced little man is cast to play Romeo,
+while the poetic youth with lantern jaw and an impaired digestion
+finds no Juliet to match his love.
+
+Fate, with that playfulness which some take too seriously or quite
+amiss, set her queer stage as long ago as 1838 for the comedy of
+certain lives, and rang up the curtain one dark evening on no fitter
+scene than the high road from Gateshead to Durham.  It was raining
+hard, and a fresh breeze from the south-east swept a salt rime from
+the North Sea across a tract of land as bare and bleak as the waters
+of that grim ocean.  A hard, cold land this, where the iron that has
+filled men's purses has also entered their souls.
+
+There had been a great meeting at Chester-le-Street of those who
+were at this time beginning to be known as Chartists, and, the Act
+having been lately passed that torchlight meetings were illegal,
+this assembly had gathered by the light of a waning moon long since
+hidden by the clouds.  Amid the storm of wind and rain, orators had
+expounded views as wild as the night itself, to which the hard-
+visaged sons of Northumbria had listened with grunts of approval or
+muttered words of discontent.  A dangerous game to play--this
+stirring up of the people's heart, and one that may at any moment
+turn to the deepest earnest.
+
+Few thought at this time that the movement awakening in the working
+centres of the North and Midlands was destined to spread with the
+strange rapidity of popular passion--to spread and live for a
+decade.  Few of the Chartists expected to see the fulfilment of half
+of their desires.  Yet, to-day, a moiety of the People's Charter has
+been granted.  These voices crying in the night demanded an extended
+suffrage, vote by ballot, and freedom for rich and poor alike to sit
+in Parliament.  Within the scope of one reign these demands have
+been granted.
+
+The meeting at Chester-le-Street was no different from a hundred
+others held in England at the same time.  It was illegal, and yet
+the authorities dared not to pronounce it so.  It might prove
+dangerous to those taking part in it.  Lawyers said that the leaders
+laid themselves open to the charge of high treason.  In this
+assembly as in others there were wirepullers--men playing their own
+game, and from the safety of the rear pushing on those in front.
+With one of these we have to do.  With his mistake Fate raised the
+curtain, and on the horizon of several lives arose a cloud no bigger
+than a man's hand.
+
+Geoffrey Horner lived before his time, insomuch as he was a
+gentleman-Radical.  He was clever, and the world heeded not.  He was
+brilliant, well educated, capable of great achievements, and the
+world refused to be astonished.  Here were the makings of a
+malcontent.  A well-born Radical is one whom the world has refused
+to accept at his own valuation.  A wise man is ready to strike a
+bargain with Fate.  The wisest are those who ask much and then take
+half.  It is the coward who asks too little, and the fool who
+imagines that he will receive without demanding.
+
+Horner had thrown in his lot with the Chartists in that spirit of
+pique which makes a man marry the wrong woman because the right one
+will have none of him.  At the Chester-le-Street meeting he had
+declared himself an upholder of moral persuasion, while in his heart
+he pandered to those who knew only of physical force and placed
+their reliance thereon.  He had come from Durham with a contingent
+of malcontents, and was now returning thither on foot in company
+with the local leaders.  These were intelligent mechanics seeking
+clumsily and blindly enough what they knew to be the good of their
+fellows.  At their heels tramped the rank and file of the great
+movement.  The assembly was a subtle foreshadowing of things to
+come--of Newport and the march of twenty thousand men, of violence
+and bloodshed, of strife between brethren, and of justice nonplussed
+and hesitating.
+
+The toil-worn miners were mostly silent, their dimly enlightened
+intellects uneasily stirred by the words they had lately heard--
+their stubborn hearts full of a great hope with a minute misgiving
+at the back of it.  With this dangerous material Geoffrey Horner
+proposed to play his game.
+
+Suddenly a voice was raised.
+
+'Mates,' it cried, at the cross-roads, 'let's go and smash
+Pleydell's windows!'
+
+And a muttered acquiescence to the proposal swept through the moving
+mass like a sullen breeze through reeds.
+
+The desire for action rustled among these men of few words and
+mighty arms.
+
+Horner hurriedly consulted his colleagues.  Was it wise to attempt
+to exert an authority which was merely nominal?  The principles of
+Chartism were at this time to keep within the limits of the law, and
+yet to hint, when such a course was safe, that stronger measures lay
+behind mere words.  Their fatal habit was to strike softly.
+
+In peace and war, at home and abroad, there is but one humane and
+safe rule:  Hesitate to strike--strike hard.
+
+Sir John Pleydell was a member of that Parliament which had treated
+the Charter with contempt.  He was one of those who had voted with
+the majority against the measures it embodied.
+
+In addition to these damnatory facts, he was a local Tory of some
+renown--an ambitious man, the neighbours said, who wished to leave
+his son a peerage.
+
+To the minds of the rabble this magnate represented the tyranny
+against which their protest was raised.  Geoffrey Horner looked on
+him as a political opponent and a dangerous member of the winning
+party.  The blow was easy to strike.  Horner hesitated--at the cross
+roads of other lives than his own--and held his tongue.
+
+The suggestion of the unknown humorist in the crowd commended itself
+to the more energetic of the party, who immediately turned towards
+the by-road leading to Dene Hall.  The others--the minority--
+followed as minorities do, because they distrusted themselves.  Some
+one struck up a song with words lately published in the 'Northern
+Liberator' and set to a well-known local air.
+
+The shooting party assembled at Dene Hall was still at the dinner
+table when the malcontents entered the park, and the talk of coverts
+and guns ceased suddenly at the sound of their rough voices.  Sir
+John Pleydell, an alert man still, despite his grey hair and drawn,
+careworn face, looked up sharply.  He had been sitting silently
+fingering the stem of his wineglass--a habit of his when the ladies
+quitted the room--and, although he had shot as well as, perhaps
+better than, any present, had taken but little part in the
+conversation.  He had, in fact, only half listened, and when a rare
+smile passed across his grey face it invariably owed its existence
+to some sally made by his son, Alfred Pleydell, gay, light-hearted,
+debonnaire, at the far end of the table.  When Sir John's thoughtful
+eyes rested on his motherless son, a dull and suppressed light
+gleamed momentarily beneath his heavy lids.  Superficial observers
+said that John Pleydell was an ambitious man; 'not for himself,'
+added the few who saw deeper.
+
+When his quick mind now took in the import of the sound that broke
+the outer silence of the night, Sir John's glance sought his son's
+face.  In moments of alarm the glance flies to where the heart is.
+
+'What is that?' asked Alfred Pleydell, standing up.
+
+'The Chartists,' said Sir John.
+
+Alfred looked round.  He was a soldier, though the ink had hardly
+dried upon the parchment that made him one--the only soldier in the
+room.
+
+'We are eleven here,' he said, 'and two men downstairs--some of you
+fellows have your valets too--say fifteen in all.  We cannot stand
+this, you know. '
+
+As he spoke the first volley of stones crashed through the windows,
+and the broken glass rattled to the floor behind the shutters.  The
+cries of the ladies in the drawing-room could be heard, and all the
+men sprang to their feet.  With blazing eyes Alfred Pleydell ran to
+the door, but his father was there before him.
+
+'Not you,' said the elder man, quiet but a little paler than usual;
+'I will go and speak to them.  They will not dare to touch me.  They
+are probably running away by this time. '
+
+'Then we'll run after 'em,' answered Alfred with a fine spirit, and
+something in his attitude, in the ring of his voice, awoke that
+demon of combativeness which lies dormant in men of the Anglo-Saxon
+race.
+
+'Come on, you fellows!' cried the boy with a queer glad laugh, and
+without knowing that he did it Sir John stood aside, his heart warm
+with a sudden pride, his blood stirred by something that had not
+moved it these thirty years.  The guests crowded out of the room--
+old men who should have known better--laughing as they threw aside
+their dinner napkins.  What a strange thing is man, peaceful through
+long years, and at a moment's notice a mere fighting devil.
+
+'Come on, we'll teach them to break windows!' repeated Alfred
+Pleydell, running to the stick rack.  The rain rattled on the
+skylight of the square hall, and the wind roared down the open
+chimney.  Among the men hastily arming themselves with heavy sticks
+and cramming caps upon their heads were some who had tasted of
+rheumatism, but they never thought of an overcoat.
+
+'We'll know each other by our shirt fronts,' said a quiet man who
+was standing on a chair in order to reach an Indian club suspended
+on the wall.
+
+Alfred was at the door leading through to the servants' quarters,
+and his summons brought several men from the pantry and kitchens.
+
+'Come on!' he cried, 'take anything you can find--stick or poker--
+yes, and those old guns, use 'em like a club, hit very hard and very
+often.  We'll charge the devils--there's nothing like a charge--come
+on!'
+
+And he was already out of the door with a dozen at his heels.
+
+The change from the lighted rooms to the outer darkness made them
+pause a moment, during which time the defenders had leisure to group
+themselves around Alfred Pleydell.  A hoarse shout, which indeed
+drowned Geoffrey Horner's voice, showed where the assailants stood.
+Horner had found his tongue after the first volley of stones.  It
+was the policy of the Chartist leaders and wirepullers to suggest
+rather than demonstrate physical force.  Enough had been done to
+call attention to the Chester-le-Street meeting, and give it the
+desired prominence in the eyes of the nation.
+
+'Get back, go to your homes!' he was shouting, with upraised arms,
+when the hoarse cry of his adherents and the flood of light from the
+opened door made him turn hastily.  In a moment he saw the meaning
+of this development, but it was too late.
+
+With a cheer, Alfred Pleydell, little more than a boy, led the
+charge, and seeing Horner in front, ran at him with upraised stick.
+Horner half warded the blow, which came whistling down his own stick
+and paralysed his thumb.  He returned the stroke with a sudden fury,
+striking Pleydell full on the head.  Then, because he had a young
+wife and child at home, he pushed his way through the struggling
+crowd, and ran away in the darkness.  As he ran he could hear his
+late adherents dispersing in all directions, like sheep before a
+dog.  He heard a voice calling:
+
+'Alfred!  Alfred!'
+
+And Horner, who an hour--nay, ten minutes--earlier had had no
+thought of violence, ran his fastest along the road by which he had
+lately come.  His heart was as water within his breast, and his
+staring eyes played their part mechanically.  He did not fall, but
+he noted nothing, and had no knowledge whither he was running.
+
+Alfred Pleydell lay quite still on the lawn in front of his father's
+house.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. ANOTHER REAPETH.
+
+
+
+'Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt.'
+
+During the course of a harum-scarum youth in the city of Dublin
+certain persons had been known to predict that Mr. Frederick
+Conyngham had a future before him.  Mostly pleasant-spoken Irish
+persons these, who had the racial habit of saying that which is
+likely to be welcome.  Many of them added, 'the young divil,' under
+their breath, in a pious hope of thereby cleansing their souls from
+guilt.
+
+'I suppose I'm idle, and what is worse, I know I'm a fool,' said
+Conyngham himself to his tutor when that gentleman, with a
+toleration which was undeserved, took him severely to task before
+sending him up for the Bar examination.  The tutor said nothing, but
+he suspected that this, his wildest pupil, was no fool.  Truth to
+tell, Frederick Conyngham had devoted little thought to the matter
+of which he spoke, namely, himself, and was perhaps none the worse
+for that.  A young man who thinks too often usually falls into the
+error of also thinking too much, of himself.
+
+The examination was, however, safely passed, and in due course
+Frederick was called to the Irish Bar, where a Queen's Counsel, with
+an accent like rich wine, told him that he was now a gintleman, and
+entitled so to call himself.
+
+All these events were left behind, and Conyngham, sitting alone in
+his rooms in Norfolk Street, Strand, three days after the breaking
+of Sir John Pleydell's windows, was engaged in realising that the
+predicted future was still in every sense before him, and in nowise
+nearer than it had been in his mother's lifetime.
+
+This realisation of an unpleasant fact appeared in no way to disturb
+his equanimity, for, as he knocked his pipe against the bars of the
+fire, he murmured a popular air in a careless voice.  The firelight
+showed his face to be pleasant enough in a way that left the land of
+his birth undoubted.  Blue eyes, quick and kind; a square chin,
+closely curling hair, and square shoulders bespoke an Irishman.
+Something, however, in the cut of his lips--something close and
+firm--suggested an admixture of Anglo-Saxon blood.  The man looked
+as if he might have had an English mother.  It was perhaps this
+formation of the mouth that had led those pleasant-spoken persons to
+name to his relatives their conviction that Conyngham had a future
+before him.  The best liars are those who base their fancy upon
+fact.  They knew that the ordinary thoroughbred Irishman has usually
+a cheerful enough life before him, but not that which is vaguely
+called a future.  Fred Conyngham looked like a man who could hold to
+his purpose, but at this moment he also had the unfortunate
+appearance of not possessing one to hold to.
+
+He knocked the ashes from his pipe, and held the hot briar bowl
+against the ear of a sleeping fox terrier, which animal growled,
+without moving, in a manner that suggested its possession of a sense
+of humour and a full comprehension of the harmless practical joke.
+
+A moment later the dog sat up and listened with an interest that
+gradually increased until the door opened and Geoffrey Horner came
+into the room.
+
+'Faith, it's Horner!' said Conyngham.  'Where are you from?'
+
+'The North.'
+
+'Ah--sit down.  What have you been doing up there--tub-thumping?'
+
+Horner came forward and sat down in the chair indicated.  He looked
+five years older than when he had last been there.  Conyngham
+glanced at his friend, who was staring into the fire.
+
+'Edith all right?' he asked carelessly.
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'And--the little chap?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+Conyngham glanced at his companion again.  Horner's eyes had the
+hard look that comes from hopelessness; his lips were dry and white.
+He wore the air of one whose stake in the game of life was heavy,
+who played that game nervously.  For this was an ambitious man with
+wife and child whom he loved.  Conyngham's attitude towards Fate was
+in strong contrast.  He held his head up and faced the world without
+encumbrance, without a settled ambition, without any sense of
+responsibility at all.  The sharp-eyed dog on the hearthrug looked
+from one to the other.  A moment before, the atmosphere of the room
+had been one of ease and comfortable assurance--an atmosphere that
+some men, without any warrant or the justification of personal
+success or distinction, seem to carry with them through life.  Since
+Horner had crossed the threshold the ceaseless hum of the streets
+seemed to be nearer, the sound of it louder in the room; the
+restlessness of that great strife stirred the air.  The fox terrier
+laid himself on the hearthrug again, but instead of sleeping watched
+his two human companions.
+
+Conyngham filled his pipe.  He turned to the table where the
+matchbox stood at his elbow, took it up, rattled it, and laid it
+down.  He pressed the tobacco hard with his thumb, and, turning to
+Horner, said sharply:
+
+'What is it?'
+
+'I don't know yet; ruin, I think.'
+
+'Nonsense, man!' said Conyngham cheerily.  'There is no such thing
+in this world.  At least, the jolliest fellows I know are bankrupts,
+or no better.  Look at me:  never a brief; literary contributions
+returned with thanks; balance at the bank, seventeen pounds ten
+shillings; balance in hand, none; debts, the Lord only knows!  Look
+at me!  I'm happy enough.'
+
+'Yes, you're a lonely devil.'
+
+Conyngham looked at his friend with inquiry in his gay eyes.
+
+'Ah! perhaps so.  I live alone, if that is what you mean.  But as
+for being lonely--no, hang it!  I have plenty of friends, especially
+at dividend time.'
+
+'You have nobody depending on you,' said Horner with the
+irritability of sorrow.
+
+'Because nobody is such a fool.  On the other hand, I have nobody to
+care a twopenny curse what becomes of me.  Same thing, you see, in
+the end.  Come, man, cheer up.  Tell me what is wrong.  Seventeen
+pounds ten shillings is not exactly wealth, but if you want it you
+know it is there, eh?'
+
+'I do not want it, thanks,' replied the other.  'Seventeen hundred
+would be no good to me. '
+
+He paused, biting his under lip and staring with hard eyes into the
+fire.
+
+'Read that,' he said at length, and handed Conyngham a cutting from
+a daily newspaper.
+
+The younger man read, without apparent interest, an account of the
+Chester-le-Street meeting, and the subsequent attack on Sir John
+Pleydell's house.
+
+'Yes,' he commented, 'the usual thing.  Brave words followed by a
+cowardly deed.  What in the name of fortune you were doing in that
+galere you yourself know best.  If these are politics, Horner, I say
+drop them.  Politics are a stick, clean enough at the top, but
+you've got hold of the wrong end.  Young Pleydell was hurt, I see--
+"seriously, it is feared."'
+
+'Yes,' said Horner significantly; and his companion, after a quick
+look of surprise, read the slip of paper carefully a second time.
+Then he looked up and met Horner's eyes.
+
+'Gad!' he exclaimed in a whisper.
+
+Horner said nothing.  The dog moved restlessly, and for a moment the
+whole world--that sleepless world of the streets--seemed to hold its
+breath.
+
+'And if he dies,' said Conyngham at length.
+
+'Exactly so,' answered the other with a laugh--of scaffold mirth.
+
+Conyngham turned in his chair and sat with his elbows on his knees,
+his face resting on his closed fists, staring at the worn old
+hearthrug.  Thus they remained for some minutes.
+
+'What are you thinking about?' asked Horner at length.
+
+'Nothing--got nothing to think with.  You know that, Geoffrey.  Wish
+I had--never wanted it as I do at this moment.  I'm no good, you
+know that.  You must go to some one with brains--some clever devil.'
+
+As he spoke he turned and took up the paper again, reading the
+paragraph slowly and carefully.  Horner looked at him with a
+breathless hunger in his eyes.  At some moments it is a crime to
+think, for we never know but that thought may be transmitted without
+so much as a whisper.
+
+'"The miners were accompanied by a gentleman from London,"'
+Conyngham read aloud, '"a barrister, it is supposed, whose speech
+was a feature of the Chester le-Street meeting.  This gentleman's
+name is quite unknown, nor has his whereabouts yet been discovered.
+His sudden disappearance lends likelihood to the report that this
+unknown agitator actually struck the blow which injured Mr. Alfred
+Pleydell.  Every exertion is being put forth by the authorities to
+trace the man who is possibly a felon and certainly a coward."'
+
+Conyngham laid aside the paper and again looked at Horner, who did
+not meet his glance nor ask now of what he was thinking.  Horner,
+indeed, had his own thoughts, perhaps of the fireside--modest
+enough, but happy as love and health could make it--upon which his
+own ambition had brought down the ruins of a hundred castles in the
+air--thoughts he scarce could face, no doubt, and yet had no power
+to drive away, of the young wife whose world was that same fireside;
+of the child, perhaps, whose coming had opened for a time the door
+of Paradise.
+
+Conyngham broke in upon these meditations with a laugh.
+
+'I have it!' he cried.  'It's as simple as the alphabet.  This paper
+says it was a barrister--a man from London--a malcontent, a felon, a
+coward.  Dammy, Geoff--that's me!'
+
+He leapt to his feet.  'Get out of the way, Tim!' he cried to the
+dog, pushing the animal aside and standing on the hearthrug.
+
+'Listen to this,' he went on.  'This thing, like the others, will
+blow over.  It will be forgotten in a week.  Another meeting will be
+held--say in South Wales, more windows will be broken, another young
+man's head cracked, and Chester-le-Street (God-forsaken place, never
+heard of it!) will be forgotten.'
+
+Horner sat looking with hollow eyes at the young Irishman, his lips
+twitching, his fingers interlocked--there is nothing makes so
+complete a coward of a man as a woman's love.  Conyngham laughed as
+the notion unfolded itself in his mind.  He might, as he himself had
+said, be of no great brain power, but he was at all events a man and
+a brave one.  He stood a full six foot, and looked down at his
+companion, who sat whitefaced and shrinking.
+
+'It is quite easy,' he said, 'for me to disappear in such a manner
+as to arouse suspicion.  I have nothing to keep me here; my briefs--
+well, the Solicitor-General can have 'em!  I have no ties--nothing
+to keep me in any part of the world.  When young Pleydell is on his
+feet again, and a few more windows have been broken, and nine days
+have elapsed, the wonder will give place to another, and I can
+return to my--practice.'
+
+'I couldn't let you do it.'
+
+'Oh yes, you could,' said Conyngham with the quickness of his race
+to spy out his neighbour's vulnerable point.  'For the sake of Edith
+and the little devil.'
+
+Horner sat silent, and after a moment Conyngham went on.
+
+'All we want to do is to divert suspicion from you now--to put them
+on a false scent, for they must have one of some sort.  When they
+find that they cannot catch me they will forget all about it.'
+
+Horner shuffled in his seat.  This was nothing but detection of the
+thoughts that had passed through his own mind.
+
+'It is easily enough done,' went on the Irishman.  'A paragraph here
+and there in some of the newspapers; a few incriminating papers left
+in these rooms, which are certain to be searched.  I have a bad
+name--an Irish dog goes about the world with a rope round his neck.
+If I am caught it will not be for some time, and then I can get out
+of it somehow--an alibi or something.  I'll get a brief at all
+events.  By that time the scent will be lost, and it will be all
+right.  Come, Geoff, cheer up!  A man of your sort ought not to be
+thrown by a mischance like this.'
+
+He stood with his legs apart, his hands thrust deep into his
+pockets, a gay laugh on his lips, and much discernment in his eyes.
+
+'Oh, d---n Edith!' he added after a pause, seeing that his efforts
+met with no response.  'D---n that child!  You used to have some
+pluck, Horner.'  Horner shook his head and made no answer, but his
+very silence was a point gained.  He no longer protested nor raised
+any objection to his companion's hare-brained scheme.  The thing was
+feasible, and he knew it.
+
+Conyngham went on to set forth his plans, which with characteristic
+rapidity of thought he evolved as he spoke.
+
+'Above all,' he said, 'we must be prompt.  I must disappear to-
+night, the paragraphs must be in to-morrow's papers.  I think I'll
+go to Spain.  The Carlists seem to be making things lively there.
+You know, Horner, I was never meant for a wig and gown--there's no
+doubt about that.  I shall have a splendid time of it out there--'
+
+He stopped, meeting a queer look in Horner's eyes, who sat leaning
+forward and searching his face with jealous glance.
+
+'I was wondering,' said the other, with a pale smile, 'if you were
+ever in love with Edith.'
+
+'No, my good soul, I was not,' answered Conyngham, with perfect
+carelessness, 'though I knew her long before you did.'
+
+He paused, and a quick thought flashed through his mind that some
+men are seen at their worst in adversity.  He was ready enough to
+find excuses for Horner, for men are strange in the gift of their
+friendship, often bestowing it where they know it is but ill
+deserved.
+
+He rattled on with unbroken gaiety, unfolding plans which in their
+perfection of detail suggested a previous experience in outrunning
+the constable.
+
+While they were still talking a mutual friend came in--a quick-
+spoken man already beginning to be known as a journalist of ability.
+They talked on indifferent topics for some time.  Then the new-comer
+said jerkily:
+
+'Heard the news?'
+
+'No,' answered Conyngham.
+
+'Alfred Pleydell--young fellow who resisted the Chartist rioters at
+Durham--died yesterday morning.'  Frederick Conyngham had placed
+himself in front of Horner, who was still seated in the low chair by
+the fire.  He found Horner's toe with his heel.
+
+'Is that so?' he said gravely.  'Then I'm off.'
+
+'What do you mean?' asked the journalist with a quick look--the man
+had the manner of a ferret.
+
+'Nothing, only I'm off, that's all, old man.  And I cannot ask you
+to stay this evening, you understand, because I have to pack.'
+
+He turned slowly on Horner, who had recovered himself, but still had
+his hand over his face.
+
+'Got any money, Geoff?' he asked.
+
+'Yes, I have twenty pounds if you want it,' answered the other in a
+hoarse voice.
+
+'I do want it--badly.'
+
+The journalist had taken up his hat and stick.  He moved slowly
+towards the door, and, there pausing, saw Horner pass the bank-notes
+to Conyngham.
+
+'You had better go too,' said the Irishman.  'You two are going in
+the same direction, I know.'
+
+Horner rose, and, half laughing, Conyngham pushed him towards the
+door.
+
+'See him home, Blake,' he said.  'Horner has the blues to-night.'
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.  LIKE SHIPS UPON THE SEA.
+
+
+
+'No one can be more wise than destiny.'
+
+'What are we waiting for? why, two more passengers--grand ladies as
+they tell me--and the captain has gone ashore to fetch them,' the
+first mate of the 'Granville' barque, of London, made answer to
+Frederick Conyngham, and he breathed on his fingers as he spoke, for
+the north-west wind was blowing across the plains of the Medoc, and
+the sun had just set behind the smoke of Bordeaux.
+
+The 'Granville' was lying at anchor in the middle of the Garonne
+river, having safely discharged her deck cargo of empty claret casks
+and landed a certain number of passengers.  There are few colder
+spots on the Continent than the sunny town of Bordeaux when the west
+wind blows from Atlantic wastes in winter time.  A fine powder of
+snow scudded across the flat land, which presented a bleak brown
+face, patched here and there with white.  There were two more
+passengers on board the 'Granville,' crouching in the cabin--two
+French gentlemen who had taken passage from London to Algeciras in
+Spain, on their way to Algiers.
+
+Conyngham, with characteristic good-nature, had made himself so
+entirely at home on board the Mediterranean trader that his presence
+was equally welcomed in the forecastle and the captain's cabin.
+Even the first mate, his present interlocutor, a grim man given to
+muttered abuse of his calling and a pious pessimism in respect to
+human nature, gradually thawed under the influence of so cheerful an
+acceptance of heavy weather and a clumsy deck cargo.
+
+'The ladies will be less trouble than the empty casks, at all
+events,' said Conyngham, 'because they will keep below.'
+
+The sailor shook his head forebodingly and took an heroic pinch of
+snuff.
+
+'One's as capable of carrying mischief as the other,' he muttered in
+the bigoted voice of a married teetotaller.
+
+The ship was ready for sea, and this mariner's spirit was ever
+uneasy and restless till the anchor was on deck and the hawser
+stowed.
+
+'There's a boat leaving the quay now,' he added.  'Seems she's
+lumbered up forr'ard wi' women's hamper.'
+
+And indeed the black form of a skiff so laden could be seen
+approaching through the driving snow and gloom.  The mate called to
+the steward to come on deck, and this bearded servitor of dames
+emerged from the galley with uprolled sleeves and a fine contempt
+for cold winds.  A boy went forward with a coil of rope on his arm,
+for the tide was running hard and the Garonne is no ladies' pleasure
+stream.  It is not an easy matter to board a ship in mid-current
+when tide and wind are at variance, and the fingers so cold that a
+rope slips through them like a log-line.  The 'Granville,' having
+still on board her cargo of coals for Algeciras, lay low in the
+water with both her anchors out and the tide singing round her old-
+fashioned hempen hawsers.
+
+'Now see ye throw a clear rope,' shouted the mate to the boy who had
+gone forward.  The proximity of the land and the approach of women--
+a bete noire no less dreaded--seemed to flurry the brined spirit of
+the Granville's' mate.
+
+Perhaps the knowledge that the end of a rope, not judged clear,
+would inevitably be applied to his own person, shook the nerve of
+the boy on the forecastle--perhaps his hands were cold and his
+faculties benumbed.  He cast a line which seemed to promise well at
+first.  Two coils of it unfolded themselves gracefully against the
+grey sky, and then Confusion took the others for herself.  A British
+oath from the deck of the ship went out to meet a fine French
+explosion of profanity from the boat, both forestalling the splash
+of the tangled rope into the water under the bows of the ship, and a
+full ten yards out of the reach of the man who stood, boathook in
+hand, ready to catch it.  There were two ladies in the stern of the
+boat, muffled up to the eyes, and betokening by their attitude the
+hopeless despair and misery which seize the southern fair the moment
+they embark in so much as a ferry boat.  The fore part of the heavy
+craft was piled up with trunks and other impedimenta of a feminine
+incongruity.  A single boatman had rowed the boat from the shore,
+guiding it into mid-stream, and there describing a circle calculated
+to insure a gentle approach on the lee side.  This man, having laid
+aside his oars, now stood, boathook in hand, awaiting the inevitable
+crash.  The offending boy in the bows was making frantic efforts to
+haul in his misguided rope, but the possibility of making a second
+cast was unworthy of consideration.  The mate muttered such a string
+of foreboding expletives as augured ill for the delinquent.  The
+boatman was preparing to hold on and fend off at the same moment--a
+sudden gust of wind gave the boat a sharp buffet just as the man
+grappled the mizzen-chains--he overbalanced himself, fell, and
+recovered himself, but only to be jerked backwards into the water by
+the boathook, which struck him in the chest.
+
+'A moi!' cried the man, and disappeared in the muddy water.  He rose
+to the surface under the ship's quarter, and the mate, quick as
+lightning, dumped the whole coil of the slack of the main sheet on
+to the top of him.  In a moment he was at the level of the rail, the
+mate and the steward hauling steadily on the rope, to which he clung
+with the tenacity and somewhat the attitude of a monkey.  At the
+same instant a splash made the rescuers turn in time to see
+Conyngham, whose coat lay thrown on the deck behind them, rise to
+the surface ten yards astern of the 'Granville' and strike out
+towards the boat, now almost disappearing in the gloom of night.
+
+The water, which had flowed through the sunniest of the sunny plains
+of France, was surprisingly warm, and Conyngham, soon recovering
+from the shock of his dive, settled into a quick side-stroke.  The
+boat was close in front of him, and in the semi-darkness he could
+see one of the women rise from her seat and make her way forward,
+while her companion crouched lower and gave voice to her dismay in a
+series of wails and groans.  The more intrepid lady was engaged in
+lifting one of the heavy oars, when Conyngham called out in French:
+
+'Courage, mesdames!  I will be with you in a moment.'
+
+Both turned, and the pallor of their faces shone whitely through the
+gloom.  Neither spoke, and in a few strokes Conyngham came
+alongside.  He clutched the gunwale with his right hand, and drew
+himself breast high.
+
+'If these ladies,' he said, 'will kindly go to the opposite side of
+the boat, I shall be able to climb in without danger of upsetting.'
+
+'If mama inclines that way I think it will be sufficient,' answered
+the muffled form which had made its way forward.  The voice was
+clear and low, remarkably self-possessed, and not without a
+suggestion that its possessor bore a grudge against some person
+present.
+
+'Perhaps mademoiselle is right,' said Conyngham with becoming
+gravity, and the lady in the stern obeyed her daughter's suggestion,
+with the result anticipated.  Indeed, the boat heeled over with so
+much goodwill that Conyngham was lifted right out of the water.  He
+clambered on board and immediately began shivering, for the wind cut
+like a knife.
+
+The younger lady made her way cautiously back to the seat which she
+had recently quitted, and began at once to speak very severely to
+her mother.  This stout and emotional person was swaying backwards
+and forwards, and, in the intervals of wailing and groaning, called
+in Spanish upon several selected saints to assist her.  At times,
+and apparently by way of a change, she appealed to yet higher powers
+to receive her soul.
+
+'My mother,' said the young lady to Conyngham, who had already got
+the oars out, 'has the heart of a rabbit, but--yes--of a very young
+rabbit.'
+
+'Madame may rest assured that there is no danger,' said Conyngham.
+
+'Monsieur is an Englishman--'
+
+'Yes, and a very cold one at the moment.  If madame could restrain
+her religious enthusiasm so much as to sit still, we should make
+better progress.'
+
+He spoke rather curtly, as if refusing to admit the advisability of
+manning the boat with a crew of black-letter saints.  The manner in
+which the craft leapt forward under each stroke of the oars
+testified to the strength of his arms, and madame presently subsided
+into whispers of thankfulness, having reason, it would seem, to be
+content with mere earthly aid in lieu of that heavenly intervention
+which ladies of her species summon at every turn of life.
+
+'I wish I could help you,' said the younger woman presently, in a
+voice and manner suggestive of an energy unusual to her
+countrywomen.  She spoke in French, but with an accent somewhat
+round and full, like an English accent, and Conyngham divined that
+she was Spanish.  He thought also that under their outer wraps the
+ladies wore the mantilla, and had that graceful carriage of the head
+which is only seen in the Peninsula.
+
+'Thank you, mademoiselle, but I am making good progress now.  Can
+you see the ship?'
+
+She rose and stood peering into the darkness ahead--a graceful,
+swaying figure.  A faint scent as of some flower was wafted on the
+keen wind to Conyngham, who had already decided with characteristic
+haste that this young person was as beautiful as she was intrepid.
+
+'Yes,' she answered, 'it is quite close.  They are also showing
+lights to guide us.'
+
+She stood looking apparently over his head towards the 'Granville,'
+but when she spoke it would seem that her thoughts had not been
+fixed on that vessel.
+
+'Is monsieur a sailor?'
+
+'No, but I fortunately have a little knowledge of such matters--
+fortunate, since I have been able to turn it to the use of these
+ladies.'
+
+'But you are travelling in the "Granville."'
+
+'Yes; I am travelling in the "Granville."'
+
+Over his oars Conyngham looked hard at his interlocutrice, but could
+discern nothing of her features.  Her voice interested him, however,
+and he wondered whether there were ever calms on the coast of Spain
+at this time of the year.
+
+'Our sailors,' said the young lady, 'in Spain are brave, but they
+are very cautious.  I think none of them would have done such a
+thing as you have just done for us.  We were in danger.  I knew it.
+Was it not so?'
+
+'The boat might have drifted against some ship at anchor and been
+upset.  You might also have been driven out to sea.  They had no
+boat on board the "Granville" ready to put out and follow you.'
+
+'Yes; and you saved us.  But you English are of a great courage.
+And my mother, instead of thanking you, is offering her gratitude to
+James and John the sons of Zebedee, as if they had done it.'
+
+'I am no relation to Zebedee,' said Conyngham with a gay laugh.
+'Madame may rest assured of that.'
+
+'Julia,' said the elder lady severely, and in a voice that seemed to
+emanate from a chest as deep and hollow as an octave cask, 'I shall
+tell Father Concha, who will assuredly reprove you.  The saints upon
+whom I called were fishermen, and therefore the more capable of
+understanding our great danger.  As for monsieur, he knows that he
+shall always be in my prayers.'
+
+'Thank you, madame,' said Conyngham gravely.
+
+'And at a fitter time I hope to be able to tender him my thanks.'
+
+At this moment a voice from the 'Granville' hailed the boat, asking
+whether all was well and Mr. Conyngham on board.  Being reassured on
+this point, the mate apparently attended to another matter requiring
+his attention, the mingled cries and expostulations of the cabin boy
+sufficiently indicating its nature.
+
+The boat, under Conyngham's strong and steady strokes, now came
+slowly and without mishap alongside the great black hull of the
+vessel, and it soon became manifest that, although all danger was
+past, there yet remained difficulty ahead; for when the boat was
+made fast and the ladder lowered, the elder of the two ladies firmly
+and emphatically denied her ability to make the ascent.  The French
+boatman, shivering in a borrowed great coat, and with a vociferation
+which flavoured the air with cognac, added his entreaties to those
+of the mate and steward.  In the small boat Conyngham, in French,
+and the lady's daughter, in Spanish, represented that at least half
+of the heavenly host, having intervened to save her from so great a
+peril as that safely passed through, could surely accomplish this
+smaller feat with ease.  But the lady still hesitated, and the mate,
+having clambered down into the boat, grabbed Conyngham's arm with a
+large and not unkindly hand, and pushed him forcibly towards the
+ladder.
+
+'You hadn't got no business, Mr. Conyngham,' he said gruffly, 'to
+leave the ship like that, and like as not you've got your death of
+cold.  Just you get aboard and leave these women to me.  You get to
+your bunk, mister, and stooard'll bring you something hot.'
+
+There was nought but obedience in the matter, and Conyngham was soon
+between the blankets, alternately shivering and burning in the first
+stages of a severe chill.
+
+The captain having come on board, the 'Granville' presently weighed
+anchor, and on the bosom of an ebbing tide turned her blunt prow
+towards the winter sea.  The waves out there beat high, and before
+the lights of Pauillac, then a mere cluster of fishers' huts, had
+passed away astern, the good ship was lifting her bow with a sense
+of anticipation, while her great wooden beams and knees began to
+strain and creak.
+
+During the following days, while the sense of spring and warmth
+slowly gave life to those who could breathe the air on deck,
+Conyngham lay in his little cabin and heeded nothing; for when the
+fever left him he was only conscious of a great lassitude, and
+scarce could raise himself to take such nourishment as the steward,
+with a rough but kindly skill, prepared for him.
+
+'Why the deuce I ever came--why the deuce I ever went overboard
+after a couple of senoras--I don't know,' he repeated to himself
+during the hours of that long watch below.
+
+Why, indeed? except that youth must needs go forth into the world
+and play the only stake it owns there.  Nor is Frederick Conyngham
+the first who, having no knowledge of the game of life, throws all
+upon the board to wait upon the hazard of a die.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.  LE PREMIER PAS.
+
+
+
+'Be as one that knoweth and yet holdeth his tongue.'
+
+The little town of Algeciras lies, as many know, within sight of
+Gibraltar, and separated from that stronghold by a broad bay.  It is
+on the mainland of Spain, and in direct communication by road with
+the great port of Cadiz.  Another road, little better than a bridle-
+path, runs northward to Ximena and through the corkwood forests of
+that plain towards the mountain ranges that rise between Ronda and
+the sea.
+
+By this bridle-path, it is whispered, a vast smuggled commerce has
+ever found passage to the mainland, and scarce a boatman or
+passenger lands at Algeciras from Gibraltar but carries somewhere on
+his person as much tobacco as he may hope to conceal with safety.
+Algeciras, with its fair white houses, its prim church, and sleepy
+quay, where the blue waters lap and sparkle in innocent sunlight,
+is, it is to be feared, a town of small virtue and the habitation of
+scoundrels.  For this is the stronghold of those contrabandistas
+whom song and legend have praised as the boldest, the merriest, and
+most romantic of law-breakers.  Indeed, in this country the man who
+can boast of a smuggling ancestry holds high his head and looks down
+on honest folk.
+
+The 'Granville' having dropped anchor to the north of the rough
+stone pier, was soon disburdened of her passengers--the ladies going
+ashore with undisguised delight, and leaving behind them many
+gracious messages of thanks to the gentleman whose gallantry had
+resulted so disastrously; for Conyngham was still in bed, though now
+nearly recovered.  Truth to tell, he did not hurry to make his
+appearance in the general cabin, and came on deck a few hours after
+the departure of the ladies, whose gratitude he desired to avoid.
+
+Two days of the peerless sunshine of these southern waters
+completely restored him to health, and he prepared to go ashore.  It
+was afternoon when his boat touched the beach, and the idlers,
+without whom no Mediterranean seaboard is complete, having passed
+the heat of the day in a philosophic apathy amounting in many cases
+to a siesta, now roused themselves sufficiently to take a dignified
+and indifferent interest in the new arrival.  A number of boys, an
+old soldier, several artillerymen from the pretty and absolutely
+useless fort, a priest and a female vendor of oranges put themselves
+out so much as to congregate in a little knot at the spot where
+Conyngham landed.
+
+'Body of Bacchus!' said the priest, with a pinch of snuff poised
+before his long nose, 'an Englishman--see his gold watch chain.'
+
+This remark called forth several monosyllabic sounds, and the
+onlookers watched the safe discharge of Conyngham's personal effects
+with a characteristic placidity of demeanour which was at once
+tolerant and gently surprised.  That any one should have the energy
+to come ashore when he was comfortable on board, or leave the shore
+when amply provided there with sunshine, elbowroom, and other
+necessaries of life, presented itself to them as a fact worthy of
+note but not of emulation.  The happiest man is he who has reduced
+the necessities of life to a minimum.
+
+No one offered to assist Conyngham.  In Spain the onlooker keeps his
+hands in his pockets.
+
+'The English, see you, travel for pleasure,' said the old soldier,
+nodding his head in the direction of Gibraltar, pink and shimmering
+across the bay.
+
+The priest brushed some stray grains of snuff from the front of his
+faded cassock--once black, but now of a greeny brown.  He was a
+singularly tall man, gaunt and grey, with deep lines drawn downwards
+from eye to chin.  His mouth was large and tender, with a humorous
+corner ever awaiting a jest.  His eyes were sombre and deeply shaded
+by grey brows, but one of them had a twinkle lurking and waiting, as
+in the corner of his mouth.
+
+'Everyone stretches his legs according to the length of his
+coverlet,' he said, and, turning, he courteously raised his hat to
+Conyngham, who passed at that moment on his way to the hotel.  The
+little knot of onlookers broke up, and the boys wandered towards the
+fort, before the gate of which a game at bowls was in progress.
+
+'The Padre has a hungry look,' reflected Conyngham.  'Think I'll
+invite him to dinner.'
+
+For Geoffrey Horner had succeeded in conveying more money to the man
+who had taken his sins upon himself, and while Conyngham possessed
+money he usually had the desire to spend it.
+
+Conyngham went to the Fonda de la Marina, which stands to-day--a
+house of small comfort and no great outward cleanliness; but, as in
+most Spanish inns, the performance was better than the promise, and
+the bedroom offered to the traveller was nothing worse than bare and
+ill furnished.  With what Spanish he at this time possessed the
+Englishman made known his wants, and inquired of the means of
+prosecuting his journey to Ronda.
+
+'You know the Captain-General Vincente of Ronda?' he asked.
+
+'But. . . yes--by reputation.  Who does not in Andalusia?' replied
+the host, a stout man, who had once cooked for a military mess at
+Gibraltar, and professed himself acquainted with the requirements of
+English gentlemen.
+
+'I have a letter to General Vincente, and must go to Ronda as soon
+as possible.  These are stirring times in Spain.'
+
+The man's bland face suddenly assumed an air of cunning, and he
+glanced over his shoulder to see that none overheard.
+
+'Your Excellency is right,' he answered.  'But for such as myself
+one side is as good as another--is it not so?  Carlist or Christino-
+-the money is the same.'
+
+'But here in the South there are no Carlists.'
+
+'Who knows?' said the innkeeper with outspread hands.  'Anything
+that his Excellency requires shall be forthcoming,' he added
+grandiosely.  'This is the dining-room, and here at the side a
+little saloon where the ladies sit.  But at present we have only
+gentlemen in the hotel--it being the winter time.'
+
+'Then you have other guests?' inquired Conyngham.
+
+'But. . . yes--always.  In Algeciras there are always travellers.
+Noblemen--like his Excellency--for pleasure.  Others--for commerce,
+the Government--the politics.'
+
+'No flies enter a shut mouth, my friend,' said a voice at the door,
+and both turned to see standing in the doorway the priest who had
+witnessed Conyngham's arrival.
+
+'Pardon, senor,' said the old man, coming forward with his shabby
+hat in his hand.  'Pardon my interruption.  I came at an opportune
+moment, for I heard the word politics.'
+
+He turned and shook a lean finger at the innkeeper, who was backing
+towards the door with many bows.
+
+'Ah, bad Miguel,' he said, 'will you make it impossible for
+gentlemen to put up at your execrable inn?  The man's cooking is
+superior to his discretion, senor.  I, too, am a traveller, and for
+the moment a guest here.  I have the honour.  My name is Concha--the
+Padre Concha--a priest, as you see.'
+
+Conyngham nodded, and laughed frankly.
+
+'Glad to meet you,' he said.  'I saw you as I came along.  My name
+is Conyngham, and I am an Englishman, as you hear.  I know very
+little Spanish.'
+
+'That will come--that will come,' said the priest, moving towards
+the window.  'Perhaps too soon, if you are going to stay any length
+of time in this country.  Let me advise you--do not learn our
+language too quickly.'
+
+He shook his head and moved towards the open window.
+
+'See to your girths before you mount, eh?  Here is the verandah,
+where it is pleasant in the afternoon.  Shall we be seated?  That
+chair has but three legs--allow me! this one is better.'
+
+He spoke with the grave courtesy of his countrymen.  For every
+Spaniard, even the lowest muleteer, esteems himself a gentleman, and
+knows how to act as such.  The Padre Concha had a pleasant voice,
+and a habit of gesticulating slowly with one large and not too clean
+hand, that suggested the pulpit.  He had led the way to a spacious
+verandah, where there were small tables and chairs, and at the outer
+corners orange trees in square green boxes.
+
+'We will have a bottle of wine--is it not so?--yes,' he said, and
+gravely clapped his hands together to summon the waiter--an Oriental
+custom still in use in the Peninsula.
+
+The wine was brought and duly uncorked, during which ceremony the
+priest waited and watched with the preoccupied air of a host careful
+for the entertainment of his guest.  He tasted the wine critically.
+
+'It might be worse,' he said.  'I beg you to excuse it not being
+better.'
+
+There was something simple in the old man's manner that won
+Conyngham's regard.
+
+'The wine is excellent,' he said.  'It is my welcome to Spain.'
+
+'Ah!  Then this is your first visit to this country,' the priest
+said indifferently, his eyes wandering to the open sea, where a few
+feluccas lay becalmed.
+
+'Yes.'
+
+Conyngham turned and looked towards the sea also.  It was late in
+the afternoon, and a certain drowsiness of the atmosphere made
+conversation, even between comparative strangers, a slower, easier
+matter than with us in the brisk North.  After a moment the
+Englishman turned with, perhaps, the intention of studying his
+companion's face, only to find the deep grey eyes fixed on his own.
+
+'Spain,' said the Padre, 'is a wonderful country, rich, beautiful,
+with a climate like none in Europe; but God and the devil come to
+closer quarters here than elsewhere.  Still for a traveller, for
+pleasure, I think this country is second to none.'
+
+'I am not exactly a traveller for pleasure, my father.'
+
+'Ah!' and Concha drummed idly on the table with his fingers.
+
+'I left England in haste,' added Conyngham lightly.
+
+'Ah!'
+
+'And it will be inexpedient for me to return for some months to
+come.  I thought of taking service in the army, and have a letter to
+General Vincente, who lives at Ronda, as I understand, sixty miles
+from here across the mountains.'
+
+'Yes,' said the priest thoughtfully, 'Ronda is sixty miles from
+here--across the mountains.'
+
+He was watching a boat which approached the shore from the direction
+of Gibraltar.  The wind having dropped, the boatmen had lowered the
+sail and were now rowing, giving voice to a song which floated
+across the smooth sea sleepily.  It was an ordinary Algeciras wherry
+built to carry a little cargo, and perhaps a dozen passengers, a
+fishing boat that smelt strongly of tobacco.  The shore was soon
+reached, and the passengers, numbering half a dozen, stepped over
+the gunwale on to a small landing stage.  One of them was better
+dressed than his companions, a smart man with a bright flower in the
+buttonhole of his jacket, carrying the flowing cloak brightly lined
+with coloured velvet without which no Spaniard goes abroad at
+sunset.  He looked towards the hotel, and was evidently speaking of
+it with a boatman whose attitude was full of promise and assurance.
+
+The priest rose and emptied his glass.
+
+'I must ask you to excuse me.  Vespers wait for no man, and I hear
+the bell,' he said with a grave bow, and went indoors.
+
+Left to himself, Conyngham lapsed into the easy reflections of a man
+whose habit it is to live for the present, leaving the future and
+the past to take care of themselves.  Perhaps he thought, as some
+do, that the past dies--which is a mistake.  The past only sleeps,
+and we carry it with us through life, slumbering.  Those are wise
+who bear it gently so that it may never be aroused.
+
+The sun had set, and Gibraltar, a huge couchant lion across the bay,
+was fading into the twilight of the East when a footstep in the
+dining-room made Conyngham turn his head, half expecting the return
+of Father Concha.  But in the doorway, and with the evident
+intention of coming towards himself, Conyngham perceived a handsome
+dark-faced man of medium height, with a smart moustache brushed
+upward, clever eyes, and the carriage of a soldier.  This stranger
+unfolded his cloak, for in Spain it is considered ill-mannered to
+address a stranger and remain cloaked.
+
+'Senor,' he said, with a gesture of the hat, courteous and yet manly
+enough to savour more of the camp than the court, 'senor, I
+understand you are journeying to Ronda.'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'I, too, intended to go across the mountains, and hoped to arrive
+here in time to accompany friends who I learn have already started
+on their journey.  But I have received letters which necessitate my
+return to Malaga.  You have already divined that I come to ask a
+favour.'
+
+He brought forward a chair and sat down, drawing from his pocket a
+silver cigarette case, which he offered to the Englishman.  There
+was a certain picturesqueness in the man's attitude and manner.  His
+face and movements possessed a suggestion of energy which seemed out
+of place here in the sleepy South, and stamped him as a native not
+of dreamy Andalusia, but of La Mancha perhaps, where the wit of
+Spain is concentrated, or of fiery Catalonia, where discontent and
+unrest are in the very atmosphere of the brown hills.  This was a
+Spanish gentleman in the best sense of the word, as scrupulous in
+personal cleanliness as any Englishman, polished, accomplished,
+bright and fascinating, and yet carrying with him a subtle air of
+melancholy and romance which lingers still among the men and women
+of aristocratic Spain.
+
+''Tis but to carry a letter,' he explained, 'and to deliver it into
+the hand of the person to whom it is addressed.  Ah, I would give
+five years of life to touch that hand with my lips.'
+
+He sighed, gave a little laugh which was full of meaning, and yet
+quite free from self-consciousness, and lighted a fresh cigarette.
+Then, after a little pause, he produced the letter from an inner
+pocket and laid it on the table in front of Conyngham.  It was
+addressed, 'To the Senorita J. B.,' and had a subtle scent of
+mignonette.  The envelope was of a delicate pink.
+
+'A love letter,' said Conyngham bluntly.
+
+The Spaniard looked at him and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+'Ah! you do not understand,' he said, 'in that cold country of the
+North.  If you stay in Spain, perhaps some dark-eyed one will teach
+you.  But,' and his manner changed with theatrical rapidity, as he
+laid his slim hand on the letter, 'if, when you see her you love
+her, I will kill you.'
+
+Conyngham laughed and held out his hand for the letter.
+
+'It is insufficiently addressed,' he said practically.  'How shall I
+find the lady?'
+
+'Her name is Barenna, the Senorita Barenna; that is sufficient in
+Ronda.'
+
+Conyngham took up the letter and examined it.  'It is of
+importance?' he said.
+
+'Of the utmost.'
+
+'And of value?'
+
+'Of the greatest value in the world to me.'
+
+The Spaniard rose and took up his cloak, which he had thrown over
+the back of the nearest chair, not forgetting to display a
+picturesque corner of its bright lining.
+
+'You swear you will deliver it, only with your own hand, only to the
+hand of the Senorita Barenna?  And--you will observe the strictest
+secrecy?'
+
+'Oh, yes,' answered Conyngham carelessly, 'if you like.'
+
+The Spaniard turned, and, leaning one hand on the table, looked
+almost fiercely into his companion's face.  'You are an Englishman,'
+he said, 'and an Englishman's word--is it not known all the world
+over?  In the North, in my country, where Wellington fought, the
+peasants still say "word of an Englishman" instead of an oath.'
+
+He threw his cloak over his shoulder, and stood looking down at his
+companion with a little smile as if he were proud of him.
+
+'There!' he said.  'Adios.  My name is Larralde, but that is of no
+consequence.  Adios!'
+
+With a courteous bow he took his leave, and Conyngham presently saw
+him walking down to the landing stage.  It seemed that this strange
+visitor was about to depart as abruptly as he had come.  Conyngham
+rose and walked to the edge of the verandah, where he stood watching
+the departure of the boat in which his new friend had taken passage.
+
+While he was standing there, the old priest came quietly out of the
+open window of the dining room.  He saw the letter lying on the
+table where Conyngham had left it.  He approached, his shabby old
+shoes making no sound on the wooden flooring, and read the address
+written on the pink and scented envelope.  When the Englishman at
+length turned, he was alone on the verandah, with the wine bottle,
+the empty glasses, and the letter.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.  CONTRABAND.
+
+
+
+'What rights are his that dares not strike for them?'
+
+An hour before sunrise two horses stood shuffling their feet and
+chewing their bits before the hotel of the Marina at Algeciras,
+while their owner, a short and thick-set man of an exaggeratedly
+villanous appearance, attended to such straps and buckles as he
+suspected of latent flaws.  The horses were lean and loose of ear,
+with a melancholy thoughtfulness of demeanour that seemed to suggest
+the deepest misgivings as to the future.  Their saddles and other
+accoutrements were frankly theatrical, and would have been at once
+the delight of an artist and the despair of a saddler.  Fringes and
+tassels of bright-coloured worsted depended from points where
+fringes and tassels were distinctly out of place.  Where the various
+straps should have been strong they looked weak, and scarce a buckle
+could boast an innocence of knotted string.  The saddles were of
+wood, and calculated to inflict serious internal injuries to the
+rider in case of a fall.  They stood at least a foot above the
+horse's backbone, raised on a thick cushion upon the ribs of the
+animal, and leaving a space in the middle for the secretion of
+tobacco and other contraband merchandise.
+
+'I'll take the smallest cut-throat of the crew,' Conyngham had said
+on the occasion of an informal parade of guides the previous
+evening.  And the host of the Fonda, in whose kitchen the function
+had taken place, explained to Concepcion Vara that the English
+Excellency had selected him on his--the host's--assurance that
+Algeciras contained no other so honest.
+
+'Tell him,' answered Concepcion with a cigarette between his lips
+and a pardonable pride in his eyes, 'that my grandfather was a
+smuggler and my father was shot by the Guardia Civil near
+Algatocin.'
+
+Concepcion, having repaired one girth and shaken his head dubiously
+over another, lighted a fresh cigarette and gave a little shiver,
+for the morning air was keen.  He discreetly coughed.  He had seen
+Conyngham breakfasting by the light of a dim oil lamp of a shape and
+make unaltered since the days of Nebuchadnezzar, and, without
+appearing impatient, wished to convey to one gentleman the fact that
+another awaited him.
+
+Before long Conyngham appeared, having paid an iniquitous bill with
+the recklessness that is only thoroughly understood by the poor.  He
+appeared as usual to be at peace with all men, and returned his
+guide's grave salutation with an easy nod.
+
+'These the horses?' he inquired.
+
+Concepcion Vara spread out his hands.  'They have no equal in
+Andalusia,' he said.
+
+'Then I am sorry for Andalusia,' answered Conyngham with a pleasant
+laugh.
+
+They mounted and rode away in the dim cool light of the morning.
+The sea was of a deep blue, and rippled all over as in a picture.
+Gibraltar, five miles away, loomed up like a grey cloud against the
+pink of sunrise.  The whole world wore a cleanly look as if the
+night had been passed over its face like a sponge, wiping away all
+that was unsightly or evil.  The air was light and exhilarating, and
+scented by the breath of aromatic weeds growing at the roadside.
+
+Concepcion sang a song as he rode--a song almost as old as his
+trade--declaring that he was a smuggler bold.  And he looked it,
+every inch.  The road to Ronda lies through the cork woods of
+Ximena, leaving St. Roque on the right hand--such at least was the
+path selected by Conyngham's guide; for there are many ways over the
+mountains, and none of them to be recommended.  Beguiling the
+journey with cigarette and song, calling at every venta on the road,
+exchanging chaff with every woman and a quick word with all men,
+Concepcion faithfully fulfilled his contract, and, as the moon rose
+over the distant snow-clad peaks of the Sierra Nevada, pointed
+forward to the lights of Gaucin, a mountain village with an evil
+reputation.
+
+The dawn of the next day saw the travellers in the saddle again, and
+the road was worse than ever.  A sharp ascent led them up from
+Gaucin to regions where foliage grew scarcer at every step, and
+cultivation was unknown.  At one spot they turned to look back, and
+saw Gibraltar like a tooth protruding from the sea.  The straits had
+the appearance of a river, and the high land behind Ceuta formed the
+farther bank of it.
+
+'There is Africa,' said Concepcion gravely, and after a moment
+turned his horse's head uphill again.  The people of these mountain
+regions were as wild in appearance as their country.  Once or twice
+the travellers passed a shepherd herding sheep or goats on the
+mountain side, himself clad in goatskin, with a great brown cloak
+floating from his shoulders--a living picture of Ishmael or those
+sons of his who dwelt in the tents of Kedar.  A few muleteers drew
+aside to let the horses pass, and exchanged some words in an
+undertone with Conyngham's guide.  Fine-looking brigands were these,
+with an armoury of knives peeping from their bright-coloured
+waistbands.  The Andalusian peasant is for six days in the week
+calculated to inspire awe by his clothing and general appearance.
+Of a dark skin and hair, he usually submits his chin to the barber's
+office but once a week, and the timid traveller would do well to
+take the road on Sundays only.  Towards the end of the week, and
+notably on a Saturday, every passer-by is an unshorn brigand capable
+of the darkest deeds of villany, while twenty-four hours later the
+land will be found to be peopled by as clean and honest and smart,
+and withal as handsome, a race of men as any on earth.
+
+Before long all habitations were left behind, and the horses climbed
+from rock to rock like cats.  There was no suggestion of pathway or
+landmark, and Concepcion paused once or twice to take his bearings.
+It was about two in the afternoon when, after descending the bed of
+a stream long since dried up, Concepcion called a halt, and proposed
+to rest the horses while he dined.  As on the previous day, the
+guide's manner was that of a gentleman, conferring a high honour
+with becoming modesty when he sat down beside Conyngham and untied
+his small sack of provisions.  These consisted of dried figs and
+bread, which he offered to his companion before beginning to eat.
+Conyngham shared his own stock of food with his guide, and
+subsequently smoked a cigarette which that gentleman offered him.
+They were thus pleasantly engaged when a man appeared on the rocks
+above them in a manner and with a haste that spoke but ill of his
+honesty.  The guide looked up knife in hand, and made answer to a
+gesture of the arm with his own hand upraised.
+
+'Who is this?' said Conyngham.  'Some friend of yours?  Tell him to
+keep his distance, for I don't care for his appearance.'
+
+'He is no friend of mine, Excellency.  But the man is, I dare say,
+honest enough.  In these mountains it is only of the Guardia Civil
+that one must beware.  They have ever the finger on the trigger and
+shoot without warning.'
+
+'Nevertheless,' said the Englishman, now thoroughly on the alert,
+'let him state his business at a respectable distance.  Ah! he has a
+comrade and two mules.'
+
+And indeed a second man of equally unprepossessing exterior now
+appeared from behind a great rock leading a couple of heavily laden
+mules.
+
+Concepcion and the first traveller, who was now within a dozen
+yards, were already exchanging words in a patois not unlike the
+Limousin dialect, of which Conyngham understood nothing.
+
+'Stop where you are,' shouted the Englishman in Spanish, 'or else I
+shoot you!  If there is anything wrong, Senor Vara,' he added to the
+guide, 'I shoot you first, understand that.'
+
+'He says,' answered Concepcion with dignity, 'that they are honest
+traders on the road to Ronda, and would be glad of our company.  His
+Excellency is at liberty to shoot if he is so disposed.'
+
+Conyngham laughed.
+
+'No,' he answered, 'I am not anxious to kill any man, but each must
+take care of himself in these times.'
+
+'Not against an honest smuggler.'
+
+'Are these smugglers?'
+
+'They speak as such.  I know them no more than does his Excellency.'
+
+The second new-comer was now within hail, and began at once to speak
+in Spanish.  The tale he told was similar in every way to that
+translated by Concepcion from the Limousin dialect.
+
+'Why should we not travel together to Ronda?' he said, coming
+forward with an easy air of confidence, which was of better effect
+than any protestation of honesty.  He had a quiet eye, and the
+demeanour of one educated to loftier things than smuggling tobacco
+across the Sierra, though indeed, he was no better clad than his
+companion.  The two guides instinctively took the road together,
+Concepcion leading his horse, for the way was such that none could
+ride over it.  Conyngham did the same, and his companion led the
+mule by a rope, as is the custom in Andalusia.
+
+The full glare of the day shone down on them, the bare rock giving
+back a puff of heat that dried the throat.  Conyngham was tired and
+not too trustful of his companion, who, indeed, seemed to be fully
+occupied with his own thoughts.  They had thus progressed a full
+half-hour when a shout from the rocks above caused them to halt
+suddenly.  The white linen head coverings of the Guardia Civil and
+the glint of the sun on their accoutrements showed at a glance that
+this was not a summons to be disregarded.
+
+In an instant Concepcion's companion was leaping from rock to rock
+with an agility only to be acquired in the hot fear of death.  A
+report rang out and echoed among the hills.  A bullet went 'splat'
+against a rock near at hand, making a frayed blue mark upon the grey
+stone.  The man dodged from side to side in the panic-stricken
+irresponsibility of a rabbit seeking covert where none exists.
+There was not so much as to hide his head.  Conyngham looked up
+towards the foe in time to see a puff of white smoke thrown up
+against the steely sky.  A second report, and the fugitive seemed to
+trip over a stone.  He recovered himself, stood upright for a
+moment, gave a queer spluttering cough, and sat slowly down against
+a boulder.
+
+'He is killed!' said Concepcion, throwing down his cigarette.
+'Mother of God! these Guardias Civiles!'
+
+The two guards came clambering down the face of the rock.
+Concepcion glanced at his late companion writhing in the sharpness
+of death.
+
+'Here or at Ronda, to-day, or to-morrow, what matters it?' muttered
+the quiet-eyed man at Conyngham's side.  The Englishman turned and
+looked at him.
+
+'They will shoot me too, but not now.'
+
+Concepcion sullenly awaited the arrival of the guards.  These men
+ever hunt in couples of a widely different age, for the law has
+found that an old head and a young arm form the strongest
+combination.  The elder of the two had the face of an old grey wolf.
+He muttered some order to his companion, and went towards the mule.
+He cut away the outer covering of the burden suspended from the
+saddle, and nodded his head wisely.  These were boxes of cartridges
+to carry one thousand each.  The grey old man turned and looked at
+him who lay on the ground.
+
+'A la longa,' he said with a grim smile.  'In the long run,
+Antonio.'
+
+The man gave a sickly grin and opened his mouth to speak, but his
+jaw dropped instead, and he passed across that frontier which is
+watched by no earthly sentinel.
+
+'This gentleman,' said the quiet-eyed man, whose guide had thus paid
+for his little mistake in refusing to halt at the word of command,
+'is a stranger to me--an Englishman, I think.'
+
+'Yes,' answered Conyngham.
+
+The old soldier looked from one to the other.
+
+'That may be,' he said, 'but he sleeps in Ronda prison to-night.
+To-morrow the Captain-General will see to it.'
+
+'I have a letter to the Captain-General,' said Conyngham, who drew
+from his pocket a packet of papers.  Among these was the pink
+scented envelope given to him by the man called Larralde at
+Algeciras.  He had forgotten its existence, and put it back in his
+pocket with a smile.  Having found that for which he sought, he gave
+it to the soldier, who read the address in silence and returned the
+letter.
+
+'You I know,' he said, turning to the man at Conyngham's side, who
+merely shrugged his shoulders.  'And Concepcion Vara, we all know
+him.'
+
+Concepcion had lighted a cigarette, and was murmuring a popular air
+with the indifferent patience and the wandering eye of perfect
+innocence.  The old soldier turned and spoke in an undertone to his
+comrade, who went towards the dead man and quietly covered his face
+with the folds of his own faja or waistcloth.  This he weighted at
+the corners with stones, carrying out this simple office to the dead
+with a suggestive indifference.  To this day the Guardias Civiles
+have plenary power to shoot whomsoever they think fit--flight and
+resistance being equally fatal.
+
+No more heeding the dead body of the man whom he had shot than he
+would have heeded the carcase of a rat, the elder of the two
+soldiers now gave the order to march, commanding Concepcion to lead
+the way.
+
+'It will not be worth your while to risk a bullet by running away,'
+he said.  'This time it is probably a matter of a few pounds of
+tobacco only.'
+
+The evening had fallen ere the silent party caught sight of the town
+of Ronda, perched, as the Moorish strongholds usually are, on a
+height.  Ronda, as history tells, was the last possession of the
+brave and gifted Moslems in Spain.  The people are half Moorish
+still, and from the barred windows look out deep almond eyes and
+patient faces that have no European feature.  The narrow streets
+were empty as the travellers entered the town, and the clatter of
+the mules slipping and stumbling on the cobble stones brought but
+few to the doors of the low-built houses.  To enter Ronda from the
+south the traveller must traverse the Moorish town, which is divided
+from the Spanish quarter by a cleft in the great rock that renders
+the town impregnable to all attack.  Having crossed the bridge
+spanning the great gorge into which the sun never penetrates even at
+midday, the party emerged into the broader streets of the more
+modern town, and, turning to the right through a high gateway, found
+themselves in a barrack yard of the Guardias Civiles.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.  AT RONDA.
+
+
+
+'Le plus grand art d'un habile homme est celui de savoir cacher son
+habilete.'
+
+When Conyngham awoke after a night conscientiously spent in that
+profound slumber which waits on an excellent digestion and a
+careless heart, he found the prison attendant at his bedside.  A
+less easy-going mind would perhaps have leapt to some nervous
+conclusion at the sight of this fierce-visaged janitor, who,
+however, carried nothing more deadly in his hand than a card.
+
+'It is the Captain-General,' said he, 'who calls at this early hour.
+His Excellency's letter has been delivered, and the Captain-General
+scarce waited to swallow his morning chocolate.'
+
+'Very much to the Captain-General's credit,' returned Conyngham
+rising.  'Cold water,' he went on, 'soap, a towel, and my luggage--
+and then the Captain-General.'
+
+The attendant, with an odd smile, procured the necessary articles,
+and when the Englishman was ready led the way downstairs.  He was a
+solemn man from Galicia, this, where they do not smile.
+
+In the patio of the great house, once a monastery, now converted
+into a barrack for the Guardias Civiles, a small man of fifty years
+or more stood smoking a cigarette.  On perceiving Conyngham he came
+forward with outstretched hand and a smile which can only be
+described as angelic.  It was a smile at once sympathetic and
+humorous, veiling his dark eyes between lashes almost closed,
+parting moustached lips to disclose a row of pearly teeth.
+
+'My dear sir,' said General Vincente in very tolerable English, 'I
+am at your feet.  That such a mistake should have been made in
+respect to the bearer of a letter of introduction from my old friend
+General Watterson--we fought together in Wellington's day--that such
+a mistake should have occurred overwhelms me with shame.'
+
+He pressed Conyngham's hand in both of his, which were small and
+white--looked up into his face, stepped back and broke into a soft
+laugh.  Indeed his voice was admirably suited to a lady's drawing-
+room, and suggested nought of the camp or battle field.  From the
+handkerchief which he drew from his sleeve and passed across his
+white moustache a faint scent floated on the morning air.
+
+'Are you General Vincente?' asked Conyngham.
+
+'Yes--why not?'  And in truth the tone of the Englishman's voice had
+betrayed a scepticism which warranted the question.
+
+'It is very kind of you to come so early.  I have been quite
+comfortable, and they gave me a good supper last night,' said
+Conyngham.  'Moreover, the Guardias Civiles are in no way to blame
+for my arrest.  I was in bad company, it seems.'
+
+'Yes; your companions were engaged in conveying ammunition to the
+Carlists; we have wanted to lay our hands upon them for some weeks.
+They have carried former journeys to a successful termination.'
+
+He laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+'The guide, Antonio something-or-other, died, as I understand.'
+
+'Well, yes; if you choose to put it that way,' admitted Conyngham.
+
+The General raised his eyebrows in a gentle grimace expressive of
+deprecation, with, as it were, a small solution of sympathy,
+indicated by a moisture of the eye, for the family of Antonio
+something-or-other in their bereavement.
+
+'And the other man?  Seemed a nice enough fellow. . .' inquired
+Conyngham.
+
+The General raised one gloved hand as if to fend off some
+approaching calamity.
+
+'He died this morning--at six o'clock.'
+
+Conyngham looked down at this gentle soldier with a dawning light of
+comprehension.  This might after all be the General Vincente whom he
+had been led to look upon as the fiercest of the Spanish Queen's
+adherents.
+
+'Of the same complaint?'
+
+'Of the same complaint,' answered the General softly.  He slipped
+his hand within Conyngham's arm, and thus affectionately led him
+across the patio towards the doorway where sentinels stood at
+attention.  He acknowledged the attitude of his subordinates by a
+friendly nod; indeed, this rosy-faced warrior seemed to brim over
+with the milk of human kindness.
+
+'The English,' he said, pressing his companion's arm, 'have been too
+useful to us for me to allow one of them to remain a moment longer
+in confinement.  You say you were comfortable.  I hope they gave you
+a clean towel and all that.'
+
+'Yes, thanks,' answered Conyngham, suppressing a desire to laugh.
+
+'That is well.  Ronda is a pleasant place, as you will find.  Most
+interesting--Moorish remains, you understand.  I will send my
+servant for your baggage, and of course my poor house is at your
+disposal.  You will stay with me until we can find some work for you
+to do.  You wish to take service with us, of course?'
+
+'Yes,' answered Conynghamn.  'Rather thought of it--if you will have
+me.'
+
+The General glanced up at his stalwart companion with a measuring
+eye.
+
+'My house,' he said, in a conversational way, as if only desirous of
+making matters as pleasant as possible in a life which nature had
+intended to be peaceful and sunny, and perhaps trifling, but which
+the wickedness of men had rendered otherwise, 'my house is, as you
+would divine, only an official residence, but pleasant enough--
+pleasant enough.  The garden is distinctly tolerable; there are
+orange trees now in bloom--so sweet of scent.'
+
+The street into which they had now emerged was no less martial in
+appearance than the barrack yard, and while he spoke the General
+never ceased to dispense his kindly little nod on one side or the
+other in response to military salutations.
+
+'We have quite a number of soldiers in Ronda at present,' he said,
+with an affectionate little pressure of Conyngham's arm, as if to
+indicate his appreciation of such protection amid these rough men.
+'There is a great talk of some rising in the South--in Andalusia--to
+support Senor Cabrera, who continually threatens Madrid.  A great
+soldier, they tell me, this Cabrera, but not--well, not perhaps
+quite, eh?--a caballero, a gentleman.  A pity, is it not?'
+
+'A great pity,' answered Conyngham, taking the opportunity at last
+afforded him of getting a word in.
+
+'One must be prepared,' went on the General with a good-natured
+little sigh, 'for such measures.  There are so many mistaken
+enthusiasts--is it not so?  Such men as your countryman, Senor
+Flinter.  There are so many who are stronger Carlists than Don
+Carlos himself, eh?'
+
+The secret of conversational success is to defer to one's listener.
+A clever man imparts information by asking questions, and obtains it
+without doing so.
+
+'This is my poor house,' continued the soldier, and as he spoke he
+beamed on the sentries at the door.  'I am a widower, but God has
+given me a daughter who is now of an age to rule my household.
+Estella will endeavour to make you comfortable, and an Englishman--a
+soldier--will surely overlook some small defects.'
+
+He finished with a good-natured laugh.  There was no resisting the
+sunny good-humour of this little officer, or the gladness of his
+face.  His attitude towards the world was one of constant endeavour
+to make things pleasant, and acquit himself to his best in
+circumstances far beyond his merits or capabilities.  He was one who
+had had good fortune all his days.  Those who have greatness thrust
+upon them are never much impressed by their burden.  And General
+Vincente had the air of constantly assuring his subordinates that
+they need not mind him.
+
+The house to which he conducted Conyngham stood on the broad main
+street, immediately opposite a cluster of shops where leather
+bottles were manufactured and sold.  It was a large gloomy house
+with a patio devoid of fountain and even of the usual orange trees
+in green boxes.
+
+'Through there is the garden--most pleasant and shady,' said the
+General, indicating a doorway with the riding-whip he carried.
+
+A troop of servants awaited them at the foot of the broad Moorish
+staircase open on one side to the patio and heavily carved in
+balustrade and cornice.  These gentlemen bowed gravely--indeed, they
+were so numerous that the majority of them must have had nothing to
+do but cultivate this dignified salutation.
+
+'The senorita?' inquired the General.
+
+'The senorita is in the garden, Excellency,' answered one with the
+air of a courtier.
+
+'Then let us go there at once,' said General Vincente, turning to
+Conyngham, and gripping his arm affectionately.
+
+They passed through a doorway whither two men had hurried to open
+the heavy doors, and the scent of violets and mignonette, of orange
+in bloom, and of a hundred opening buds swept across their faces.
+The brilliant sunlight almost dazzled eyes that had grown accustomed
+to the cool shade of the patio, for Ronda is one of the sunniest
+spots on earth, and here the warmth is rarely oppressive.  The
+garden was Moorish, and running water in aqueducts of marble, yellow
+with stupendous age, murmured in the shade of tropical plants.  A
+fountain plashed and chattered softly, like the whispering of
+children.  The pathways were paved with a fine white gravel of
+broken marble.  There was no weed amid the flowers.  It seemed a
+paradise to Conyngham, fresh from the grey and mournful northern
+winter, and no part of this weary, busy world.  For here were rest
+and silence, and that sense of eternity which is only conveyed by
+the continuous voice of running or falling water.  It was hard to
+believe that this was real and earthly.  Conyngham rubbed his eyes
+and instinctively turned to look at his companion, who was as unreal
+as his surroundings--a round-faced, chubby little man, with a tender
+mouth and moist dark eyes looking kindly out upon the world, who
+called himself General Vincente; and the name was synonymous in all
+Spain with bloodthirstiness and cruelty, with daring and an
+unsparing generalship.
+
+'Come,' said he, 'let us look for Estella.'
+
+He led the way along a path winding among almond and peach trees in
+full bloom, in the shadow of the weird eucalyptus and the feathery
+pepper tree.  Then with a little word of pleasure he hurried
+forward.  Conyngham caught sight of a black dress and a black
+mantilla, of fair golden hair, and a fan upraised against the rays
+of the sun.
+
+'Estella, here is a guest:  Mr. Conyngham, one of the brave
+Englishmen who remember Spain in her time of trouble.'
+
+Conyngham bowed with a greater ceremony than we observe to-day, and
+stood upright to look upon that which was for him from that moment
+the fairest face in the world.  As, to some men, success or failure
+seems to come early and in one bound, so, for some, Love lies long
+in ambush, to shoot at length a single and certain shaft.  Conyngham
+looked at Estella Vincente, his gay blue eyes meeting her dark
+glance with a frankness which was characteristic, and knew from that
+instant that his world held no other woman.  It came to him as a
+flash of lightning that left his former life grey and neutral, and
+yet he was conscious of no surprise, but rather of a feeling of
+having found something which he had long sought.
+
+The girl acknowledged his salutation with a little inclination of
+the head and a smile which was only of the lips, for her eyes
+remained grave and deep.  She had all the dignity of carriage famous
+in Castilian women, though her figure was youthful still, and
+slight.  Her face was a clean-cut oval, with lips that were still
+and proud, and a delicately aquiline nose.
+
+'My daughter speaks English better than I do,' went on the General
+in the garrulous voice of an exceedingly domesticated man.  'She has
+been at school in England--at the suggestion of my dear friend
+Watterson--with his daughters, in fact.'
+
+'And must have found it dull and grey enough compared with Spain,'
+said Conyngham.
+
+'Ah!  Then you like Spain?' said the General eagerly.  'It is so
+with all the English.  We have something in common, despite the
+Armada, eh?  Something in manner and in appearance, too; is it not
+so?'
+
+He left Conyngham, and walked slowly on with one hand at his
+daughter's waist.
+
+'I was very happy in England,' said Estella to Conyngham, who walked
+at her other side; 'but happier still to get home to Spain.'
+
+Her voice was rather low, and Conyngham had an odd sensation of
+having heard it before.
+
+'Why did you leave your home?' she continued in a leisurely
+conversational way which seemed natural to the environments.
+
+The question rather startled the Englishman, for the only answer
+seemed to be that he had quitted England in order to come to Ronda
+and to her, following the path in life that fate had assigned to
+him.
+
+'We have troubles in England also--political troubles,' he said,
+after a pause.
+
+'The Chartists,' said the General cheerfully.  'We know all about
+them, for we have the English newspapers.  I procure them in order
+to have reliable news of Spain.'
+
+He broke off with a little laugh, and looked towards his daughter.
+
+'In the evening Estella reads them to me.  And it was on account of
+the Chartists that you left England?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'Ah, you are a Chartist, Mr. Conyngham.'
+
+'Yes,' admitted the Englishman after a pause, and he glanced at
+Estella.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.  IN A MOORISH GARDEN.
+
+
+
+'When love is not a blasphemy, it is a religion.'
+
+There is perhaps a subtle significance in the fact that the
+greatest, the cruellest, the most barbarous civil war of modern
+days, if not of all time, owed its outbreak and its long continuance
+to the influence of a woman.  When Ferdinand VII. of Spain died, in
+1833, after a reign broken and disturbed by the passage of that
+human cyclone, Napoleon the Great, he bequeathed his kingdom, in
+defiance of the Salic law, to his daughter Isabella.  Ferdinand's
+brother Charles, however, claimed the throne under the very just
+contention that the Salic law, by which women were excluded from the
+heritage of the crown, had never been legally abrogated.
+
+This was the spark that kindled in many minds ambition, cruelty,
+bloodthirstiness, self-seeking and jealousy--producing the morale,
+in a word, of the Spain of sixty years ago.  Some sided with the
+Queen Regent Christina, and rallied round the child-queen because
+they saw that that way lay glory and promotion.  Others flocked to
+the standard of Don Carlos because they were poor and of no
+influence at Court.  The Church as a whole raised its whispering
+voice for the Pretender.  For the rest, patriotism was nowhere, and
+ambition on every side.  'For five years we have fought the
+Carlists, hunger, privation, and the politicians at Madrid!  And the
+holy saints only know which has been the worst enemy,' said General
+Vincente to Conyngham when explaining the above related details.
+
+And indeed the story of this war reads like a romance, for there
+came from neutral countries foreign legions as in the olden days.
+From England an army of ten thousand mercenaries landed in Spain,
+prepared to fight for the cause of Queen Christina, and very
+modestly estimating the worth of their services at the sum of
+thirteenpence per diem.  After all, the value of a man's life is but
+the price of his daily hire.
+
+'We did not pay them much,' said General Vincente with a deprecating
+little smile, 'but they did not fight much.  Their pay was generally
+in arrear, and they were usually in the rear as well.  What will
+you, my dear Conyngham?  You are a commercial people--you keep good
+soldiers in the shop window, and when a buyer comes you serve him
+with second-class goods from behind the counter.'
+
+He beamed on Conyngham with a pleasant air of benign connivance in a
+very legitimate commercial transaction.
+
+This is no time or place to go into the history of the English
+Legion in Spain, which, indeed, had quitted that country before
+Conyngham landed there, horrified by the barbarities of a cruel war
+where prisoners received no quarter and the soldiers on either side
+were left without pay or rations.  In a half-hearted manner England
+went to the assistance of the Queen Regent of Spain, and one error
+in statesmanship led to many.  It is always a mistake to strike
+gently.
+
+'This country,' said General Vincente in his suavest manner, 'owes
+much to yours, my dear Conyngham; but it would have been better for
+us both had we owed you a little more.'
+
+During the five years prior to Conyngham's arrival at Ronda the war
+had raged with unabated fury, swaying from the west to the east
+coast as fortune smiled or frowned on the Carlist cause.  At one
+time it almost appeared certain that the Christino forces were
+unable to stem the rising tide which bade fair to spread over all
+Spain--so unfortunate were their generals, so futile the best
+endeavours of the bravest and most patient soldiers.  General
+Vincente was not alone in his conviction that had the gallant
+Carlist leader Zumalacarreguy lived he might have carried all before
+him.  But this great leader at the height of his fame--beloved of
+all his soldiers, worshipped by his subordinate officers--died
+suddenly, by poison, as it was whispered, the victim of jealousy and
+ambition.  Almost at once there arose in the East of Spain one,
+obscure in birth and unknown to fame, who flashed suddenly to the
+zenith of military glory--the ruthless, the wonderful Cabrera.  The
+name is to this day a household word in Catalonia, while the eyes of
+a few old men still living, who fought with or against him, flash in
+the light of other days at the mere mention of it.
+
+Among the many leaders who had attempted in vain to overcome by
+skill and patriotism the thousand difficulties placed in their way
+by successive unstable, insincere Ministers of War, General Vincente
+occupied an honoured place.  This mild-mannered tactician enjoyed
+the enviable reputation of being alike unconquerable and
+incorruptible.  His smiling presence on the battlefield was in
+itself worth half a dozen battalions, while at Madrid the dishonest
+politicians, who through those years of Spain's great trial
+systematically bartered their honour for immediate gain, dreaded and
+respected him.
+
+During the days that followed his arrival at Ronda and release from
+the prison there, Frederick Conyngham learnt much from his host and
+little of the man himself, for General Vincente had that in him with
+which no great leader in any walk of life can well dispense--an
+unsoundable depth.
+
+Conyngham learnt also that the human heart is capable of rising at
+one bound above differences of race or custom, creed and spoken
+language.  He walked with Estella in that quiet garden between high
+walls on the trim Moorish paths, and often the murmur of the running
+water which ever graced the Moslem palaces was the only sound that
+broke the silence.  For this thing had come into the Englishman's
+life suddenly, leaving him dazed and uncertain.  Estella, on the
+other hand, had a quiet savoir-faire that sat strangely on her young
+face.  She was only nineteen, and yet had a certain air of
+authority, handed down to her from two great races of noble men and
+women.
+
+'Do all your countrymen take life thus gaily?' she asked Conyngham
+one day; 'surely it is a more serious affair than you think it.'
+
+'I have never found it very serious, senorita,' he answered.  'There
+is usually a smile in human affairs if one takes the trouble to look
+for it.'
+
+'Have you always found it so?'
+
+He did not answer at once, pausing to lift the branch of a mimosa
+tree that hung in yellow profusion across the pathway.
+
+'Yes, senorita, I think so,' he answered at length, slowly.  There
+was a sense of eternal restfulness in this old Moorish garden which
+acted as a brake on the thoughts, and made conversation halt and
+drag in an Oriental way that Europeans rarely understand.
+
+'And yet you say you remember your father's death?'
+
+'He made a joke to the doctor, senorita, and was not afraid.'
+
+Estella smiled in a queer way, and then looked grave again.
+
+'And you have always been poor, you say, sometimes almost starving?'
+
+'Yes--always poor, deadly poor, senorita,' answered Conyngham with a
+gay laugh; 'and since I have been on my own resources frequently--
+well, very hungry.  The appetite has been large and the resources
+have been small.  But when I get into the Spanish army they will no
+doubt make me a general, and all will be well.'
+
+He laughed again, and slipped his hand into his jacket pocket.
+
+'See here,' he said, 'your father's recommendation to General
+Espartero in a confidential letter.'
+
+But the envelope he produced was that pink one which the man called
+Larralde had given him at Algeciras.
+
+'No--it is not that,' he said, searching in another pocket.  'Ah!
+here it is--addressed to General Espartero, Duke of Vittoria.'
+
+He showed her the superscription, which she read with a little
+inclination of the head, as if in salutation of the great name
+written there.  The greatest names are those that men have made for
+themselves.  Conyngham replaced the two letters in his pocket and
+almost immediately asked:
+
+'Do you know anyone called Barenna in Ronda, senorita?' thereby
+proving that General Espartero would do ill to give him an
+appointment requiring even the earliest rudiments of diplomacy.
+
+'Julia Barenna is my cousin.  Her mother was my mother's sister.  Do
+you know them, Senor Conyngham?'
+
+'Oh no,' answered Conyngham, truthfully enough.  'I met a man who
+knows them.  Do they live in Ronda?'
+
+'No; their house is on the Cordova road, about half a league from
+the Customs station.'
+
+Estella was not by nature curious, and asked no questions.  Some who
+knew the Barennas would have been glad to claim acquaintance with
+General Vincente and his daughter, but could not do so.  For the
+Captain-General moved in a circle not far removed from the Queen
+Regent herself, and mixed but little in the society of Ronda, where,
+for the time being, he held a command.
+
+Conyngham required no further information, and in a few moments
+dismissed the letter from his mind.  Events seemed for him to have
+moved rapidly within the last few days, and the world of roadside
+inns and casual acquaintance into which he had stepped on his
+arrival in Spain was quite another from that in which Estella moved
+at Ronda.
+
+'I must set out for Madrid in a few days at the latest,' he said a
+few moments afterwards; 'but I shall go against my will, because you
+tell me that you and your father will not be coming North until the
+spring.'
+
+Estella shook her head with a little laugh.  This man was different
+from the punctilious aides-de-camp and others who had hitherto
+begged most respectfully to notify their admiration.
+
+'And three days ago you did not know of our existence,' she said.
+
+'In three days a man may be dead of an illness of which he ignored
+the existence, senorita.  In three days a man's life may be made
+miserable or happy--perhaps in three minutes.'
+
+And she looked straight in front of her in order to avoid his eyes.
+
+'Yours will always be happy, I think,' she said, 'because you never
+seem to go below the surface, and on the surface life is happy
+enough.'
+
+He made some light answer, and they walked on beneath the orange
+trees, talking of these and other matters--indulging in those
+dangerous generalities which sound so safe, and in reality narrow
+down to a little world of two.
+
+They were thus engaged when the servant came to announce that the
+horse which the General had placed at Conyngham's disposal was at
+the door in accordance with the Englishman's own order.  He went
+away sorrowfully enough, only half consoled by the information that
+Estella was about to attend a service at the Church of Santa Maria,
+and could not have stayed longer in the garden.
+
+The hour of the siesta was scarce over, and as Conyngham rode
+through the cleanly streets of the ancient town more than one idler
+roused himself from the shadow of a doorway to see him pass.  There
+are few older towns in Andalusia than Ronda, and scarce anywhere the
+habits of the Moors are so closely followed.  The streets are clean,
+the houses whitewashed within and without.  The trappings of the
+mules and much of the costume of the people are Oriental in texture
+and brilliancy.
+
+Conyngham asked a passer-by to indicate the way to the Cordova road,
+and the polite Spaniard turned and walked by his stirrup until a
+mistake was no longer possible.
+
+'It is not the most beautiful approach to Ronda,' said this
+garrulous person, 'but well enough in the summer, when the flowers
+are in bloom and the vineyards green.  The road is straight and
+dusty until one arrives at the possession of the Senora Barenna--a
+narrow road to the right leading up into the mountain.  One can
+perceive the house--oh, yes--upon the hillside, once beautiful, but
+now old and decayed.  Mistake is now impossible.  It is a straight
+way.  I wish you a good journey.'
+
+Conyngham rode on, vaguely turning over in his mind a half-matured
+plan of effecting a seemingly accidental entry to the house of
+Senora Barenna, in the hope of meeting that lady's daughter in the
+garden or grounds.  Once outside the walls of the town he found the
+country open and bare, consisting of brown hills, of which the lower
+slopes were dotted with evergreen oaks.  The road soon traversed a
+village which seemed to be half deserted, for men and women alike
+were working in the fields.  On the balcony of the best house a
+branch of palm bound against the ironwork balustrade indicated the
+dwelling of the priest, and the form of that village despot was
+dimly discernible in the darkened room behind.  Beyond the village
+Conyngham turned his horse's head towards the mountain, his mind
+preoccupied with a Macchiavellian scheme of losing his way in this
+neighbourhood.  Through the evergreen oak and olive groves he could
+perceive the roof of an old grey house which had once been a mere
+hacienda or semi-fortified farm.
+
+Conyngham did not propose to go direct to Senora Barenna's house,
+but described a semicircle, mounting from terrace to terrace on his
+sure-footed horse.
+
+When at length he came in sight of the high gateway where the ten-
+foot oaken gates still swung, he perceived someone approaching the
+exit.  On closer inspection he saw that this was a priest, and on
+nearing him recognised the Padre Concha, whose acquaintance he had
+made at the Hotel of the Marina at Algeciras.
+
+The recognition was mutual, for the priest raised his shabby old hat
+with a tender care for the insecurity of its brim.
+
+'A lucky meeting, Senor Englishman,' he said; 'who would have
+expected to see you here?'
+
+'I have lost my way.'
+
+'Ah!'  And the grim face relaxed into a smile.  'Lost your way?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'Then it is lucky that I have met you.  It is so easy to lose one's
+way--when one is young.'
+
+He raised his hand to the horse's bridle.
+
+'You are most certainly going in the wrong direction,' he said; 'I
+will lead you right.'
+
+It was said and done so quietly that Conyngham had found no word to
+say before his horse was moving in the opposite direction.
+
+'This is surely one of General Vincente's horses,' said the priest;
+'we have few such barbs in Ronda.  He always rides a good horse,
+that Miguel Vincente.'
+
+'Yes, it is one of his horses.  Then you know the General?'
+
+'We were boys together,' answered the Padre; 'and there were some
+who said that he should have been the priest and I the soldier.'
+
+The old man gave a little laugh.
+
+'He has prospered, however, if I have not.  A great man, my dear
+Miguel, and they say that his pay is duly handed to him.  My own--my
+princely twenty pounds a year--is overdue.  I am happy enough,
+however, and have a good house.  You noticed it, perhaps, as you
+passed through the village, a branch of palm against the rail of the
+balcony--my sign, you understand.  The innkeeper next door displays
+a branch of pine, which, I notice, is more attractive.  Every man
+his day.  One does not catch rabbits with a dead ferret.  That is
+the church--will you see it?  No?  Well, some other day.  I will
+guide you through the village.  The walk will give me appetite,
+which I sometimes require, for my cook is one whose husband has left
+her.'
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.  THE LOVE LETTER.
+
+
+
+'I must mix myself with action lest I wither by despair.'
+
+'No one,' Conyngham heard a voice exclaiming as he went into the
+garden on returning from his fruitless ride, 'no one knows what I
+have suffered.'
+
+He paused in the dark doorway, not wishing to intrude upon Estella
+and her visitors; for he perceived the forms of three ladies seated
+within a miniature jungle of bamboo, which grew in feathery
+luxuriance around a fountain.  It was not difficult to identify the
+voice as that of the eldest lady, who was stout, and spoke in deep,
+almost manly tones.  So far as he was able to judge, the suffering
+mentioned had left but small record on its victim's outward
+appearance.
+
+'Old lady seems to have stood it well,' commented the Englishman in
+his mind.
+
+'Never again, my dear Estella, do I leave Ronda, except indeed for
+Toledo, where, of course, we shall go in the summer if this terrible
+Don Carlos is really driven from the country.  Ah! but what
+suffering!  My mind is never at ease.  I expect to wake up at night
+and hear that Julia is being murdered in her bed.  For me it does
+not matter; my life is not so gay that it will cost me much to part
+from it.  No one would molest an old woman, you think?  Well, that
+may be so; but I know all the anxiety, for I was once beautiful--ah!
+more beautiful than you or Julia; and my hands and feet--have you
+ever noticed my foot, Estella?--even now--!'
+
+And a sonorous sigh completed the sentence.  Conyngham stepped out
+of the doorway, the clank of his spurred heel on the marble pavement
+causing the sigh to break off in a little scream.  He had caught the
+name of Julia, and hastily concluded that these ladies must be no
+other than Madame Barenna and her daughter.  In the little bamboo
+grove he found the elder lady lying back in her chair, which creaked
+ominously, and asking in a faint voice whether he were Don Carlos.
+
+'No,' answered Estella, with a momentary twinkle in her grave, dark
+eyes; 'this is Mr. Conyngham--my aunt, Senora Barenna, and my cousin
+Julia.'
+
+The ladies bowed.
+
+'You must excuse me,' said Madame Barenna volubly, 'but your
+approach was so sudden.  I am a great sufferer--my nerves, you know.
+But young people do not understand.'
+
+And she sighed heavily, with a side glance at her daughter, who did
+not even appear to be trying to do so.  Julia Barenna was darker
+than her cousin, quicker in manner, with an air of worldly
+capability which Estella lacked.  Her eyes were quick and restless,
+her face less beautiful, but expressive of a great intelligence,
+which, if brought to bear upon men in the form of coquetry, was
+likely to be infinitely dangerous.
+
+'It is always best to approach my mother with caution,' she said
+with a restless movement of her hands.  This was not a woman at her
+ease in the world or at peace with it.  She laughed as she spoke,
+but her eyes were grave, even while her lips smiled, and watched the
+Englishman's face with an air almost of anxiety.  There are some
+faces that seem to be watching and waiting.  Julia Barenna's had
+such a look.
+
+'Conyngham,' said Madame Barenna reflectively.  'Surely I have heard
+that name before.  You are not the Englishman with whom Father
+Concha is so angry--who sells forbidden books--the Bible, it is
+said?'
+
+'No, senora,' answered Conyngham with perfect gravity; 'I have
+nothing to sell.'
+
+He laughed suddenly, and looked at the elder lady with that air of
+good humour which won for him more friends than he ever wanted; for
+this Irishman had a ray of sunshine in his heart which shone upon
+his path through life, and made that uneven way easier for his feet.
+He glanced at Julia, and saw in her eyes the look of expectancy
+which was, in reality, always there.  The thought flashed through
+his mind that by some means, or perhaps feminine intuition beyond
+his comprehension, she knew that he possessed the letter addressed
+to her, and was eagerly awaiting it.  This letter seemed to have
+been gaining in importance the longer he carried it, and this
+opportunity of giving it to her came at the right moment.  He
+remembered Larralde's words concerning the person to whom the
+missive was addressed, and the high-flown sentiments of that
+somewhat theatrical gentleman became in some degree justified.
+Julia Barenna was a woman who might well awaken a passionate love.
+Conyngham realised this, as from a distance, while Julia's mother
+spoke of some trivial matter of the moment to unheeding ears.  That
+distance seemed now to exist between him and all women.  It had come
+suddenly, and one glance of Estella's eyes had called it into
+existence.
+
+'Yes,' Senora Barenna was saying, 'Father Concha is very angry with
+the English.  What a terrible man!  You do not know him, Senor
+Conyngham?'
+
+'I think I have met him, senora.'
+
+'Ah, but you have never seen him angry.  You have never confessed to
+him!  A little, little sin--no larger than the eye of a fly--a
+little bite of a calf's sweetbread on Friday in mere forgetfulness,
+and Sancta Maria! what a penance is required!  What suffering!  It
+is a purgatory to have such a confessor.'
+
+'Surely madame can have no sins,' said Conyngham pleasantly.
+
+'Not now,' said Senora Barenna with a deep sigh.  'When I was young
+it was different.'
+
+And the memory of her sinful days almost moved her to tears.  She
+glanced at Conyngham with a tragic air of mutual understanding, as
+if drawing a veil over that blissful past in the presence of Julia
+and Estella.  'Ask me another time,' that glance seemed to say.
+
+'Yes,' the lady continued, 'Father Concha is very angry with the
+English.  Firstly, because of these bibles.  Blessed Heaven! what
+does it matter?  No one can read them except the priests, and they
+do not want to do so.  Secondly, because the English have helped to
+overthrow Don Carlos--'
+
+'You will have a penance,' interrupted Miss Julia Barenna quietly,
+'from Father Concha for talking politics.'
+
+'But how will he know?' asked Senora Barenna sharply; and the two
+young ladies laughed.
+
+Senora Barenna looked from one to the other, and shrugged her
+shoulders.  Like many women she was a strange mixture of foolishness
+and worldly wisdom.  She adjusted her mantilla and mutely appealed
+to Heaven with a glance of her upturned eyes.  Conyngham, who was no
+diplomatist, nor possessed any skill in concealing his thoughts,
+looked with some interest at Julia Barenna, and Estella watched him.
+'Julia is right,' Senora Barenna was saying, though nobody heeded
+her; 'one must not talk nor even think politics in this country.
+You are no politician, I trust, Senor Conyngham--Senor Conyngham, I
+ask you, you are no politician?'
+
+'No, senora,' replied Conyngham hastily; 'no; and if I were, I
+should never understand Spanish politics.'
+
+'Father Concha says that Spanish politics are the same as those of
+any other country--each man for himself,' said Julia with a bitter
+laugh.
+
+'And he is, no doubt, right.'
+
+'Do you really think so?' asked Julia Barenna, with more earnestness
+than the question would seem to require; 'are there not true
+patriots who sacrifice all--not only their friends, but themselves--
+to the cause of their country?'
+
+'Without the hope of reward?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'There may be, senorita--a few,' answered Conyngham with a laugh,
+'but not in my country.  They must all be in Spain.'
+
+She smiled and shook her head in doubt.  But it was a worn smile.
+
+The Englishman turned away and looked through the trees.  He was
+wondering how he could get speech with Julia alone for a moment.
+
+'You are admiring the garden,' said that young lady; and this time
+he knew that there had in reality been that meaning in her eyes
+which he had imagined to be there.
+
+'Yes, senorita, I think it must be the most beautiful garden in the
+world.'
+
+He turned as he spoke, and looked at Estella, who met his glance
+quietly.  Her repose of manner struck him afresh.  Here was a woman
+having that air of decision which exacts respect alike from men and
+women.  Seen thus, with the more vivacious Julia at her side,
+Estella gained suddenly in moral strength and depth--suggesting a
+steady fire in contrast with a flickering will-o'-the-wisp blown
+hither and thither on every zephyr.  Yet Julia Barenna would pass
+anywhere as a woman of will and purpose.
+
+Julia had risen, and was moving towards the exit of the little grove
+in which they found themselves.  Conyngham had never been seated.
+
+'Are the violets in bloom, Estella?  I must see them,' said the
+visitor.  'We have none at home, where all is dry and parched.'
+
+'So bad for the nerves--what suffering!--such a dry soil that one
+cannot sleep at night,' murmured Madame Barenna, preparing to rise
+from her seat.
+
+Julia and Conyngham naturally led the way.  The paths winding in and
+out among the palms and pepper trees were of a width that allowed
+two to walk abreast.
+
+'Senorita, I have a letter for you.'
+
+'Not yet--wait!'
+
+Senora Barenna was chattering in her deep husky tones immediately
+behind them.  Julia turned and looked up at the windows of the
+house, which commanded a full view of the garden.  The dwelling
+rooms were as usual upon the first floor, and the windows were
+lightly barred with curiously wrought iron.  Each window was
+curtained within with lace and muslin.
+
+The paths wound in and out among the trees, but none of these were
+large enough to afford a secure screen from the eye of any watcher
+within the house.  There was neither olive nor ilex in the garden to
+afford shelter with their heavy leaves.  Julia and Conyngham walked
+on, out-distancing the elder lady and Estella.  From these many a
+turn in the path hid them from time to time, but Julia was
+distrustful of the windows and hesitated, in an agony of
+nervousness.  Conyngham saw that her face was quite colourless, and
+her teeth closed convulsively over her lower lip.  He continued to
+talk of indifferent topics, but the answers she made were incoherent
+and broken.  The course of true love did not seem to run smooth
+here.
+
+'Shall I give you the letter?  No one can see us, senorita.
+Besides, I was informed that it was of no importance except to
+yourself.  You have doubtless had many such before, unless the
+Spanish gentlemen are blind.'
+
+He laughed and felt in his pocket.
+
+'Yes!' she whispered.  'Quickly--now.'
+
+He gave her the letter in its romantic pink, scented envelope with a
+half-suppressed smile at her eagerness.  Would anybody--would
+Estella--ever be thus agitated at the receipt of a letter from
+himself?  They were at the lower end of the inclosure, which was
+divided almost in two by a broader pathway leading from the house to
+the centre of the garden, where a fountain of Moorish marble formed
+a sort of carrefour, from which the narrower pathways diverged in
+all directions.
+
+Descending the steps into the garden from the house were two men,
+one talking violently, the other seeking to calm him.
+
+'My uncle and the Alcalde--they have seen us from the windows,' said
+Julia quickly.  All her nervousness of manner seemed to have
+vanished, leaving her concentrated and alert.  Some men are thus in
+warfare--nervous until the rifle opens fire, and then cool and
+ready.
+
+'Quick!' whispered Julia.  'Let us turn back.'
+
+She wheeled round, and Conyngham did the same.
+
+'Julia!' they heard General Vincente call in his gentle voice.
+
+Julia, who was tearing the pink envelope, took no heed.  Within the
+first covering a second envelope appeared, bearing a longer address.
+'Give that to the man whose address it bears, and save me from
+ruin,' said the girl, thrusting the letter into Conyngham's hand.
+She kept the pink envelope.
+
+When, a minute later, they came face to face with General Vincente
+and his companion, a white-faced, fluttering man of sixty years,
+Julia Barenna received them with a smile.  There are some men who,
+conscious of their own quickness of resource, are careless of
+danger, and run into it from mere heedlessness, trusting to good
+fortune to aid them should peril arise.  Frederick Conyngham was one
+of these.  He now suspected that this was no love letter which the
+man called Larralde had given him in Algeciras.
+
+'Julia,' said the General, 'the Alcalde desires to speak with you.'
+
+Julia bowed with that touch of hauteur which in Spain the nobles
+ever observe in their manner towards the municipal authorities.
+
+'Mr. Conyngham,' continued the General, 'this is our brave Mayor, in
+whose hands rests the well-being of the people of Ronda.'
+
+'Honoured to meet you,' said Conyngham, holding out his hand with
+that frankness of manner which he accorded to great and small alike.
+The Alcalde, a man of immense importance in his own estimation,
+hesitated before accepting it.
+
+'General,' he said, turning and bowing very low to Senora Barenna
+and Estella, who now joined them, 'General, I leave you to explain
+to your niece the painful duties of my office.'
+
+The General smiled and raised a deprecating shoulder.
+
+'Well, my dear,' he said kindly to Julia, 'it appears that our good
+Alcalde has news of a letter which is at present passing from hand
+to hand in Andalusia.  It is a letter of some importance.  Our good
+Mayor, who was at the window a minute ago, saw Mr. Conyngham hand
+you a letter.  Between persons who only met in this garden five
+minutes ago such a transaction had a strange air.  Our good friend,
+who is all zeal for Spain and the people of Ronda, merely asks you
+if his eyes deceived him.  It is a matter at which we shall all
+laugh presently over a lemonade--is it not so?  A trifle, eh?'  He
+passed his handkerchief across his moustache, and looked
+affectionately at his niece.
+
+'A letter!' exclaimed Julia.  'Surely the Alcalde presumes.  He
+takes too much upon himself.'  The official stepped forward.
+
+'Senorita,' he said, 'I must be allowed to take that risk.  Did this
+gentleman give you a letter three minutes ago?'
+
+Julia laughed and shrugged her shoulders.
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'May I ask the nature of the letter?'
+
+'It was a love letter.'
+
+Conyngham bit his lip and looked at Estella.
+
+The Alcalde looked doubtful, with the cunning lips of a cheap
+country lawyer.
+
+'A love letter from a gentleman you have never seen before?' he said
+with a forced laugh.
+
+'Pardon me, Senor Alcalde, this gentleman travelled in the same ship
+with my mother and myself from Bordeaux to Algeciras, and he saved
+my life.'
+
+She cast a momentary glance at Conyngham; which would have sealed
+his fate had the fiery Mr. Larralde been there to see it.  The
+Prefect paused, somewhat taken aback.  There was a momentary
+silence, and every moment gave Julia and Conyngham time to think.
+Then the Alcalde turned to Conyngham.
+
+'It will give me the greatest pleasure,' he said, 'to learn that I
+have been mistaken.  I have only to ask this gentleman's
+confirmation of what the senorita has said.  It is true, senor, that
+you surreptitiously handed to the Senorita Barenna a letter
+expressing your love?'
+
+'Since the senorita has done me the honour of confessing it, I must
+ask you to believe it,' answered Conyngham steadily and coldly.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.  A WAR OF WIT.
+
+
+
+'La discretion est l'art du mensonge.'
+
+The Alcalde blew out his cheeks and looked at General Vincente.
+Senora Barenna would with small encouragement have thrown herself
+into Conyngham's arms; but she received none whatever, and instead
+frowned at Julia.  Estella was looking haughtily at her father, and
+would not meet Conyngham's glance.
+
+'I feel sure,' said General Vincente in his most conciliating
+manner, 'that my dear Julia will see the necessity of satisfying the
+good Alcalde by showing him the letter--with, of course, the consent
+of my friend Conyngham.'
+
+He laughed, and slipped his hand within Conyngham's arm.
+
+'You see, my dear friend,' he said in English, 'these local magnates
+are a trifle inflated; local magnitude is a little inclined to
+inflate, eh?  Ha! ha!  And it is so easy to conciliate them.  I
+always try to do so myself.  Peace at any price--that is my motto.'
+
+And he turned aside to arrange his sword, which dragged on the
+ground.
+
+'Tell her, my dear Conyngham, to let the old gentleman read the
+letter.'
+
+'But it is nothing to do with me, General.'
+
+'I know that, my friend, as well as you do,' said Vincente with a
+sudden change of manner, which gave the Englishman an uncomfortable
+desire to know what he meant.  But General Vincente, in pursuit of
+that peace which had earned him such a terrible reputation in war,
+turned to Senora Barenna with his most reassuring smile.
+
+'It is nothing, my dear Inez,' he said.  'In these times of trouble
+the officials are so suspicious, and our dear Alcalde knows too
+much.  He remembers dear Julia's little affair with Esteban
+Larralde, now long since lived down and forgotten.  Larralde is, it
+appears, a malcontent, and on the wrong side of the wall.  You need
+have no uneasiness.  Ah! your nerves--yes, I know!  A great
+sufferer--yes, I remember.  Patience, dear Inez, patience!'
+
+And he patted her stout white hand affectionately.
+
+The Alcalde was taking snuff with a stubborn air of disbelief,
+glancing the while suspiciously at Conyngham, who had eyes for none
+but Estella.
+
+'Alcalde,' said General Vincente, 'the incident is past, as we say
+in the diplomatic service; a lemonade now?'
+
+'No, General, the incident is not past, and I will not have a
+lemonade.'
+
+'Oh!' exclaimed General Vincente in gentle horror.
+
+'Yes, this young lady must give me the letter, or I call in my men.'
+
+'But your men could not touch a lady, my dear Alcalde.'
+
+'You may be the Alcalde of Ronda,' said Conyngham cheerfully, in
+continuation of the General's argument; 'but if you offer such an
+insult to Senorita Barenna, I throw you into the fountain, in the
+deepest part, where it is wettest, just there by the marble
+dolphin.'
+
+And Conyngham indicated the exact spot with his riding-whip.
+
+'Who is this gentleman?' asked the Alcalde.  The question was in the
+first place addressed to space and the gods--after a moment the
+speaker turned to General Vincente.
+
+'A prospective aide-de-camp of General Espartero.'
+
+At the mention of the great name the Mayor of Ronda became
+beautifully less and half bowed to Conyngham.
+
+'I must do my duty,' he said with the stubbornness of a small mind.
+
+'And what do you conceive that to be, my dear Alcalde?' inquired the
+General.
+
+'To place the Senorita Barenna under arrest unless she will hand to
+me the letter she has in her possession.'  Julia looked at him with
+a smile.  She was a brave woman, playing a dangerous game with
+consummate courage, and never glanced at Conyngham, who with an
+effort kept his hand away from the pocket where the letter lay
+concealed.  The manner in which she trusted him unreservedly and
+entirely was in itself cunning enough, for it appealed to that sense
+of chivalry which is not yet dead in men.
+
+'Place me under arrest, Senor Alcalde,' she said indifferently, 'and
+when you have satisfied me that you have a right to inspect a lady's
+private correspondence I will submit to be searched--but not
+before.'
+
+She made a little signal to Conyngham not to interfere.
+
+Senora Barenna took this opportunity of asserting herself and her
+nerves.  She sat heavily down on a stone seat and wept.  She could
+hardly have done better, for she was a countess in her own right,
+and the sight of high-born tears distinctly unnerved the Alcalde.
+
+'Well,' he said, 'the senorita has made her own choice.  In these
+times' (he glanced nervously at the weeping lady) 'one must do one's
+duty.'
+
+'My dear Julia,' protested the General, 'you who are so sensible--'
+
+Julia shrugged her shoulders and laughed.  She not only trusted
+Conyngham but relied upon his intelligence.  It is as a rule safer
+to confide in the honesty of one's neighbour than in his wit; better
+still, trust in neither.  Conyngham, who was quick enough when the
+moment required it, knew that she was fostering the belief that the
+letter at that moment in his pocket was in her possession.  He
+suspected also that he and Julia Barenna were playing with life and
+death.  Further, he recognised her and her voice.  This was the
+woman who had showed discrimination and calmness in face of a great
+danger on the Garonne.  Had this Englishman, owning as he did to a
+strain of Irish blood, turned his back on her and danger at such a
+moment he would assuredly have proved himself untrue to the annals
+of that race which has made a mark upon the world that will never be
+wiped out.  He looked at the Alcalde and smiled, whereupon that
+official turned and made a signal with his hand to a man who,
+dressed in a quiet uniform, had appeared in the doorway of the
+house.
+
+'What the deuce we are all trying to do I don't know,' reflected
+Conyngham, who indeed was sufficiently at sea to awake the most
+dormant suspicions.
+
+The Alcalde, now thoroughly aroused, protested his inability to
+neglect a particle of his duty at this troubled period of Spain's
+history, and announced his intention of placing Julia Barenna under
+surveillance until she handed him the letter she had received from
+Conyngham.
+
+'I am quite prepared,' he added, 'to give this caballero the benefit
+of the doubt, and assume that he has been in this matter the tool of
+unscrupulous persons.  Seeing that he is a friend of General
+Vincente's, and has an introduction to his Excellency the Duke of
+Vittoria, he is without the pale of my jurisdiction.'
+
+The Alcalde made Conyngham a profound bow and proceeded to conduct
+Julia and her indignant mother to their carriage.
+
+'There goes,' said General Vincente with his most optimistic little
+chuckle, 'a young woman whose head will always be endangered by her
+heart.'  And he nodded towards Julia's retreating form.
+
+Estella turned and walked away by herself.
+
+'Come,' said the General to Conyngham, 'let us sit down.  I have
+news for you.  But what a susceptible heart--my dear young friend--
+what a susceptible heart!  Julia is, I admit, a very pretty girl--la
+beaute du diable, eh!  But on so short an acquaintance--rather
+rapid, rather rapid!'
+
+As he spoke he was searching among some letters which he had
+produced from his pocket, and at length found an official envelope
+that had already been opened.
+
+'I have here,' he said, 'a letter from Madrid.  You have only to
+proceed to the capital, and there I hope a post awaits you.  Your
+duties will at present be of a semi-military character, but later I
+hope we can show you some fighting.  This pestilential Cabrera is
+not yet quelled, and Morella still holds out.  Yes, there will be
+fighting.'
+
+He closed the letter and looked at Conyngham.  'If that is what you
+want,' he added.
+
+'Yes, that is what I want.'
+
+The General nodded and rose, pausing to brush a few grains of dust
+from his dapper riding-breeches.
+
+'Come,' he said, 'I have seen a horse which will suit you at the
+cavalry quarters in the Calle de Bobadilla.  Shall we go and look at
+him?'
+
+Conyngham expressed his readiness to do as the General proposed.
+
+'When shall I start for Madrid?' he asked.
+
+'Oh, to-morrow morning will be time enough,' was the reply, uttered
+in an easy-going, indolent tone, 'if you are early astir.  You see,
+it is now nearly five o'clock, and you could scarcely be in saddle
+before sunset.'
+
+'No,' laughed Conyngham, 'scarcely, considering that I have not yet
+bought the saddle or the horse.'
+
+The General led the way into the house, and Conyngham thought of the
+letter in his pocket.  He had not yet read the address.  Julia
+relied upon him to deliver it, and her conduct towards the Alcalde
+had the evident object of gaining time for him to do so.  She had
+unhesitatingly thrust herself into a position of danger to screen
+him and further her own indomitable purpose.  He thought of her--
+still as from a distance at which Estella had placed him--and knew
+that she not only had a disquieting beauty, but cleverness and
+courage, which are qualities that outlast beauty and make a woman
+powerful for ever.
+
+When he and his companion emerged from the great doorway of the
+house into the sunlight of the Calle Mayor, a man came forward from
+the shade of a neighbouring porch.  It was Concepcion Vara,
+leisurely and dignified, twirling a cigarette between his brown
+fingers.  He saluted the General with one finger to the brim of his
+shabby felt hat as one great man might salute another.  He nodded to
+Conyngham.
+
+'When does his Excellency take the road again?' he said.  'I am
+ready.  The Guardia Civil was mistaken this time--the judge said
+there was no stain on my name.'
+
+He shrugged his shoulders and waved away the slight with the
+magnanimity of one who can forgive and forget.
+
+'I take the road to-morrow; but our contract ceased at Ronda.  I had
+no intention of taking you on.'
+
+'You are not satisfied with me?' inquired Concepcion, offering his
+interlocutor the cigarette he had just made.
+
+'Oh, yes.'
+
+'Buen!  We take the road together.'
+
+'Then there is nothing more to be said?' inquired Conyngham with a
+good-natured laugh.
+
+'Nothing, except the hour at which your Excellency starts.'
+
+'Six o'clock,' put in General Vincente quietly.  'Let me see, your
+name is Concepcion Vara.'
+
+'Yes, Excellency--of Algeciras.'
+
+'It is well.  Then serve this gentleman well, or else--'  The
+General paused, and laughed in his most deprecating manner.
+
+Concepcion seemed to understand, for he took off his hat and turned
+gravely away.  The General and Conyngham walked rapidly through the
+streets of Ronda, than which there are none cleaner in the whole
+world, and duly bought a great black horse at a price which seemed
+moderate enough to the Englishman, though the vendor explained that
+the long war had made horseflesh rise in value.  Conyngham, at no
+time a keen bargainer, hurried the matter to an end, and scarce
+examined the saddle.  He was anxious to get back to the garden of
+the great house in the Calle Mayor before the cool of evening came
+to drive Estella indoors.
+
+'You will doubtless wish to pack your portmanteau,' said the General
+rather breathlessly, as he hurried along with small steps beside
+Conyngham.
+
+'Yes,' answered the Englishman ingenuously, 'yes, of course.'
+
+'Then I will not detain you,' said General Vincente.  'I have
+affairs at headquarters.  We meet at dinner, of course.'
+
+He waved a little salutation with his whip and took a side turning.
+
+The sun had not set when Conyngham with a beating heart made his way
+through the house into the garden.  He had never been so serious
+about anything in his life.  Indeed, his life seemed only to have
+begun in that garden.  Estella was there.  He saw her black dress
+and mantilla through the trees, and the gleam of her golden hair
+made his eyes almost fierce for the moment.
+
+'I am going to-morrow morning,' he said bluntly when he reached her
+where she sat in the shade of a mimosa.
+
+She raised her eyes for a moment--deep velvet eyes with something in
+them that made his heart leap within his breast.
+
+'And I love you, Estella,' he added.  'You may be offended--you may
+despise me--you may distrust me.  But nothing can alter me.  I love
+you--now and ever.'
+
+She drew a deep breath and sat motionless.
+
+'How many women does an Englishman love at once?' she asked coldly
+at length.
+
+'Only one, senorita.'
+
+He stood looking at her for a moment.  Then she rose and walked past
+him into the house.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.  THE CITY OF DISCONTENT.
+
+
+
+'En paroles ou en actions, etre discret, c'est s'abstenir.'
+
+'There is,' observed Frederick Conyngham to himself as he climbed
+into the saddle in the grey dawn of the following morning, 'there is
+a certain picturesqueness about these proceedings which pleases me.'
+
+Concepcion Vara indeed supplied a portion of this romantic
+atmosphere, for he was dressed in the height of contrabandista
+fashion, with a bright-coloured handkerchief folded round his head
+underneath his black hat, a scarlet waistcloth, a spotless shirt,
+and a flower in the ribbon of his hat.
+
+He was dignified and leisurely, but so far forgot himself as to sing
+as he threw his leg across his horse.  A dark-eyed maiden had come
+to the corner of the Calle Vieja, and stood there watching him with
+mournful eyes.  He waved her a salutation as he passed.
+
+'It is the waiting-maid at the venta where I stay in Ronda--what
+will you?' he explained to Conyngham with a modest air as he cocked
+his hat farther on one side.
+
+The sun rose as they emerged from the narrow streets into the open
+country that borders the road to Bobadilla.  A pastoral country
+this, where the land needs little care to make it give more than man
+requires for his daily food.  The evergreen oak studded over the
+whole plain supplies food for countless pigs and shade where the
+herdsmen may dream away the sunny days.  The rich soil would yield
+two or even three crops in the year, were the necessary seed and
+labour forthcoming.  Underground, the mineral wealth outvies the
+richness of the surface, but national indolence leaves it
+unexplored.
+
+'Before General Vincente one could not explain oneself,' said
+Concepcion, urging his horse to keep pace with the trot of
+Conyngham's huge mount.
+
+'Ah!'
+
+'No,' pursued Concepcion.  'And yet it is simple.  In Algeciras I
+have a wife.  It is well that a man should travel at times.  So,' he
+paused and bowed towards his companion with a gesture of infinite
+condescension, 'so--we take the road together.'
+
+'As long as you are pleased, Senor Vara,' said Conyngham, 'I am sure
+I can but feel honoured.  You know I have no money.'
+
+The Spaniard shrugged his shoulders.
+
+'What matter?' he said.  'What matter?  We can keep an account--a
+mere piece of paper--so:  "Concepcion Vara, of Algeciras, in account
+current with F. Conyngham; Englishman.  One month's wages at one
+hundred pesetas." It is simple.'
+
+'Very,' acquiesced Conyngham.  'It is only when pay-day comes that
+things will get complicated.'
+
+Concepcion laughed.
+
+'You are a caballero after my own heart,' he said.  'We shall enjoy
+ourselves in Madrid.  I see that.'
+
+Conyngham did not answer.  He had remembered the letter and Julia
+Barenna's danger.  He rose in his stirrups and looked behind him.
+Ronda was already hidden by intervening hills, and the bare line of
+the roadway was unbroken by the form of any other traveller.
+
+'We are not going to Madrid yet,' said Conyngham.  'We are going to
+Xeres, where I have business.  Do you know the road to Xeres?'
+
+'As well that as any other, Excellency.'
+
+'What do you mean?'
+
+'I know no roads north of Ronda.  I am of Andalusia, I,' replied
+Concepcion easily, and he looked round about him with an air of
+interest which was more to the credit of his intelligence as a
+traveller than his reliability as a guide.
+
+'But you engaged to guide me to Madrid.'
+
+'Yes, Excellency--by asking the way,' replied Concepcion with a
+light laugh, and he struck a sulphur match on the neck of his horse
+to light a fresh cigarette.
+
+Thus with an easy heart Frederick Conyngham set out on his journey,
+having for companion one as irresponsible as himself.  He had
+determined to go to Xeres, though that town of ill repute lay far to
+the westward of his road towards the capital.  It would have been
+simple enough to destroy the letter entrusted to him by Julia
+Barenna, a stranger whom he was likely never to see again--simple
+enough and infinitely safer as he suspected, for the billet-doux of
+Mr. Larralde smelt of grimmer things than love.  But Julia Barenna
+wittingly, or in all innocence, appealed to that sense of chivalry
+which is essentially the quality of lonely men who have never had
+sisters, and Conyngham was ready to help Julia where he would have
+refused his assistance to a man, however hard pressed.
+
+'Cannot leave the girl in a hole,' he said to himself, and proceeded
+to act upon this resolution with a steadiness of purpose for which
+some may blame him.
+
+It was evening when the two travellers reached Xeres after some
+weary hours of monotonous progress through the vine-clad plains of
+this country.
+
+'It is no wonder,' said Concepcion, 'that the men of Xeres are
+malcontents, when they live in a country as flat as the palm of my
+hand.'
+
+It happened to be a fete day, which in Spain, as in other countries
+farther North, is synonymous with mischief.  The men of Xeres had
+taken advantage of this holiday to demonstrate their desire for
+more.  They had marched through the streets with banner and song,
+arrayed in their best clothes, fostering their worst thoughts.  They
+had consumed marvellous quantities of that small Amontillado which
+is as it were a thin fire to the blood, heating and degenerating at
+once.  They had talked much nonsense and listened to more.  Carlist
+or Christino--it was all the same to them, so long as they had a
+change of some sort.  In the meantime they had a desire to break
+something, if only to assert their liberty.
+
+A few minutes before Conyngham and his guide rode into the market-
+place, which in Xeres is as long as a street, some of the free sons
+of Spain had thought fit to shout insulting remarks to a passer-by.
+With a fire too bright for his years this old gentleman, with fierce
+white moustache and imperial, had turned on them, calling them good-
+for-nothings and sons of pigs.
+
+Conyngham rode up just in time to see the ruffians rise as one man
+and rush at the victim of their humour.  The old man with his back
+to the wall repelled his assailants with a sort of fierce joy in his
+attitude which betokened the soldier.
+
+'Come on, Concepcion!' cried Conyngham, with a dig of the spurs that
+made his tired horse leap into the air.  He charged down upon the
+gathering crowd, which scattered right and left before the wild
+onslaught.  But he saw the flash of steel, and knew that it was too
+late.  The old man, with an oath and a gasp of pain, sank against
+the wall with the blood trickling through the fingers clasped
+against his breast.  Conyngham would have reined in, but Concepcion
+on his heels gave the charger a cut with his heavy whip that made
+him bound forward and would have unseated a short-stirruped rider.
+
+'Go on,' cried the Spaniard; 'it is no business of ours.  The police
+are behind.'
+
+And Conyngham, remembering the letter in his pocket, rode on without
+looking back.  In the day of which the present narrative treats, the
+streets of Xeres were but ill paved, and the dust lay on them to the
+depth of many inches, serving to deaden the sound of footsteps and
+facilitate the commission of such deeds of violence as were at this
+time of daily occurrence in Spain.  Riding on at random, Conyngham
+and his companion soon lost their way in the narrow streets, and
+were able to satisfy themselves that none had followed them.  Here
+in a quiet alley Conyngham read again the address of the letter of
+which he earnestly desired to rid himself without more ado.
+
+It was addressed to Colonel Monreal at No. 84 Plaza de Cadiz.
+
+'Let his Excellency stay here and drink a glass of wine at this
+venta,' said Concepcion.  'Alone, I shall be able to get information
+without attracting attention.  And then, in the name of the saints,
+let us shake the dust of Xeres off our feet.  The first thing we see
+is steel, and I do not like it.  I have a wife in Algeciras to whom
+I am much attached, and I am afraid--yes, afraid.  A gentleman need
+never hesitate to say so.'
+
+He shook his head forebodingly as he loosened his girths and called
+for water for the horses.
+
+'I could eat a cocida,' he went on, sniffing the odours of a
+neighbouring kitchen, 'with plenty of onions and the mutton as
+becomes the springtime--young and tender.  Dios! this quick
+travelling and an empty stomach, it kills one.'
+
+'When I have delivered my letter,' replied Conyngham, 'we shall eat
+with a lighter heart.'
+
+Concepcion went away in a pessimistic humour.  He was one of those
+men who are brave enough on good wine and victuals, but lack the
+stamina to fight when hungry.  He returned presently with the
+required information.  The Plaza de Cadiz was, it appeared, quite
+close.  Indeed, the town of Xeres is not large, though the
+intricacies of its narrow streets may well puzzle a new-comer.  No.
+84 was the house of the barber, and on his first floor lived Colonel
+Monreal, a retired veteran who had fought with the English against
+Napoleon's armies.
+
+During his servant's absence, Conyngham had written a short note in
+French, conveying, in terms which she would understand, the news
+that Julia Barenna doubtless awaited with impatience; namely, that
+her letter had been delivered to him whose address it bore.
+
+'I have ordered your cocida and some good wine,' he said to
+Concepcion.  'Your horse is feeding.  Make good use of your time,
+for when I return I shall want you to take the road again at once.
+You must make ten miles before you sleep to-night, and then an early
+start in the morning.'
+
+'For where, senor?'
+
+'For Ronda.'
+
+Concepcion shrugged his shoulders.  His life had been spent upon the
+road, his wardrobe since childhood had been contained in a saddle-
+bag, and Spaniards, above all people, have the curse of Ishmael.
+They are a homeless race, and lay them down to sleep, when fatigue
+overtakes them, under a tree or in the shade of a stone wall.  It
+often happens that a worker in the fields will content himself with
+the lee side of a haystack for his resting-place when his home is
+only a few hundred yards up the mountain side.
+
+'And his Excellency?' inquired Concepcion.
+
+'I shall sleep here to-night and proceed to Madrid to-morrow, by way
+of Cordova, where I will wait for you.  I have a letter here which
+you must deliver to the Senorita Barenna at Ronda without the
+knowledge of anyone.  It will be well that neither General Vincente
+nor any other who knows you should catch sight of you in the streets
+of Ronda.'
+
+Concepcion nodded his head with much philosophy.
+
+'Ah! these women,' he said, turning to the steaming dish of mutton
+and vegetables which is almost universal in the South, 'these women,
+what shoe leather they cost us!'
+
+Leaving his servant thus profitably employed, Conyngham set out to
+find the barber's shop in the Plaza de Cadiz.  This he did without
+difficulty, but on presenting himself at the door of Colonel
+Monreal's apartment learnt that that gentleman was out.
+
+'But,' added the servant, 'the Colonel is a man of regular habits.
+He will return within the next fifteen minutes, for he dines at
+five.'
+
+Conyngham paused.  He had no desire to make Colonel Monreal's
+acquaintance, indeed preferred to remain without it, for he rightly
+judged that Senor Larralde was engaged in affairs best left alone.
+
+'I have a letter for the Colonel,' he said to the servant, a man of
+stupid countenance.  'I will place it here upon his table, and can
+no doubt trust you to see that he gets it.'
+
+'That you can, Excellency,' replied the man, with a palm already
+half extended to receive a gratuity.
+
+'If the Colonel fails to receive the letter I shall certainly know
+of it,' said Conyngham, stumbling down the dark staircase, and well
+pleased to have accomplished his mission.
+
+He returned with all speed to the inn in the quiet alley where he
+had elected to pass the night, and found Concepcion still at table.
+
+'In half an hour I take the road,' said the Spaniard.  'The time for
+a cup of coffee, and I am ready to ride all night.'
+
+Having eaten, Concepcion was in a better frame of mind, and now
+cheerfully undertook to carry out his master's instructions.  In
+little more than half an hour he was in the saddle again, and waved
+an airy adieu to Conyngham as he passed under the swinging oil lamp
+that hung at the corner of the street.
+
+It was yet early in the evening, and Conyngham, having dined, set
+out to explore the streets of Xeres, which were quiet enough now, as
+the cafes were gayer and safer than the gloomy thoroughfares where a
+foe might lurk in every doorway.  In the market-place, between rows
+of booths and tents, a dense crowd walked backwards and forwards
+with that steady sense of promenading which the Spaniard understands
+above all other men.  The dealers in coloured handkerchiefs from
+Barcelona or mantillas from Seville were driving a great trade, and
+the majority of them had long since shouted themselves hoarse.  A
+few quack dentists were operating upon their victims under the
+friendly covert of a big drum and a bassoon.  Dealers in wonderful
+drugs and herbs were haranguing the crowd, easily gaining the
+attention of the simple peasants by handling a live snake or a
+crocodile which they allowed to crawl upon their shoulders.
+
+Conyngham lingered in the crowd, which was orderly enough, and
+amused himself by noting the credulity of the country folk, until
+his attention was attracted by a solemn procession passing up the
+market-place behind the tents.  He inquired of a bystander what this
+might be.
+
+'It is the police carrying to his apartment the body of Colonel
+Monreal, who was murdered this afternoon in the Plaza Mayor,' was
+the answer.
+
+Conyngham made his way between two tents to the deserted side of the
+market-place, and, running past the procession, reached the barber's
+shop before it.  In answer to his summons a girl came to the door of
+the Colonel's apartment.  She was weeping and moaning in great
+mental distress.
+
+Without explanation Conyngham pushed past her into the room where he
+had deposited the letter.  The room was in disorder, and no letter
+lay upon the table.
+
+'It is,' sobbed the girl, 'my husband, who, having heard that the
+good Colonel had been murdered, stole all his valuables and papers
+and has run away from me.'
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.  A TANGLED WEB.
+
+
+
+'Wherein I am false, I am honest--not true to be true.'
+
+'And--would you believe it?--there are soldiers in the house, at the
+very door of Julia's apartments.'  Senora Barenna, who made this
+remark, heaved a sigh and sat back in her canework chair with that
+jerkiness of action which in elderly ladies usually betokens
+impatience with the ways of young people.
+
+'Policemen--policemen, not soldiers,' corrected Father Concha
+patiently, as if it did not matter much.  They were sitting in the
+broad vine-clad verandah of the Casa Barenna, that grim old house on
+the Bobadilla road, two miles from Ronda.  The priest had walked
+thither, as the dust on his square-toed shoes and black stockings
+would testify.  He had laid aside his mournful old hat, long since
+brown and discoloured, and was wiping his forehead with a cheap
+pocket-handkerchief of colour and pattern rather loud for his
+station in life.
+
+'Well, they have swords,' persisted the lady.
+
+'Policemen,' said Father Concha, in a stern and final voice, which
+caused Senora Barenna to cast her eyes upwards with an air of
+resigned martyrdom.
+
+'Ah, that Alcalde!' she whispered between her teeth.
+
+'A little dog, when it is afraid, growls,' said Concha
+philosophically.  'The Alcalde is a very small dog, and he is at his
+wit's end.  Such a thing has not occurred in Ronda before, and the
+Alcalde's world is Ronda.  He does not know whether his office
+permits him to inspect young ladies' love letters or not.'
+
+'Love letters!' ejaculated Senora Barenna.  She evidently had a keen
+sense of the romantic, and hoped for something more tragic than a
+mere flirtation begotten of idleness at sea.
+
+'Yes,' said Concha, crossing his legs and looking at his companion
+with a queer cynicism.  'Young people mostly pass that way.'
+
+He had had a tragedy, this old man.  One of those grim tragedies of
+the cassock which English people rarely understand.  And his tragedy
+sat beside him on the cane chair, stout and eminently worldly, while
+he had journeyed on the road of life with all his illusions, all his
+half-fledged aspirations, untouched by the cold finger of reality.
+He despised the woman now, the contempt lurked in his cynical smile,
+but he clung with a half-mocking, open-eyed sarcasm to his memories.
+
+'But,' he said reassuringly, 'Julia is a match for the Alcalde, you
+may rest assured of that.'
+
+Senora Barenna turned with a gesture of her plump hand indicative of
+bewilderment.
+
+'I do not understand her.  She laughs at the soldiers--the
+policemen, I mean.  She laughs at me.  She laughs at everything.'
+
+'Yes, it is the hollow hearts that make most noise in the world,'
+said Concha, folding his handkerchief upon his knee.  He was deadly
+poor, and had a theory that a folded handkerchief remains longer
+clean.  His whole existence was an effort to do without those things
+that make life worth living.
+
+'Why did you send for me?' he asked.
+
+'But to advise me--to help me.  I have been, all my life, cast upon
+the world alone.  No one to help me--no one to understand.  No one
+knows what I have suffered--my husband--'
+
+'Was one of the best and most patient of mortals, and is assuredly
+in heaven, where I hope there are a few mansions reserved for men
+only.'
+
+Senora Barenna fetched one of her deepest sighs.  She had a few
+lurking in the depth of her capacious being, reserved for such
+occasions as this.  It was, it seemed, no more than her life had led
+her to expect.
+
+'You have had,' went on her spiritual adviser, 'a life of ease and
+luxury, a husband who denied you nothing.  You have never lost a
+child by death, which I understand is--one of the greatest sorrows
+that God sends to women.  You are an ungrateful female.'
+
+Senora Barenna, whose face would have graced one of the very
+earliest of the martyrs, sat with folded hands waiting until the
+storm should pass.
+
+'Do you wish me to see Julia?' asked Concha abruptly.
+
+'Yes--yes!  And persuade her to conciliate the Alcalde--to tell him
+some story or another.  It does not surely matter if it be not the
+strict truth.  Anything to get these men out of the house.  My maid
+Maria is so flighty.  Ah--these young people!  What a trial--my dear
+Padre, what a trial!'
+
+'Of course,' said Father Concha.  'But what a dull world it would be
+if our neighbour knew how to manage his own affairs!  Shall we go to
+Julia?'
+
+The perturbed lady preferred that the priest should see her daughter
+alone.  A military-looking individual in white trousers and a dark
+green tunic stood guard over the door of Julia's apartment, seeking
+by his attitude and the curl of his moustache to magnify his office
+in the eyes of a maid who happened to have an unusual amount of
+cleaning to do in that particular corridor.
+
+'Ah!' said Father Concha, by no means abashed by the sentinel's
+sword.  'Ah, it is you, Manuel.  Your wife tells me you have
+objections to the christening of that last boy of yours, number
+five, I think.  Bring number five on Sunday, after vespers--eh?  You
+understand--and a little something for the poor.  It is pay day on
+Saturday.  And no more nonsense about religion, Manuel, eh?'
+
+He shook his lean finger in the official's face and walked on
+unchallenged.
+
+'May I come in?' he said, tapping at the door; and Julia's voice
+bade him enter.
+
+He closed the door behind him and laid aside his hat.  Then he stood
+upright, and slowly rubbing his hands together looked at Julia with
+the humorous twinkle lurking in his eye and its companion dimple
+twitching in his lean cheek.  Then he began to feel his pockets,
+passing his hands down his worn cassock.
+
+'Let me see, I had a love letter--was it from Don Carlos?  At all
+events, I have lost it!'
+
+He laughed, made a perfunctory sign of the cross and gave her his
+blessing.  Then, his face having become suddenly grave as if by
+machinery at the sound of the solemn Latin benediction, he sat down.
+
+Julia looked worn and eager.  Her eyes seemed to search his face for
+news.
+
+'Yes, my dear child,' he said.  'Politics are all very well as a
+career.  But without a distinct profit they are worth the attention
+of few men, and never worth the thought of a woman.'
+
+He looked at her keenly, and she turned to the window, which was
+open to admit the breath of violets and other flowers of the spring.
+She shrugged her shoulders and gave a sharp sigh.
+
+'See here, my child,' said Padre Concha abruptly.  'For reasons
+which concern no one, I take a great interest in your happiness.
+You resemble some one whose welfare was once more important to me
+than my own.  That was long ago, and I now consider myself first, as
+all wise men should.  I am your friend, Julia, and much too old to
+be over-scrupulous.  I peep and pry into my neighbours' affairs, and
+I am uneasy about you, my child.'
+
+He shook his head and drummed upon the table with his dirty fingers.
+
+'Thank you,' answered the girl with her defiant little laugh, 'but I
+can manage my own affairs.'
+
+The priest nodded reflectively.
+
+'Yes,' he said.  'It is natural that you should say that.  One of
+the chief blessings of youth is self confidence.  Heaven forbid that
+I should shake yours.  But, you see, there are several people who
+happen to be anxious that this little affair should blow over and be
+forgotten.  The Alcalde is a mule, we know that, and anything that
+serves to magnify himself and his office is likely to be prolonged.
+Do not play into his hand.  As I tell you, there are some who wish
+to forget this incident, and one of them is coming to see you this
+afternoon.'
+
+'Ah!' said the girl indifferently.
+
+'General Vincente.'
+
+Julia changed colour and her eyelids flickered for a moment as she
+looked out of the open window.
+
+'A good friend,' continued Concha, 'but--'
+
+He finished the phrase with an eloquent little gesture of the hand.
+At this moment they both heard the sound of an approaching carriage.
+
+'He is coming now,' said Concha.  'He is driving, so Estella is with
+him.'
+
+'Estella is of course jealous.'
+
+The priest looked at her with a slow wise smile and said nothing.
+
+'She--' began Julia, and then closed her lips--true to that esprit
+de sexe which has ruled through all the ages.  Then Julia Barenna
+gave a sharp sigh as her mind reverted from Estella's affairs to her
+own.
+
+Sitting thus in silence, the two occupants of the quiet room heard
+the approach of steps and the clink of spurs in the corridor.
+
+'It is the reverendo who visits the senorita,' they heard the voice
+of the sentinel explain deprecatingly.
+
+The priest rose and went to the door, which he opened.
+
+'Only as a friend,' he said.  'Come in, General.'
+
+General Vincente entered the room followed by Estella.  He nodded to
+Concha and kissed his niece affectionately.
+
+'Still obdurate?' he said, with a semi-playful tap on her shoulder.
+'Still obdurate?  My dear Julia, in peace and war the greatest
+quality in the strong is mercy.  You have proved yourself strong--
+you have worsted that unfortunate Alcalde--be merciful to him now,
+and let this incident finish.'
+
+He drew forward a chair, the others being seated, and laid aside his
+gloves.  The sword which he held upright between his knees, with his
+two hands resting on the hilt, looked incongruously large and
+reached the level of his eyes.  He gave a little chuckling laugh.
+
+'I saw him last night at the Cafe Real--the poor man had the air of
+a funeral, and took his wine as if it were sour.  Ah! these
+civilians, they amuse one--they take life so seriously.'
+
+He laughed and looked round at those assembled as if inviting them
+to join him in a gayer and easier view of existence.  The Padre's
+furrowed face answered the summons in a sudden smile, but it was
+with grave eyes that he looked searchingly at the most powerful man
+in Andalusia; for General Vincente's word was law south of the
+Tagus.
+
+The two men sat side by side in strong contrast.  Fate indeed seems
+to shake men together in a bag, and cast them out upon the world
+heedless where they may fall; for here was a soldier in the priest's
+habit, and one carrying a sword who had the keen heart and sure
+sympathy for joy or sorrow that should ever be found within a black
+coat if the Master's work is to be well done.
+
+General Vincente smiled at Estella with sang-froid and an unruffled
+good nature, while the Padre Concha, whose place it surely was to
+take the lead in such woman's work as this, slowly rubbed his bony
+hands together, at a loss and incompetent to meet the urgency of the
+moment.
+
+'Our guest left us yesterday morning,' said the General, 'and of
+course the Alcalde placed no hindrance on his departure.'
+
+He did not look at Julia, who drew a deep breath and glanced at
+Estella.
+
+'I do not know if Senor Conyngham left any message for you with
+Estella--to me he said nothing,' continued Estella's father; and
+that young lady shook her head.
+
+'No,' she put in composedly.
+
+'Then it remains for us to close this foolish incident, my dear
+Julia; and for me to remind you, seeing that you are fatherless,
+that there are in Spain many adventurers who come here seeking the
+sport of love or war, who will ride away when they have had their
+fill of either.'
+
+He ceased speaking with a tolerant laugh, as one who, being a
+soldier himself, would beg indulgence for the failings of his
+comrades, examined the hilt of his sword, and then looked blandly
+round on three faces which resolutely refused to class the absent
+Englishman in this category.
+
+'It remains, my dear niece, to satisfy the Alcalde--a mere glance at
+the letter--sufficient to satisfy him as to the nature of its
+contents.'
+
+'I have no letter,' said Julia quietly, with her level red lips set
+hard.
+
+'Not in your possession, but perhaps concealed in some place near at
+hand--unless it is destroyed.'
+
+'I have destroyed no letter, I have concealed no letter, and I have
+no letter,' said the girl quietly.  Estella moved uneasily in the
+chair.  Her face was colourless and her eyes shone.  She watched her
+cousin's face intently, and beneath his shaggy brows the old
+priest's eyes went from one fair countenance to the other.
+
+'Then,' cried the General, rising to his feet with an air of relief,
+'you have but to assure the Alcalde of this, and the whole incident
+is terminated.  Blown over, my dear Concha--blown over!'
+
+He tapped the priest on the shoulder with great good nature.
+Indeed, the world seemed sunny enough and free from cares when
+General Vincente had to deal with it.
+
+'Yes--yes,' said the Padre, snuff-box in hand.  'Blown over--of
+course.'
+
+'Then I may send the Alcalde to you, Julia--and you will tell him
+what you have told us?  He cannot but take the word of a lady.'
+
+'Yes--if you like,' answered Julia.
+
+The General's joy knew no bounds.
+
+'That is well,' he cried, 'I knew we could safely rely upon your
+good sense.  Kiss me, Julia--that is well!  Come, Estella--we must
+not keep the horses waiting.'
+
+With a laugh and a nod he went towards the door.  'Blown over, my
+dear Concha,' he said over his shoulder.
+
+A few minutes later the priest walked down the avenue of walnut
+trees alone.  The bell was ringing for vespers, but the Padre was an
+autocratic shepherd and did not hurry towards his flock.  The sun
+had set, and in the hollows of the distant mountains the shades of
+night already lay like a blue veil.
+
+The priest walked on and presently reached the high road.  A single
+figure was upon it--the figure of a man sitting in the shadow of an
+ilex tree half a mile up the road towards Bobadilla.  The man
+crouched low against a heap of stones and had the air of a wanderer.
+His face was concealed in the folds of his cloak.
+
+'Blown over,' muttered the Padre as he turned his back upon
+Bobadilla and went on towards his church.  'Blown over, of course;
+but what is Concepcion Vara doing in the neighbourhood of Ronda to-
+night?'
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.  ON THE TOLEDO ROAD.
+
+
+
+'Une bonne intention est une echelle trop courte.'
+
+Conyngham made his way without difficulty or incident from Xeres to
+Cordova, riding for the most part in front of the clumsy diligencia
+wherein he had bestowed his luggage.  The road was wearisome enough,
+and the last stages, through the fertile plains bordering the
+Guadalquivir, dusty and monotonous.
+
+At Cordova the traveller found comfortable quarters in an old inn
+overlooking the river.  The ancient city was then, as it is now, a
+great military centre, and the headquarters of the picturesque corps
+of horse-tamers, the 'Remonta,' who are responsible for the mounting
+of the cavalry and the artillery of Spain.  Conyngham had, at the
+suggestion of General Vincente, made such small changes in his
+costume as would serve to allay curiosity and prevent that gossip of
+the stable and kitchen which may follow a traveller to his hurt from
+one side of a continent to the other.
+
+'Wherever you may go learn your way in and out of every town, and
+you will thus store up knowledge most useful to a soldier,' the
+General had said in his easy way.
+
+'See you,' Concepcion had observed, wagging his head over a
+cigarette; 'to go about the world with the eyes open is to conquer
+the world.'
+
+From his guide, moreover, whose methods were those that Nature
+teaches to men who live their daily lives in her company, Conyngham
+learnt much of that road craft which had raised Concepcion Vara to
+such a proud eminence among the rascals of Andalusia.  Cordova was a
+good object upon which to practise, for Roman and Goth, Moor and
+Christian, have combined to make its tortuous streets well-nigh
+incomprehensible to the traveller's mind.
+
+Here Conyngham wandered, or else he sat somnolently on a seat in the
+Paseo del Gran Capitan in the shade of the orange trees, awaiting
+the arrival of Concepcion Vara.  He made a few acquaintances, as
+every traveller who is not a bear must needs do in a country where
+politeness and hospitality and a grave good fellowship are the
+natural habit of high and low alike.  A bullfighter or two, who
+beguiled the long winter months, when the rings are closed, by a
+little innocent horse dealing, joined him quietly in the streets and
+offered him a horse--as between gentlemen of undoubted honour--at a
+price much below the current value.  Or it was perhaps a beggar who
+came to him on the old yellow marble seat under the orange trees,
+and chatted affably about his business as being bad in these times
+of war.  Once, indeed, it was a white-haired gentleman, who spoke in
+English, and asked some very natural questions as to the affairs
+that brought an Englishman to the town of Cordova.  This sweet-
+spoken old man explained that strangers would do well to avoid all
+questions of politics and religion, which he classed together in one
+dangerous whole.  Nevertheless, Conyngham thought that he perceived
+his ancient friend the same evening hurrying up the steps of the
+Jesuit College of La Campania.
+
+Two days elapsed and Concepcion Vara made neither appearance nor
+sign.  On the second evening Conyngham decided to go on alone,
+prosecuting his journey through the sparsely populated valley of the
+Alcadia to Ciudad Real, Toledo, and Madrid.
+
+'You will ride,' the innkeeper told him, 'from the Guadalquivir to
+the Guadiana, and if there is rain you may be a month upon the
+road.'
+
+Conyngham set out in the early morning, and as he threw his leg
+across the saddle the sun rose over the far misty hills of Ronda,
+and Concepcion Vara awoke from his night's rest under the wall of an
+olive terrace above the Bobadilla road, to begin another day of
+patient waiting and watching to get speech with the maid or the
+mistress; for he had already inaugurated what he lightly called 'an
+affair' with Julia's flighty attendant.  The sun rose also over the
+plains of Xeres, and lighted up the picturesque form of Esteban
+Larralde, in the saddle this hour and more, having learnt that
+Colonel Monreal's death took place an hour before Conyngham's
+arrival in the town of Xeres de la Frontera.  The letter, therefore,
+had not been delivered to Colonel Monreal, and was still in
+Conyngham's possession.
+
+Larralde bestrode a shocking steed, and had but an indifferent seat
+in the saddle.  Nevertheless, the dust rose beneath his horse's
+feet, and his spurs flashed in the sunlight as this man of many
+parts hurried on towards Utrera and Cordova.
+
+In the old Moorish palace in Ronda, General Vincente, summoned to a
+great council of war at Madrid, was making curt military
+preparations for his journey and the conveyance of his household to
+the capital.  Senora Barenna was for the moment forgetful of her
+nerves in the excitement of despatching servants in advance to
+Toledo, where she owned a summer residence.  Julia was nervously
+anxious to be on the road again, and showed by every word and action
+that restlessness of spirit which is the inheritance of hungry
+hearts.  Estella, quiet and self-contained, attended to the details
+of moving a vast and formal household with a certain eagerness which
+in no way resembled Julia's feverish haste.  Estella seemed to be
+one of those happy people who know what they want.
+
+Thus Frederick Conyngham, riding northward alone, seemed to be a
+pilot to all these persons into whose lives he had suddenly stepped
+as from a side issue, for they were one and all making ready to
+follow him to the colder plains of Castile, where existence was full
+of strife and ambition, of war and those inner wheels that ever jar
+and grind where politicians contend together for the mastery of a
+moment.
+
+As he rode on, Conyngham left a message from time to time for his
+self-appointed servant.  At the offices of the diligencias in
+various towns on the great road from Cordova to Madrid he left word
+for Concepcion Vara to follow, should the spirit of travel be still
+upon him, knowing that at these places where travellers were ever
+passing, the tittle-tattle of the road was on the tongue of every
+ostler and stable help.  And truly enough there followed one who
+made careful inquiries as to the movements of the Englishman, and
+heard his messages with a grim smile.  But this was not Concepcion
+Vara.
+
+It was late one evening when Conyngham, who had quitted Toledo in
+the morning, began to hunger for the sight of the towers and
+steeples of Madrid.  He had ridden all day through the bare country
+of Cervantes, where to this day Spain rears her wittiest men and
+plainest women.  The sun had just set behind the distant hills of
+Old Castile, and from the east, over Aranjuez, where the great river
+cuts Spain in two parts from its centre to the sea, a grey cloud--a
+very shade of night--was slowly rising.  The aspect of the brown
+plains was dismal enough, and on the horizon the rolling unbroken
+land seemed to melt away into eternity and infinite space.
+
+Conyngham reined in and looked around him.  So far as eye could
+reach, no house arose to testify to the presence of man.  No
+labourer toiled home to his lonely hut.  For, in this country of
+many wars and interminable strife, it has, since the days of
+Nebuchadnezzar, been the custom of the people to congregate in
+villages and small townships, where a common danger secured some
+protection against a lawless foe.  The road rose and fell in a
+straight line across the table-land without tree or hedge, and
+Madrid seemed to belong to another world, for the horizon, which was
+distant enough, bore no sign of cathedral spire or castle height.
+
+Conyngham turned in his saddle to look back, and there, not a mile
+away, the form of a hurrying horseman broke the bare line of the
+dusty road.  There was something weird and disturbing in this
+figure, a suggestion of pursuit in every line.  For this was not
+Concepcion Vara.  Conyngham would have known him at once.  This was
+one wearing a better coat; indeed Concepcion preferred to face life
+and the chances of the world in shirt sleeves.
+
+Conyngham sat in his saddle awaiting the new-comer.  To meet on such
+a road in Spain without pausing to exchange a salutation would be a
+gratuitous insult, to ride in solitude within hail of another
+traveller were to excite or betray the deepest distrust.  It was
+characteristic of Conyngham that he already waved his hand in
+salutation, and was prepared to hail the new-comer as the jolliest
+companion in the world.
+
+Esteban Larralde, seeing the salutation, gave a short laugh, and
+jerked the reins of his tired horse.  He himself wore a weary look,
+as if the fight he had in hand were an uphill one.  He had long
+recognised Conyngham; indeed the chase had been one of little
+excitement, but rather an exercise of patience and dogged
+perseverance.  He raised his hat to indicate that the Englishman's
+gay salutations were perceived, and pulled the wide brim well
+forward again.
+
+'He will change his attitude when it becomes apparent who I am,' he
+muttered.
+
+But Conyngham's first word would appear to suggest that Esteban
+Larralde was a much less impressive person than he considered
+himself.
+
+'Why, it's the devout lover!' he cried.  'Senor Larralde, you
+remember me, Algeciras, and your pink love letter--deuced fishy love
+letter, that; nearly got me into a devil of a row, I can tell you.
+How are you, eh?'
+
+And the Englishman rode forward with a jolly laugh and his hand held
+out.  Larralde took it without enthusiasm.  It was rather difficult
+to pick a picturesque quarrel with such a person as this.  Moreover,
+the true conspirator never believes in another man's honesty.
+
+'Who would have expected to meet you here?' went on Conyngham
+jovially.
+
+'It is not so surprising as you think.'
+
+'Oh!'
+
+There was no mistaking Larralde's manner, and the Englishman's gay
+blue eyes hardened suddenly and rather surprisingly.
+
+'No, I have followed you.  I want that letter.'
+
+'Well, as it happens, Senor Larralde, I have not got your letter,
+and if I had I am not quite sure that I would give it to you.  Your
+conduct in the matter has not been over-nice, and, to tell you the
+truth, I don't think much of a man who gets strangers and women to
+do his dirty work for him.'
+
+Larralde stroked his moustache with a half-furtive air of contempt.
+
+'I should have given the confounded letter to the Alcalde of Ronda
+if it had not been that a lady would have suffered for it, and let
+you take your chance, Senor Larralde.'
+
+Larralde shrugged his shoulders.
+
+'You would not have given it to the Alcalde of Ronda,' he said in a
+sneering voice, 'because you want it yourself.  You require it in
+order to make your peace with Estella Vincente.'
+
+'We are not going to talk of Senorita Vincente,' said Conyngham
+quietly.  'You say you followed me because you wanted that letter.
+It is not in my possession.  I left it in the house of Colonel
+Monreal at Xeres.  If you are going on to Madrid, I think I will sit
+down here and have a cigarette.  If, on the other hand, you propose
+resting here, I shall proceed, as it is getting late.'
+
+Conyngham looked at his companion with a nod and a smile which was
+not in the least friendly and at the same time quite cheerful.  He
+seemed to recognise the necessity of quarrelling, but proposed to do
+so as light-heartedly as possible.  They were both on horseback in
+the middle of the road, Larralde a few paces in the direction of
+Madrid.
+
+Conyngham indicated the road with an inviting wave of the hand.
+
+'Will you go on?' he asked.
+
+Larralde sat looking at him with glittering eyes, and said nothing.
+
+'Then I will continue my journey,' said the Englishman, touching his
+horse lightly with the spur.  The horse moved on and passed within a
+yard of the other.  At this moment Larralde rose in his stirrups and
+flung himself on one side.
+
+Conyngham gave a sharp cry of pain and threw back his head.
+Larralde had stabbed him in the back.  The Englishman swayed in the
+saddle as if trying to balance himself, his legs bent back from the
+knee in the sharpness of a biting pain.  The heavy stirrups swung
+free.  Then, slowly, Conyngham toppled forward and rolled out of the
+saddle, falling to the road with a thud.
+
+Larralde watched him with a white face and staring eyes.  Then he
+looked quickly round over the darkening landscape.  There was no one
+in sight.  This was one of the waste places of the world.  Larralde
+seemed to remember the Eye that seeth even there, and crossed
+himself as he slipped from the saddle to the ground.  He was shaking
+all over.  His face was ashen, for it is a terrible thing to kill a
+man and be left alone with him.
+
+Conyngham's eyes were closed.  There was blood on his lips.  With
+hands that shook like leaves Esteban Larralde searched the
+Englishman, found nothing, and cursed his ill fortune.  Then he
+stood upright, and in the dim light his face shone as if he had
+dipped it in water.  He crept into the saddle and rode on towards
+Madrid.
+
+It was quite dark when Conyngham recovered consciousness.  In
+turning him over to search his pockets Larralde had perhaps,
+unwittingly, saved his life by placing him in a position that
+checked the internal haemorrhage.  What served to bring back the
+Englishman's wandering senses was the rumbling of heavy wheels and
+the crack of a great whip as a cart laden with hay and drawn by six
+mules approached him from the direction of Toledo.
+
+The driver of the team was an old soldier, as indeed were most of
+the Castilians at this time, and knew how to handle wounded men.
+With great care and a multitude of oaths he lifted Conyngham on to
+his cart and proceeded with him to Madrid.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.  A WISE IGNORAMUS.
+
+
+
+'God help me!  I know nothing--can but pray.'
+
+It was Father Concha's custom to attend, at his church between the
+hours of nine and ten in the morning, to such wants spiritual or
+temporal as individual members of his flock chose to bring to him.
+
+Thus it usually happened that the faithful found the old priest at
+nine o'clock sunning himself at the front door of the sacred
+edifice, smoking a reflective cigarette and exchanging the time of
+day with passers-by or such as had leisure to pause a moment.
+
+'Whether it is body or soul that is in trouble--come to me,' he
+would say.  'For the body I can do a little--a very little.  I have
+twenty pounds a year, and it is not always paid to me, but I
+sometimes have a trifle for charity.  For the soul I can do a little
+more.'  After a storm of wind and rain, such as come in the winter-
+time, it was no uncommon sight to see the priest sweeping the leaves
+and dust from the church steps and using the strongest language at
+the bootmaker over the way whose business this was supposed to be.
+
+'See!' he would cry to some passer-by.  'See!--it is thus that our
+sacristan does his work.  It is for this that the Holy Church pays
+him fifteen--or is it twenty?--pesetas each year.'
+
+And the bootmaker would growl and shake his head over his last; for,
+like most who have to do with leather, he was a man of small humour.
+
+Here, too, mothers would bring their children--little girls cowering
+under their bright handkerchiefs, the mantilla of the poor, and
+speak with the Padre of the Confirmation and first Communion which
+had lately begun to hang like a cloud over the child's life.  Father
+Concha would take the child upon his knee as he sat on the low wall
+at the side of the steps, and when the mother had left them, would
+talk quietly with the lines of his face wonderfully softened, so
+that before long the little girl would run home quite happy in mind
+and no longer afraid of the great unknown.  Here, in the spring
+time, came the young men with thoughts appropriate to the season,
+and sheepish exceedingly; for they knew that Father Concha knew all
+about them, and would take an unfair advantage of his opportunities,
+refusing probably to perform the ceremony until he was satisfied as
+to the ways and means and prudence of the contracting parties--which
+of course he had no right to do.  Here came the halt, the lame, the
+blind, the poor, and also the rich.  Here came the unhappy.  They
+came naturally and often.  Here, so the bootmaker tells, came one
+morning a ruined man, who after speaking a few words to the Padre,
+produced a revolver and tried to shoot himself.  And the Padre fell
+on him like a wild beast.  And they fought, and fell, and rolled
+down the steps together into the road, where they still fought till
+they were white like millers with dust.  Then at last the Padre got
+the strong man under him and took the revolver away and threw it
+into the ditch.  Then he fell to belabouring the would-be suicide
+with his fists, until the big man cried for mercy and received it
+not.
+
+'You saved his life,' the people said.
+
+'It was his soul that I was caring for,' replied the Padre with his
+grim smile.
+
+Concha was not a clever man, but he was wise.  Of learning he had
+but little.  It is easy, however, to be wise without being learned.
+It is easier still to be learned without being wise.  The world is
+full of such persons to-day when education is too cheap.  Concha
+steered his flock as best he could through the stormy paths of
+insurrection and civil war.  He ruled with a rod of iron whom he
+could, and such as were beyond his reach he influenced by ridicule
+and a patient tolerance.  True to his cloth, he was the enemy of all
+progress and distrusted every innovation.
+
+'The Padre,' said the barber, who was a talker and a radical, 'would
+have the world stand still.'
+
+'The Padre,' replied Concha, tenderly drying his chin with a towel,
+'would have all barbers attend to their razors.  Many are so busy
+shouting "Advance!" that they have no breath to ask whither they are
+going.'
+
+On the whole, perhaps, his autocratic rule was a beneficent one, and
+contributed to the happiness of the little northern suburb of Ronda
+over which it extended.  At all events, he was a watchful guardian
+of his flock, and knew every face in his parish.
+
+It thus happened one morning that a strange woman, who had come
+quietly into church to pray, attracted his attention as he passed
+out after matins.  She was a mere peasant and ill clad.  The child
+seated on a chair by her side and staring with wondering eyes at the
+simple altar and stained-glass window had a hungry look.
+
+Concha sat down on the low wall without the doors and awaited the
+exit of this devotee who was not of his flock.  For though, as he
+often said, the good God had intended him for a soldier, his own
+strong will and simple faith had in time produced a very passable
+priest who, with a grim face, went about doing good.
+
+The woman presently lifted the heavy leathern curtain and let out
+into the sunlight a breath of cool, incense-laden air.
+
+She curtsied and paused as if expecting recognition.  Concha threw
+away his cigarette and raised his hand to his hat.  He had not
+lifted it except to ladies of the highest quality for some years,
+out of regard to symptoms of senile decay which had manifested
+themselves at the junction of the brim and the crown.
+
+'Have I not seen your face before, my child?' he said.
+
+'Yes, reverendo.  I am of Ronda but have been living in Xeres.'
+
+'Ah! then your husband is no doubt a malcontent?'
+
+The woman burst into tears, burying her face in her hands and
+leaning against the wall in an attitude that was still girlish.  She
+had probably been married at fifteen.
+
+'No, reverendo!  He is a thief.'
+
+Concha merely nodded his head.  He never had been a man to betray
+much pious horror when he heard of ill-doing.
+
+'The two are almost identical,' he said quietly.  'One does what the
+other fears to do.  And is your husband in prison?  Is that why you
+have come back?  Ah! you women--in foolishness you almost equal the
+men!'
+
+'No, reverendo.  I am come back because he has left me.  Sebastian
+has run away, and has stolen all his master's property.  It was the
+Colonel Monreal of Xeres--a good man, reverendo, but a politician.'
+
+'Ah!'
+
+'Yes, and he was murdered, as your reverence has no doubt seen in
+the newspapers.  A week ago it was--the day that the Englishman came
+with a letter.'
+
+'What Englishman was that?' inquired Father Concha, brushing some
+grains of snuff from his sleeve.  'What Englishman was that, my
+child?'
+
+'Oh, I do not know!  His name is unknown to me, but I could tell he
+was English from his manner of speaking.  The Colonel had an English
+friend who spoke so--one engaged in the sherry in Xeres.'
+
+'Ah yes!  And this Englishman, what was he like?'
+
+'He was very tall and straight, like a soldier, and had a moustache
+quite light in colour, like straw.'
+
+'Ah yes.  The English are so.  And he left a letter?'
+
+'Yes, reverendo.'
+
+'A rose-coloured letter--?'
+
+'Yes,' said the woman, looking at him with surprise.
+
+'And tell me what happened afterwards.  I may perhaps be able to
+help you, my child, if you tell me all you know.'
+
+'And then, reverendo, the police brought back the Colonel who had
+been murdered in the streets--and I who had his Excellency's dinner
+on the table waiting for him!'
+
+'And--'
+
+'And Sebastian ate the dinner, reverendo.'
+
+'Your husband appears to be a man of action,' said Concha with a
+queer smile.  'And then--'
+
+'Sebastian sent me on a message to the town, and when I came back he
+was gone and all his Excellency's possessions were gone--his papers
+and valuables.'
+
+'Including the letter which the Englishman had left for the
+Colonel?'
+
+'Yes, reverendo.  Sebastian knew that in these times the papers of a
+politician may perhaps be sold for money.'
+
+Concha nodded his head reflectively and took a pinch of snuff with
+infinite deliberation and enjoyment.
+
+'Yes--assuredly, Sebastian is one of those men who get on in the
+world--up to a certain point--and at that point they get hanged.
+There is in the universe a particular spot for each man--where we
+all think we should like to go if we had the money.  For me it is
+Rome.  Doubtless Sebastian had some such spot, of which he spoke
+when he was intoxicated.  Where is Sebastian's earthly paradise,
+think you, my child?'
+
+'He always spoke of Madrid, reverendo.'
+
+'Yes--yes, I can imagine he would.'
+
+'And I have no money to follow him,' sobbed the woman, breaking into
+tears again.  'So I came to Ronda, where I am known, to seek it.'
+
+'Ah, foolish woman!' exclaimed the priest severely, and shaking his
+finger at her.  'Foolish woman to think of following such a person.
+More foolish still is it to weep for a worthless husband, especially
+in public, thus, on the church steps, where all may see.  All the
+other women will be so pleased.  It is their greatest happiness to
+think that their neighbour's husband is worse than their own.
+Failure is the royal road to popularity.  Dry your tears, foolish
+one, before you make too many friends.'
+
+The woman obeyed him mechanically with a sort of dumb hopelessness.
+
+At this moment a horseman clattered past, coming from Ronda and
+hastening in the direction of Bobadilla or perhaps to the Casa
+Barenna.  He wore his flat-brimmed hat well forward over the eyes,
+and kept his gaze fixed upon the road in front.  There was a faint
+suggestion of assumed absorption in his attitude, as if he knew that
+the priest was usually at the church door at this hour, and had no
+desire to meet his eye.  It was Larralde.
+
+A few minutes later Julia Barenna, who was sitting at her window
+watching and waiting--her attitude in life--suddenly rose with eyes
+that gleamed and trembling hands.  She stood and gazed down into the
+valley below, her attention fixed on the form of a horseman slowly
+making his way through the olive groves.  Then breathlessly she
+turned to her mirror.
+
+'At last!' she whispered, her fingers busy with her hair and
+mantilla, a thousand thoughts flying through her brain, her heart
+throbbing in her breast.  In a moment the aspect of the whole world
+had changed--in a moment Julia herself was another woman.  Ten years
+seemed to have rolled away from her heart, leaving her young and
+girlish and hopeful again.  She gave one last look at herself and
+hurried to the door.
+
+It was yet early in the day, and the air beneath the gnarled and
+ancient olive trees was cool and fresh as Julia passed under them to
+meet her lover.  He threw himself out of the saddle when he saw her,
+and, leaving his horse loose, ran to meet her.  He took her hands
+and raised her fingers to his lips with a certain fervour which was
+sincere enough.  For Larralde loved Julia according to his lights,
+though he had another mistress, Ambition, who was with him always
+and filled his thoughts, sleeping or waking.  Julia, her face all
+flushed, her eyes aglow, received his gallant greeting with a sort
+of breathless eagerness.  She knew she had not Larralde's whole
+heart, and, woman-like, was not content with half.
+
+'I have not seen you for nearly a fortnight,' she said.
+
+'Ah!' answered Larralde, who had apparently not kept so strict an
+account of the days.  'Ah! yes--I know.  But, dearest, I have been
+burning the high-roads.  I have been almost to Madrid.  Ah! Julia,
+why did you make such a mistake?'
+
+'What mistake?' she asked with a sudden light of coquetry in her
+eyes.  She thought he was about to ask her why she loved him.  In
+former days he had had a pretty turn for such questions.
+
+'In giving the letter to that scoundrel Conyngham--he has betrayed
+us, and Spain is no longer safe for me.'
+
+'Are you sure of this?' asked Julia, alert.  Had she possessed
+Larralde's whole heart she would have been happy enough to take part
+in his pursuits.
+
+Larralde gave a short laugh and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+'Heaven only knows where the letter is now,' he answered.  Julia
+unfolded a note and handed it to him.  She had received it three
+weeks earlier from Concepcion Vara, and it was from Conyngham,
+saying that he had left her note at the house of the Colonel.
+
+'The Colonel was dead before Conyngham arrived at Xeres,' said
+Larralde shortly.  'And I do not believe he ever left the letter.  I
+suspected that he had kept it as a little recommendation to the
+Christinos under whom he takes service.  It would have been the most
+natural thing to do.  But I have satisfied myself that the letter is
+not in his possession.'
+
+'How?' asked Julia with a sudden fear that blanched her face.
+
+Larralde smiled in rather a sickly way and made no answer.  He
+turned and looked down the avenue.
+
+'I see Father Concha approaching,' he said; 'let us go towards the
+house.'
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.  A WEIGHT OF EVIDENCE.
+
+
+
+'The woman who loves you is at once your detective and accomplice.'
+
+The old priest was walking leisurely up the avenue towards the Casa
+Barenna when the branches of a dwarf ilex were pushed aside, and
+there came to him from their leafy concealment, not indeed a wood-
+nymph, but Senora Barenna, with her finger at her lips.
+
+'Hush!' she said; 'he is here.'
+
+And from the anxious and excited expression of her face it became
+apparent that madame's nerves were astir.
+
+'Who is here?'
+
+'Why, Esteban Larralde, of course.'
+
+'Ah!' said Concha patiently.  'But need we for that hide behind the
+bushes and walk on the flower borders?  Life would be much simpler,
+senora, if people would only keep to the footpath.  Less
+picturesque, I allow you, but simpler.  Shall I climb up a tree?'
+
+The lady cast her eyes up to heaven and heaved an exaggerated sigh.
+
+'Ah--what a tragedy life is!' she whispered, apparently to the
+angels, but loud enough for her companion to hear.
+
+'Or a farce,' said Concha, 'according to our reading of the part.
+Where is Senor Larralde?'
+
+'Oh, he has gone to the fruit garden with Julia--there is a high
+wall all round, and one cannot see.  She may be murdered by this
+time.  I knew he was coming from the manner in which she ran
+downstairs.  She walks at other times.'
+
+Concha smiled rather grimly.
+
+'She is not the first to do that,' he said, 'and many have stumbled
+on the stairs in their haste.'
+
+'Ah!  You are a hard man--a terrible man with no heart.  And I have
+no one to sympathise with me.  No one knows what I suffer.  I never
+sleep at night--not a wink--but lie and think of my troubles.  Julia
+will not obey me.  I have warned her not to rouse me to anger--and
+she laughs at me.  She persists in seeing this terrible Esteban
+Larralde--a Carlist, if you please.'
+
+'We are all as God made us,' said Concha--'with embellishments added
+by the Evil One,' he added, in a lower tone.
+
+'And now I am going to see General Vincente.  I shall tell him to
+send soldiers.  This man's presence is intolerable--I am not obeyed
+in my own house,' cried the lady.  'I have ordered the carriage to
+meet me at the lower gate.  I dare not drive away from my own door.
+Ah! what a tragedy!'
+
+'I will go with you, since you are determined to go,' said Concha.
+
+'What!  And leave Julia here with that terrible man?'
+
+'Yes,' answered the priest.  'Happiness is a dangerous thing to
+meddle with.  There is so little of it in the world, and it lasts so
+short a time.'
+
+Senora Barenna indicated by a sigh and her attitude that she had had
+no experience in the matter.  As a simple fact, she had been enabled
+all through her life to satisfy her own desires--the subtlest form
+of misfortune.
+
+'Then you would have Julia marry this terrible man,' said the lady,
+shielding her face from the sun with the black fan which she always
+carried.
+
+'I am too old and too stupid to take any active part in my
+neighbours' affairs.  It is only the young and inexperienced who are
+competent to do that,' answered the priest.
+
+'But you say you are fond of Julia.'
+
+'Yes,' said the priest quietly.
+
+'I wonder why.'
+
+'So do I,' he said in a tone that Senora Barenna never understood.
+
+'You are always kinder to her than you are to me,' went on the lady
+in her most martyred manner.  'Her penances are always lighter than
+mine.  You are patient with her and not with me.  And I am sure I
+have never done you any injury--'
+
+The old Padre smiled.  Perhaps he was thinking of those illusions
+which she had during the years pulled down one by one--for the
+greater peace of his soul.
+
+'There is the carriage,' he said.  'Let us hasten to General
+Vincente--if you wish to see him.'
+
+In a few minutes they were rattling along the road, while Esteban
+Larralde and Julia sat side by side in the shade of the great wall
+that surrounded the fruit garden.  And one at least of them was
+gathering that quick harvest of love which is like the grass of the
+field, inasmuch as to-day it is, and to-morrow is not.
+
+General Vincente was at home.  He was one of those men who are happy
+in finding themselves where they are wanted.  So many have, on the
+contrary, the misfortune to be always absent when they are required,
+and the world soon learns to progress without them.
+
+'That man--that Larralde is in Ronda,' said Senora Barenna, bursting
+in on the General's solitude.  Vincente smiled, and nevertheless
+exchanged a quick glance with Concha, who confirmed the news by a
+movement of his shaggy eyebrows.
+
+'Ah, these young people!' exclaimed the General with a gay little
+sigh.  'What it is to be young and in love!  But be seated, Inez--be
+seated.  Padre--a chair.'
+
+'What do you propose to do?' asked Senora Barenna breathlessly, for
+she was stout and agitated and had hurried up the steps.
+
+'When, my dear Inez--when?'
+
+'But now--with this man in Ronda.  You know quite well he is
+dangerous.  He is a Carlist.  It was only the other day that you
+received an anonymous letter saying that your life was in danger.
+Of course it was from the Carlists, and Larralde has something to do
+with it; or that Englishman--that Senor Conyngham with the blue
+eyes.  A man with blue eyes--bah!  Of course he is not to be
+trusted.'
+
+The receiver of the anonymous warning seemed to be amused.
+
+'A little sweeping, your statements, my dear Inez.  Is it not so?
+Now, a lemonade! the afternoon is warm.'
+
+He rose and rang the bell.
+
+'My nerves,' whispered the Senora to Concha.  'My nerves--they are
+so easily upset.'
+
+'The liqueurs,' said the General to the servant with perfect
+gravity.
+
+'You must take steps at once,' urged Senora Barenna when they were
+alone again.  She was endowed with a magnificent imagination without
+much wisdom to hold it in check, and at times persuaded herself that
+she was in the midst, and perhaps the leader, of a dangerous whirl
+of political events.
+
+'I will, my dear Inez; I will.  And we will take a little
+maraschino, to collect ourselves, eh?'
+
+And his manner quite indicated that it was he and not Madame Barenna
+who was upset.  The lady consented, and proceeded to what she took
+to be a consultation, which in reality was a monologue.  During this
+she imparted a vast deal of information, and received none in
+return, which is the habit of voluble people, and renders them
+exceedingly dangerous to themselves and useful to others.
+
+Presently the two men conducted her to her carriage, with many
+reassurances.
+
+'Never fear, Inez; never fear.  He will be gone before you return,'
+said the General, with a wave of the hand.  He had consented to
+invite Julia to accompany Estella and himself to Madrid, where she
+would be out of harm's way.
+
+The two men then returned to the General's study, and sat down in
+that silence which only grows to perfection on the deep soil of a
+long-standing friendship.  Vincente was the first to speak.
+
+'I have had a letter from Madrid,' he said, looking gravely at his
+companion.  'My correspondent tells me that Conyngham has not yet
+presented his letter of introduction, and, so far as is
+ascertainable, has not arrived in the capital.  He should have been
+there six weeks ago.'
+
+The Padre took a pinch of snuff, and held the box out towards his
+companion, who waved it aside.  The General was too dainty a man to
+indulge in such a habit.
+
+'He possessed no money, so he cannot have fallen a victim to
+thieves,' said Concha.
+
+'He was accompanied by a good guide, and an honest enough scoundrel,
+so he cannot have lost his way,' observed the General, with a queer
+expression of optimistic distress on his face.
+
+'His movements were not always above suspicion--' the priest closed
+his snuff-box and laboriously replaced it in the pocket of his
+cassock.
+
+'That letter--it was a queer business!' and the General laughed.
+
+'Most suspicious.'
+
+There was a silence, during which Concha sneezed twice with
+enjoyment and more noise than is usually considered necessary.
+
+'And your letter,' he said, carefully folding his handkerchief into
+squares; 'that anonymous letter of warning that your life is
+threatened--is that true?  It is the talk of Ronda.'
+
+'Ah, that!' laughed Vincente.  'Yes, it is true enough.  It is not
+the first time--a mere incident, that is all.'
+
+'That which the Senora Barenna said just now,' observed the priest
+slowly, 'about our English friend--may be true.  Sometimes
+thoughtless people arrive at a conclusion which eludes more careful
+minds.'
+
+'Yes--my dear Padre--yes.'
+
+The two grey-headed men looked at each other for a moment in
+silence.
+
+'And yet you trust him,' said Concha.
+
+'Despite myself, despite my better judgment, my dear friend.'
+
+The priest rose and went to the window which overlooked the garden.
+
+'Estella is in the garden?' he asked, and received no answer.
+
+'I know what you are thinking,' said the General.  'You are thinking
+that we should do well to tell Estella of these distressing
+suspicions.'
+
+'For you it does not matter,' replied the priest.  'It is a mere
+incident, as you say.  Your life has been attempted before, and you
+killed both the men with your own hand, if I recollect aright.'
+
+Vincente shrugged his shoulders and looked rather embarrassed.
+
+'But a woman,' went on Concha, 'cannot afford to trust a man against
+her better judgment.'
+
+By way of reply the General rose and rang the bell, requesting the
+servant when he answered the summons to ask the senorita to spare a
+few moments of her time.
+
+They exchanged no further words until Estella came hurrying into the
+room with a sudden flush on her cheeks and something in her dark
+eyes that made her father say at once -
+
+'It is not bad news that we have, my child.'
+
+Estella glanced at Concha and said nothing.  His wise old eyes
+rested for a moment on her face with a little frown of anxiety.
+
+'We have had a visit from the Senora Barenna,' went on the General,
+'and she is anxious that we should invite Julia to go to Madrid with
+us.  It appears that Esteban Larralde is still attempting to force
+his attentions on Julia, and is at present in Ronda.  You will not
+object to her coming with us?'
+
+'Oh no,' said Estella without much interest.
+
+'We have also heard rather disquieting news about our pleasant
+friend, Mr. Conyngham,' said the General, examining the tassel of
+his sword.  'And I think it is only right to tell you that I fear we
+have been deceived in him.'
+
+There was silence for a few moments, and then Vincente spoke again.
+
+'In these times, one is almost compelled to suspect one's nearest
+friends.  Much harm may be done by being over-trustful, and
+appearances are so consistently against Mr. Conyngham that it would
+be folly to ignore them.'
+
+The General waited for Estella to make some comment, and after a
+pause continued
+
+'He arrived in Ronda under singularly unfortunate circumstances, and
+I was compelled to have his travelling companion shot.  Then
+occurred that affair of the letter, which he gave to Julia--an
+affair which has never been explained.  Conyngham would have to show
+me that letter before I should be quite satisfied.  I obtained for
+him an introduction to General Espartero in Madrid.  That was six or
+seven weeks ago.  The introduction has not been presented, nor has
+Conyngham been seen in Madrid.  In England, on his own confession,
+he was rather a scamp; why not the same in Spain?'
+
+The General spread out his hands in his favourite gesture of
+deprecation.  He had not made the world, and while deeply deploring
+that such things could be, he tacitly admitted that the human race
+had not been, creatively speaking, a complete success.
+
+Father Concha was brushing invisible grains of snuff from his
+cassock sleeve and watching Estella with anxious eyes.
+
+'I only tell you, my dear,' continued the General, 'so that we may
+know how to treat Mr. Conyngham should we meet him in Madrid.  I
+liked him.  I like a roving man--and many Englishmen are thus
+wanderers--but appearances are very much against him.'
+
+'Yes,' admitted Estella quietly.  'Yes.'
+
+She moved towards the door, and there turning looked at Concha.
+
+'Does the Padre stay to dinner?' she asked.
+
+'No, my child, thank you.  No; I have affairs at home.'
+
+Estella went out of the room, leaving a queer silence behind her.
+
+Presently Concha rose.
+
+'I, too, am going to Madrid,' he said.  'It is an opportunity to
+press my claim for the payment of my princely stipend, now two years
+overdue.'
+
+He walked home on the shady side of the street, exchanging many
+salutations, pausing now and then to speak to a friend.  Indeed,
+nearly every passer-by counted himself as such.  In his bare room,
+where the merest necessities of life scarce had place, he sat down
+thoughtfully.  The furniture, the few books, his own apparel,
+bespoke the direst poverty.  This was one who in his simplicity read
+his Master's words quite literally, and went about his work with
+neither purse nor scrip.  The priest presently rose and took from a
+shelf an old wooden box quaintly carved and studded with iron nails.
+A search in the drawer of the table resulted in the finding of a key
+and the final discovery of a small parcel at the bottom of the box
+which contained letters and other papers.
+
+'The rainy day--it comes at last,' said the Padre Concha, counting
+out his little stock of silver with the care that only comes from
+the knowledge that each coin represents a self-denial.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.  AN ULTIMATUM.
+
+
+
+'I do believe yourself against yourself.'
+
+Neither Estella nor her father had a great liking for the city of
+Madrid, which indeed is at no time desirable.  In the winter it is
+cold, in the summer exceedingly hot, and during the changes of the
+seasons of a treacherous weather difficult to surpass.  The social
+atmosphere was no more genial at the period with which we deal.  For
+it blew hot and cold, and treachery marked every change.
+
+Although the Queen Regent seemed to be nearing at last a successful
+issue to her long and eventful struggle against Don Carlos, she had
+enemies nearer home whose movements were equally dangerous to the
+throne of the child queen.
+
+'I cannot afford to have an honest soldier so far removed from the
+capital,' said Christina, who never laid aside the woman while
+playing the Queen, as Vincente kissed her hand on presenting himself
+at Court.  The General smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+'What did she say?  What did she say?' the intriguers whispered
+eagerly as the great soldier made his way towards the door, with the
+haste of one who was no courtier.  But they received no answer.
+
+The General had taken a suite of rooms in one of the hotels on the
+Puerta del Sol, and hurried thither, well pleased do have escaped so
+easily from a palace where self-seeking--the grim spirit that haunts
+the abodes of royalty--had long reigned supreme.  There was, the
+servants told him, a visitor in the salon--one who had asked for the
+General, and on learning of his absence had insisted on being
+received by the senorita.
+
+'That sounds like Conyngham,' muttered the General, unbuckling his
+sword--for he had but one weapon, and wore it in the presence of the
+Queen and her enemies alike.
+
+It was indeed Conyngham, whose gay laugh Vincente heard before he
+crossed the threshold of Estella's drawing-room.  The Englishman was
+in uniform, and stood with his back turned towards the door by which
+the General entered.
+
+'It is Senor Conyngham,' said Estella at once, in a quiet voice,
+'who has been wounded and six weeks in the hospital.'
+
+'Yes,' said Conyngham.  'But I am well again now!  And I got my
+appointment while I was still in the Sisters' care.'
+
+He laughed, though his face was pale and thin, and approached the
+General with extended hand.  The General had come to Madrid with the
+intention of refusing to take that hand, and those who knew him said
+that this soldier never swerved from his purpose.  He looked for a
+moment into Conyngham's eyes, and then shook hands with him.  He did
+not disguise the hesitation, which was apparent to both Estella and
+the Englishman.
+
+'How were you wounded?' he asked.
+
+'I was stabbed in the back on the Toledo road, ten miles from here.'
+
+'Not by a robber--not for your money?'
+
+'No one ever hated me or cared for me on that account,' laughed
+Conyngham.
+
+'Then who did it?' asked General Vincente, unbuttoning his gloves.
+
+Conyngham hesitated.
+
+'A man with whom I quarrelled on the road,' he made reply; but it
+was no answer at all, as hearers and speaker alike recognised in a
+flash of thought.
+
+'He left me for dead on the road, but a carter picked me up and
+brought me to Madrid, to the hospital of the Hermanas, where I have
+been ever since.'
+
+There were flowers on the table, and the General stooped over them
+with a delicate appreciation of their scent.  He was a great lover
+of flowers, and indeed had a sense of the beautiful quite out of
+keeping with the colour of his coat.
+
+'You must beware,' he said, 'now that you wear the Queen's uniform.
+There is treachery abroad, I fear.  Even I have had an anonymous
+letter of warning.'
+
+'I should like to know who wrote it,' exclaimed Conyngham, with a
+sudden flash of anger in his eyes.  The General laughed pleasantly.
+
+'So should I,' he said.  'Merely as a matter of curiosity.'
+
+And he turned towards the door, which was opened at this moment by a
+servant.
+
+'A gentleman wishing to see me--an Englishman, as it would appear,'
+he continued, looking at the card.
+
+'By the way,' said Conyngham, as the General moved away, 'I am
+instructed to inform you that I am attached to your staff as extra
+aide-de-camp during your stay in Madrid.'
+
+The General nodded and left Estella and Conyngham alone in the
+drawing-room.  Conyngham turned on Estella.
+
+'So that I have a right to be near you,' he said, 'which is all that
+I want.'
+
+He spoke lightly enough, as was his habit; but Estella, who was wise
+in those matters that women know, preferred not to meet his eyes,
+which were grave and deep.
+
+'Such things are quickly said,' Estella retorted.
+
+'Yes--and it takes a long time to prove them.'
+
+The General had left his gloves on the table.  Estella took them up
+and appeared to be interested in them.  'Perhaps a lifetime,' she
+suggested.
+
+'I ask no less, senorita.'
+
+'Then you ask much.'
+
+'And I give all--though that is little enough.'
+
+They spoke slowly--not bandying words but exchanging thoughts.
+Estella was grave.  Conyngham's attitude was that which he ever
+displayed to the world--namely, one of cheerful optimism, as behoved
+a strong man who had not yet known fear.
+
+'Is it too little, senorita?' he asked.
+
+She was sitting at the table and would not look up--neither would
+she answer his question.  He was standing quite close to her--
+upright in his bright uniform, his hand on his sword--and all her
+attention was fixed on the flowers which had called forth the
+General's unspoken admiration.  She touched them with fingers hardly
+lighter than his.
+
+'Now that I think of it,' said Conyngham after a pause, 'what I give
+is nothing.'
+
+Estella's face wore a queer little smile, as of a deeper knowledge.
+
+'Nothing at all,' continued the Englishman.  'For I have nothing to
+give, and you know nothing of me.'
+
+'Three months ago,' answered Estella, 'we had never heard of you--
+and you had never seen me,' she added, with a little laugh.
+
+'I have seen nothing else since,' Conyngham replied deliberately;
+'for I have gone about the world a blind man.'
+
+'In three months one cannot decide matters that affect a whole
+lifetime,' said the girl.
+
+'This matter decided itself in three minutes, so far as I am
+concerned, senorita, in the old palace at Ronda.  It is a matter
+that time is powerless to affect one way or the other.'
+
+'With some people; but you are hasty and impetuous.  My father said
+it of you--and he is never mistaken.'
+
+'Then you do not trust me, senorita?'
+
+Estella had turned away her face so that he could only see her
+mantilla and the folds of her golden hair gleaming through the black
+lace.  She shrugged her shoulders.
+
+'It is not due to yourself, nor to all who know you in Spain, if I
+do,' she said.
+
+'All who know me?'
+
+'Yes,' she continued; 'Father Concha, Senora Barenna, my father, and
+others at Ronda.'
+
+'Ah!  And what leads them to mistrust me?'
+
+'Your own actions,' replied Estella.
+
+And Conyngham was too simple-minded, too inexperienced in such
+matters, to understand the ring of anxiety in her voice.
+
+'I do not much mind what the rest of the world thinks of me,' he
+said; 'I have never owed anything to the world nor asked anything
+from it.  They are welcome to think what they like.  But with you it
+is different.  Is it possible, senorita, to make you trust me?'
+
+Estella did not answer at once.  After a pause she gave an
+indifferent jerk of the head.
+
+'Perhaps,' she said.
+
+'If it is possible, I will do it.'
+
+'It is quite easy,' she answered, raising her head and looking out
+of the window with an air that seemed to indicate that her interests
+lay without and not in this room at all.
+
+'How can I do it?'
+
+She gave a short, hard laugh, which to experienced ears would have
+betrayed her instantly.
+
+'By showing me the letter you wrote to Julia Barenna,' she said.
+
+'I cannot do that.'
+
+'No,' she said significantly.  A woman fighting for her own
+happiness is no sparing adversary.
+
+'Will nothing else than the sight of that letter satisfy you,
+senorita?'
+
+Her profile was turned towards him--delicate and proud, with the
+perfect chiselling of outline that only comes with a long descent,
+and bespeaks the blood of gentle ancestors.  For Estella Vincente
+had in her veins blood that was counted noble in Spain--the land of
+a bygone glory.
+
+'Nothing,' she answered.  'Though the question of my being satisfied
+is hardly of importance.  You asked me to trust you, and you make it
+difficult by your actions.  In return I ask a proof, that is all.'
+
+'Do you want to trust me?'
+
+He had come a little closer to her, and was grave enough now.
+
+'Why do you ask that?' she inquired in a low voice.
+
+'Do you want to trust me?' he asked, and it is to be supposed that
+he was able to detect an infinitesimal acquiescent movement of her
+head.
+
+'Then, if that letter is in existence, you shall have it,' he said.
+'You say that my actions have borne evidence against me.  I shall
+trust to action and not to words to refute that evidence.  But you
+must give me time--will you do that?'
+
+'You always ask something.'
+
+'Yes, senorita, from you; but from no one else in the world.'
+
+He gave a sudden laugh and walked to the window, where he stood
+looking at her.
+
+'I suppose,' he said, 'I shall be asking all my life from you.
+Perhaps that is why we were created, senorita--I to ask, you to
+give.  Perhaps that is happiness, Estella.'
+
+She raised her eyes but did not meet his, looking past him through
+the open window.  The hotel was situated at the lower end of the
+Puerta del Sol--the quiet end, and farthest removed from the hum of
+the market and the busy sounds of traffic.  These only came in the
+form of a distant hum, like the continuous roar of surf upon an
+unseen shore.  Below the windows a passing waterseller plied his
+trade, and his monotonous cry of 'Agua-a-a!  Agua-a-a!' rose like a
+wail--like the voice of one crying in that human wilderness where
+solitude reigns as surely as in the desert.
+
+For a moment Estella glanced at Conyngham gravely, and his eyes were
+no less serious.  They were not the first, but only two out of many
+millions, to wonder what happiness is and where it hides in this
+busy world.
+
+They had not spoken or moved when the door was again opened by a
+servant, who bowed towards Conyngham and then stood aside to allow
+ingress to one who followed on his heels.  This was a tall man,
+white-haired, and white of face.  Indeed, his cheeks had the dead
+pallor of paper, and seemed to be drawn over the cheekbones at such
+tension as gave to the skin a polish like that of fine marble.  One
+sees many such faces in London streets, and they usually indicate
+suffering, either mental or physical.
+
+The stranger came forward with a perfect lack of embarrassment,
+which proved him to be a man of the world.  His bow to Estella
+clearly indicated that his business lay with Conyngham.  He was the
+incarnation of the Continental ideal of the polished cold
+Englishman, and had the air of a diplomate such as this country
+sends to foreign Courts to praise or blame, to declare friendship or
+war with the same calm suavity and imperturbable politeness.
+
+'I come from General Vincente,' he said to Conyngham, 'who will
+follow in a moment, when he has despatched some business which
+detains him.  I have a letter to the General, and am, in fact, in
+need of his assistance.'
+
+He broke off, turning to Estella, who was moving towards the door.
+
+'I was especially instructed,' he said quickly to her, 'to ask you
+not to leave us.  You were, I believe, at school with my nieces in
+England, and when my business, which is of the briefest, is
+concluded, I have messages to deliver to you from Mary and Amy
+Mainwaring.'
+
+Estella smiled a little and resumed her seat.  Then the stranger
+turned to Conyngham.
+
+'The General told me,' he went on in his cold voice, without a gleam
+of geniality or even of life in his eyes, 'that if I followed the
+servant to the drawing-room I should find here an English aide-de-
+camp who is fully in his confidence, and upon whose good-nature and
+assistance I could rely.'
+
+'I am for the time General Vincente's aide-de-camp, and I am an
+Englishman,' answered Conyngham.
+
+The stranger bowed.
+
+'I did not explain my business to General Vincente,' said he, 'who
+asked me to wait until he came, and then tell the story to you both
+at one time.  In the meantime I was to introduce myself to you.'
+
+Conyngham waited in silence.
+
+'My name is Sir John Pleydell,' said the stranger quietly.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.  IN HONOUR.
+
+
+
+'He makes no friend who never made a foe.'
+
+Conyngham remembered the name of Pleydell well enough, and glanced
+sharply at Estella, recollecting that the General received the
+'Times' from London.  Before he had time to make an answer, and
+indeed he had none ready, the General came into the room.
+
+'Ah!' said Vincente in his sociable manner, 'I see you know each
+other already--so an introduction is superfluous.  And now we will
+have Sir John's story.  Be seated, my dear sir.  But first--a little
+refreshment.  It is a dusty day--a lemonade?'
+
+Sir John declined, his manner strikingly cold and reserved beside
+the genial empressement of General Vincente.  In truth the two men
+seemed to belong to opposite poles--the one of cold and the other of
+heat.  Sir John had the chill air of one who had mixed among his
+fellow men only to see their evil side; for the world is a cold
+place to those that look on it with a chilling glance.  General
+Vincente, on the other hand, whose life had been passed in strife
+and warfare, seemed ready to welcome all comers as friends and to
+hold out the hand of good-fellowship to rich and poor alike.
+
+Conyngham shrugged his shoulders with a queer smile.  Here was a
+quandary requiring a quicker brain than his.  He did not even
+attempt to seek a solution to his difficulties, and the only thought
+in his mind was a characteristic determination to face them
+courageously.  He drew forward a chair for Sir John Pleydell, his
+heart stirred with that sense of exhilaration which comes to some in
+moments of peril.
+
+'I will not detain you long,' began the new-comer, with an air
+slightly suggestive of the law court, 'but there are certain details
+which I am afraid I must inflict upon you, in order that you may
+fully understand my actions.'
+
+The remark was addressed to General Vincente, although the speaker
+appeared to be demanding Conyngham's attention in the first
+instance.  The learned gentlemen of the Bar thus often address the
+jury through the ears of the judge.
+
+General Vincente had seated himself at the table and was drawing his
+scented pocket-handkerchief across his moustache reflectively.  He
+was not, it was obvious, keenly interested, although desirous of
+showing every politeness to the stranger.  In truth, such Englishmen
+as brought their affairs to Spain at this time were not as a rule
+highly desirable persons or a credit to their country.  Estella was
+sitting near the window, rather behind her father, and Conyngham
+stood by the fireplace, facing them all.
+
+'You perhaps know something of our English politics,' continued Sir
+John Pleydell, and the General making a little gesture indicative of
+a limited but sufficient knowledge, went on to say--'of the
+Chartists more particularly?'
+
+The General bowed.  Estella glanced at Conyngham, who was smiling.
+
+'One cannot call them a party, as I have heard them designated in
+Spain,' said Sir John parenthetically.  'They are quite unworthy of
+so distinguished a name.  These Chartists consist of the most
+ignorant people in the land--the rabble, in fact, headed by a few
+scheming malcontents:  professional agitators who are not above
+picking the pockets of the poor.  Many capitalists and landowners
+have suffered wrong and loss at the hands of these disturbers of the
+peace, none--'  He paused and gave a sharp sigh which seemed to
+catch him unawares, and almost suggested that the man had, after
+all, or had at one time possessed, a heart.  'None more severely
+than myself,' he concluded.
+
+The General's face instantly expressed the utmost concern.
+
+'My dear sir,' he murmured.
+
+'For many years,' continued Sir John hurriedly, as if resenting
+anything like sympathy, as all good Britons do, 'the authorities
+acted in an irresolute and foolish manner, not daring to put down
+the disturbances with a firm hand.  At length, however, a riot of a
+more serious character at a town in Wales necessitated the
+interference of the military.  The ringleaders were arrested, and
+for some time the authorities were in considerable doubt as to what
+to do to them.  I interested myself strongly in the matter--having
+practised the law in my younger days--and was finally enabled to see
+my object carried out.  These men were arraigned, not as mere
+brawlers and rioters, but under a charge of high treason--a much
+more serious affair for them.'
+
+He broke off with a harsh laugh, which was only a matter of the
+voice, for his marble face remained unchanged, and probably had not
+at any time the power of expressing mirth.
+
+'The ringleaders of the Newport riots were sentenced to long terms
+of imprisonment, which served my purpose excellently.'
+
+Sir John Pleydell spoke with that cynical frankness which seems
+often to follow upon a few years devoted to practice at the Common
+Law Bar, where men in truth spend their days in dissecting the
+mental diseases of their fellow creatures, and learn to conclude
+that a pure and healthy mind is possessed by none.  He moved
+slightly in his chair, and seemed to indicate that he had made his
+first point.
+
+'I hope,' he said, addressing Conyngham directly, 'that I am not
+fatiguing you?'
+
+'Not at all,' returned the younger Englishman coolly; 'I am much
+interested.'
+
+The General was studying the texture of his pocket-handkerchief.
+Estella's face had grown cold and set.  Her eyes from time to time
+turned towards Conyngham.  Sir John Pleydell was not creating a good
+impression.
+
+'I will now come to the more personal part of my story,' went on
+that gifted speaker, 'and proceed to explain my reason for
+inflicting it upon you.'
+
+He still spoke directly to Conyngham, who bowed his head in silence,
+with the queer smile still hovering on his lips.  Estella saw it and
+drew a sharp breath.  In the course of her short life, which had
+almost been spent in the midst of warfare, she had seen men in
+danger more than once, and perhaps recognised that smile.
+
+'I particularly beg your attention,' explained Sir John to
+Conyngham, 'because I understand from General Vincente that you are
+in reality attached to the staff of General Espartero, and it is to
+him that I look for help.'
+
+Sir John paused again.  He had established another point.  One
+almost expected to see him raise his hand to his shoulder to throw
+back the silken gown.
+
+'Some months ago,' he went on, 'these Chartists attacked my house in
+the North of England, and killed my son.'
+
+There was a short silence, and the General muttered a curt and
+polite Spanish oath under his breath.  But somehow the speaker had
+failed to make that point, and he hurried on.
+
+'It was not, technically speaking, a murder; my boy, who had a fine
+spirit, attacked the rioters, and a clever counsel might have got a
+verdict for the scoundrel who actually struck the blow.  I knew
+this, and awaited events.  I did not even take steps against the man
+who killed my son--an only son and child.  It was not, from a legal
+point of view, worth while.'
+
+He laughed his unpleasant laugh again and presently went on.
+
+'Fortune, however, favoured me.  The trouble grew worse, and the
+Newport riots at last aroused the Government.  The sentence upon the
+ringleaders gave me my opportunity.  It was worth while to hunt down
+the murderer of my son when I could ensure him sixteen or twenty
+years' penal servitude.'
+
+'Quite,' said the General; 'quite.'  And he smiled.  He seemed to
+fail to realise that Sir John Pleydell was in deadly earnest, and
+really harboured the implacable spirit of revenge with which he
+cynically credited himself.
+
+'I traced my man to Gibraltar, and thence he appears to have come
+north,' continued Sir John Pleydell.  'He has probably taken service
+under Espartero--many of our English outlaws wear the Spanish
+Queen's uniform.  He is, of course, bearing an assumed name; but
+surely it would be possible to trace him?'
+
+'Oh, yes,' answered Conyngham, 'I think you will be able to find
+him.'
+
+Sir John's eyes had for a moment a gleam of life in them.
+
+'Ah!' he said, 'I am glad to hear you say that.  For that is my
+object in coming to this country; and although I have during the
+course of my life had many objects of ambition or desire, none of
+them has so entirely absorbed my attention as this one.  Half a
+dozen men have gone to penal servitude in order that I might succeed
+in my purpose.'
+
+There was a cold deliberation in this statement which was more cruel
+than cynicism, for it was sincere.  Conyngham looked at Estella.
+Her face had lost all colour, her eyes were burning--not with the
+dull light of fear, for the blood that ran in her veins had no taint
+of that in it--but with anger.  She knew who it was that Sir John
+Pleydell sought.  She looked at Conyngham, and his smile of cool
+intrepidity made her heart leap within her breast.  This lover of
+hers was at all events a brave man--and that which through all the
+ages reaches the human heart most surely is courage.  The coward has
+no friends.
+
+Sir John Pleydell had paused, and was seeking something in his
+pocket.  General Vincente preserved his attitude of slightly bored
+attention.
+
+'I have here,' went on the baronet, 'a list of the English officers
+serving in the army of General Espartero at the time of my quitting
+England.  Perhaps you will, at your leisure, be kind enough to cast
+your eye over it, and make a note of such men as are personally
+unknown to you, and may therefore be bearing assumed names.'
+
+Conyngham took the paper, and, holding it in his hand, spoke without
+moving from the mantelpiece against which he leant.
+
+'You have not yet made quite clear your object in coming to Spain,'
+he said.  'There exists between Spain and England no extradition
+treaty; and even if such were to come in force I believe that
+persons guilty of political offences would be exempt from its
+action.  You propose to arraign this man for high treason--a
+political offence according to the law of many countries.'
+
+'You speak like a lawyer,' said Sir John, with a laugh.
+
+'You have just informed us,' retorted Conyngham, 'that all the
+English in the Spanish service are miscreants.  None know the law so
+intimately as those who have broken it.'
+
+'Ah!' laughed Sir John again, with a face of stone.  'There are
+exceptions to all rules--and you, young sir, are an exception to
+that which I laid down as regards our countrymen in Spain, unless my
+experience of faces and knowledge of men play me very false.  But
+your contention is a just one.  I am not in a position to seek the
+aid of the Spanish authorities in this matter.  I am fully aware of
+the fact.  You surely did not expect me to come to Spain with such a
+weak case as that?'
+
+'No,' answered Conyngham slowly, 'I did not.'
+
+Sir John Pleydell raised his eyes and looked at his fellow
+countryman with a dawning interest.  The General also looked up,
+from one face to the other.  The atmosphere of the room seemed to
+have undergone a sudden change, and to be dominated by the
+personality of these two Englishmen.  The one will, strong on the
+surface, accustomed to assert itself and dominate, seemed suddenly
+to have found itself faced by another as strong and yet hidden
+behind an easy smile and indolent manner.
+
+'You are quite right,' he went on in his cold voice.  'I have a
+better case than that, and one eminently suited to a country such as
+Spain, where a long war has reduced law and order to a somewhat low
+ebb.  I at first thought of coming here to await my chance of
+shooting this man--his name, by the way, is Frederick Conyngham; but
+circumstances placed a better vengeance within my grasp--one that
+will last longer.'
+
+He paused for a moment to reflect upon this long-drawn-out
+expiation.
+
+'I propose to get my man home to England, and let him there stand
+his trial.  The idea is not my own; it has, in fact, been carried
+out successfully before now.  Once in England I shall make it my
+business to see that he gets twenty years' penal servitude.'
+
+'And how do you propose to get him to England?' asked Conyngham.
+
+'Oh! that is simple enough.  Only a matter of paying a couple of
+such scoundrels as I understand abound in Spain at this moment--a
+little bribing of officials, a heavy fee to some English ship-
+captain.  I propose, in short, to kidnap Frederick Conyngham.  But I
+do not ask you to help me in that.  I only ask you to put me on his
+track--to help me to find him, in fact.  Will you do it?'
+
+'Certainly,' said Conyngham, coming forward with a card in his hand.
+'You could not have come to a better man.'
+
+Sir John Pleydell read the card, and had himself in such control
+that his face hardly changed.  His teeth closed over his lower lip
+for a second; then he rose.  The perspiration stood out on his face-
+-the grey of his eyes seemed to have faded to the colour of ashes.
+He looked hard at Conyngham, and then, taking up his hat, went to
+the door with curious, uneven steps.  On the threshold he turned.
+
+'Your insolence,' he said breathlessly, 'is only exceeded by your--
+daring.'
+
+As the door closed behind him there came, from that part of the room
+where General Vincente sat, a muffled click of steel, as if a sword
+half out of its scabbard had been sent softly home again.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.  IN MADRID.
+
+
+
+'Some keepeth silence knowing his time.'
+
+'Who travels slowly may arrive too late,' said the Padre Concha,
+with a pessimistic shake of the head, as the carrier's cart in which
+he had come from Toledo drew up in the Plazuela de la Cebada at
+Madrid.  The careful penury of many years had not, indeed, enabled
+the old priest to travel by the quick diligences, which had often
+passed him on the road with a cloud of dust and the rattle of six
+horses.  The great journey had been accomplished in the humbler
+vehicles plying from town to town, that ran as often as not by night
+in order to save the horses.
+
+The priest, like his fellow-travellers, was white with dust.  Dust
+covered his cloak so that its original hue of rusty black was quite
+lost.  Dust coated his face and nestled in the deep wrinkles of it.
+His eyebrows were lost to sight, and his lashes were like those of a
+miller.
+
+As he stood in the street the dust arose in whirling columns and
+enveloped all who were abroad; for a gale was howling across the
+tableland, which the Moors of old had named 'Majerit'--a draught of
+wind.  The conductor, who, like a good and jovial conductor, had
+never refused an offer of refreshment on the road, was now muddled
+with drink and the heat of the sun.  He was, in fact, engaged in a
+warm controversy with a passenger.  So the Padre found his own
+humble portmanteau, a thing of cardboard and canvas, and trudged up
+the Calle de Toledo, bearing the bag in one hand and his cloak in
+the other--a lean figure in the sunlight.
+
+Father Concha had been in Madrid before, though he rarely boasted of
+it, or indeed of any of his travels.
+
+'The wise man does not hang his knowledge on a hook,' he was in the
+habit of saying.
+
+That this knowledge was of that useful description which is usually
+designated as knowing one's way about, soon became apparent; for the
+dusty traveller passed with unerring steps through the narrower
+streets that lie between the Calle de Toledo and the street of
+Segovia.  Here dwell the humbler citizens of Madrid, persons engaged
+in the small commerce of the marketplace, for in the Plazuela de la
+Cebada a hundred yards away is held the corn market, which, indeed,
+renders the dust in this quarter particularly trying to the eyes.
+Once or twice the priest was forced to stop at the corner of two
+streets and there do battle with the wind.
+
+'But it is a hurricane,' he muttered; 'a hurricane.'
+
+With one hand he held his hat, with the other clung to his cloak and
+portmanteau.
+
+'But it will blow the dust from my poor old capa,' he added, giving
+the cloak an additional shake.
+
+He presently found himself in a street which, if narrower than its
+neighbours, smelt less pestiferous.  The open drain that ran down
+the middle of it pursued its varied course with a quite respectable
+speed.  In the middle of the street Father Concha paused and looked
+up, nodding as if to an old friend at the sight of a dingy piece of
+palm bound to the ironwork of a balcony on the second floor.
+
+'The time to wash off the dust,' he muttered as he climbed the
+narrow stairs, 'and then to work.'
+
+An hour later he was afoot again in a quarter of the city which was
+less known to him--namely, in the Calle Preciados, where he sought a
+venta more or less suspected by the police.  The wind had risen, and
+was now blowing with the force of a hurricane.  It came from the
+north-west with a chill whistle which bespoke its birthplace among
+the peaks of the Gaudarramas.  The streets were deserted; the oil
+lamps swung on their chains at the street corners, casting weird
+shadows that swept over the face of the houses with uncanny
+irregularity.  It was an evening for evil deeds, except that when
+Nature is in an ill-humour human nature is mostly cowed, and those
+who have bad consciences cannot rid their minds of thoughts of the
+hereafter.
+
+The priest found the house he sought, despite the darkness of the
+street and the absence of any from whom to elicit information.  The
+venta was on the ground-floor, and above it towered storey after
+storey, built with the quaint fantasy of the middle ages, and
+surmounted by a deep, overhanging gabled roof.  The house seemed to
+have two staircases of stone and two doors--one on each side of the
+venta.  There is a Spanish proverb which says that the rat which has
+only one hole is soon caught.  Perhaps the architect remembered
+this, and had built his house to suit his tenants.  It was on the
+fifth floor of this tenement that Father Concha, instructed by
+Heaven knows what priestly source of information, looked to meet
+with Sebastian, the whilom bodyservant of the late Colonel Monreal
+of Xeres.
+
+It was known among a certain section of the Royalists that this man
+had papers and perchance some information of value to dispose of,
+and more than one respectable, black-clad elbow had brushed the
+greasy walls of this staircase.  Sebastian, it was said, passed his
+time in drinking and smoking.  The boasted gaieties of Madrid had,
+it would appear, diminished to this sordid level of dissipation.
+
+The man was, indeed, thus occupied when the old priest opened the
+door of his room.
+
+'Yes,' he answered in a thick voice, 'I am Sebastian of Xeres, and
+no other; the man who knows more of the Carlist plots than any other
+in Madrid.'
+
+'Can you read?'
+
+'No.'
+
+'Then you know nothing,' said the Padre.  'You have, however, a
+letter in a pink envelope which a friend of mine desires to possess.
+It is a letter of no importance, of no political value--a love
+letter, in fact.'
+
+'Ah, yes!  Ah, yes!  That may be, reverendo.  But there are others
+who want it--your love letter.'
+
+'I offer you, on the part of my friend, a hundred pesetas for this
+letter.'
+
+The priest's wrinkled face wore a grim smile.  It was so little--a
+hundred pesetas, the price of a dinner for two persons at one of the
+great restaurants on the Puerta del Sol.  But to Father Concha the
+sum represented five hundred cups of black coffee denied to himself
+in the evening at the cafe--five hundred packets of cigarettes, so-
+called of Havana, unsmoked--two new cassocks in the course of twenty
+years--a hundred little gastronomic delights sternly resisted season
+after season.
+
+'Not enough, your hundred pesetas, reverendo, not enough,' laughed
+the man.  And Concha, who could drive as keen a bargain as any
+market-woman of Ronda, knew by the manner of saying it that
+Sebastian only spoke the truth when he said that he had other
+offers.
+
+'See, reverendo,' the man went on, leaning across the table and
+banging a dirty fist upon it, 'come to-night at ten o'clock.  There
+are others coming at the same hour to buy my letter in the pink
+envelope.  We will have an auction, a little auction, and the letter
+goes to the highest bidder.  But what does your reverence want with
+a love letter, eh?'
+
+'I will come,' said the Padre, and, turning, he went home to count
+his money once more.
+
+There are many living still who remember the great gale of wind
+which was now raging, and through which Father Concha struggled back
+to the Calle Preciados as the city clocks struck ten.  Old men and
+women still tell how the theatres were deserted that night and the
+great cafes wrapt in darkness.  For none dare venture abroad amid
+such whirl and confusion.  Concha, however, with that lean strength
+that comes from a life of abstemiousness and low-living, crept along
+in the shadow of the houses and reached his destination unhurt.  The
+tall house in the alley leading from the Calle Preciados to the
+Plazuela Santa Maria was dark, as indeed were most of the streets of
+Madrid this night.  A small moon struggled, however, through the
+riven clouds at times, and cast streaks of light down the narrow
+streets.  Concha caught sight of the form of a man in the alley
+before him.  The priest carried no weapon, but he did not pause.  At
+this moment a gleam of light aided him.
+
+'Senor Conyngham!' he said.  'What brings you here?'
+
+And the Englishman turned sharply on his heel.
+
+'Is that you--Father Concha, of Ronda?' he asked.
+
+'No other, my son.'
+
+Standing in the doorway Conyngham held out his hand with that air of
+good-fellowship which he had not yet lost amid the more formal
+Spaniards.
+
+'Hardly the night for respectable elderly gentlemen of your cloth to
+be in the streets,' he said; whereat Concha, who had a keen
+appreciation of such small pleasantries, laughed grimly.
+
+'And I have not even the excuse of my cloth.  I am abroad on worldly
+business, and not even my own.  I will be honest with you, Senor
+Conyngham.  I am here to buy that malediction of a letter in a pink
+envelope.  You remember--in the garden at Ronda, eh?'
+
+'Yes, I remember; and why do you want that letter?'
+
+'For the sake of Julia Barenna.'
+
+'Ah!  I want it for the sake of Estella Vincente.'
+
+Concha laughed shortly.
+
+'Yes,' he said.  'It is only up to the age of twenty-five that men
+imagine themselves to be the rulers of the world.  But we need not
+bid against each other, my son.  Perhaps a sight of the letter
+before I destroy it would satisfy the senorita.'
+
+'No, we need not bid against each other,' began Conyngham; but the
+priest dragged him back into the doorway with a quick whisper of
+'Silence!'
+
+Someone was coming down the other stairway of the tall house, with
+slow and cautious steps.  Conyngham and his companion drew back to
+the foot of the stairs and waited.  It became evident that he who
+descended the steps did so without a light.  At the door he seemed
+to stop, probably making sure that the narrow alley was deserted.  A
+moment later he hurried past the door where the two men stood.  The
+moon was almost clear, and by its light both the watchers recognised
+Larralde in a flash of thought.  The next instant Esteban Larralde
+was running for his life with Frederick Conyngham on his heels.
+
+The lamp at the corner of the Calle Preciados had been shattered
+against the wall by a gust of wind, and both men clattered through a
+slough of broken glass.  Down the whole length of the Preciados but
+one lamp was left alight, and the narrow street was littered with
+tiles and fallen bricks, for many chimneys had been blown down, and
+more than one shutter lay in the roadway, torn from its hinges by
+the hurricane.  It was at the risk of life that any ventured abroad
+at this hour and amid the whirl of falling masonry.  Larralde and
+Conyngham had the Calle Preciados to themselves--and Larralde cursed
+his spurs, which rang out at each footfall, and betrayed his
+whereabouts.
+
+A dozen times the Spaniard fell, but before his pursuer could reach
+him, the same obstacle threw Conyngham to the ground.  A dozen times
+some falling object crashed to earth on the Spaniard's heels, and
+the Englishman leapt aside to escape the rebound.  Larralde was
+fleet of foot despite his meagre limbs, and leapt over such
+obstacles as he could perceive, with the agility of a monkey.  He
+darted into the lighted doorway--the entrance to the palatial
+mansion of an upstart politician.  The large doors were thrown open,
+and the hall-porter stood in full livery awaiting the master's
+carriage.  Larralde was already in the patio, and Conyngham ran
+through the marble-paved entrance hall, before the porter realised
+what was taking place.  There was no second exit as the fugitive had
+hoped--so it was round the patio and out again into the dark street,
+leaving the hall-porter dumfoundered.
+
+Larralde turned sharply to the right as soon as he gained the Calle
+Preciados.  It was a mere alley running the whole way round a
+church--and here again was solitude, but not silence, for the wind
+roared among the chimneys overhead as it roars through a ship's
+rigging at sea.  The Calle Preciados again! and a momentary
+confusion among the tables of a cafe that stood upon the pavement,
+amid upturned chairs and a fallen, flapping awning.  The pace was
+less killing now, but Larralde still held his own--one hand clutched
+over the precious letter regained at last--and Conyngham was
+conscious of a sharp pain where the Spaniard's knife had touched his
+lung.
+
+Larralde ran mechanically with open mouth and staring eyes.  He
+never doubted that death was at his heels, should he fail to
+distance the pursuer.  For he had recognised Conyngham in the patio
+of the great house, and as he ran the vague wonder filled his mind
+whether the Englishman carried a knife.  What manner of death would
+it be if that long arm reached him?  Esteban Larralde was afraid.
+His own life--Julia's life--the lives of a whole Carlist section
+were at stake.  The history of Spain, perhaps of Europe, depended on
+the swiftness of his foot.
+
+The little crescent moon was shining clearly now between the long-
+drawn rifts of the rushing clouds.  Larralde turned to the right
+again, up a narrow street which seemed to promise a friendly
+darkness.  The ascent was steep, and the Spaniard gasped for breath
+as he ran--his legs were becoming numb.  He had never been in this
+street before, and knew not whither it led.  But it was at all
+events dark and deserted.  Suddenly he fell upon a heap of bricks
+and rubbish, a whole stack of chimneys.  He could smell the soot.
+Conyngham was upon him, touched him, but failed to get a grip.
+Larralde was afoot in an instant, and fell heavily down the far side
+of the barricade.  He gained a few yards again, and, before
+Conyngham's eyes, was suddenly swallowed up in a black mass of
+falling masonry.  It was more than a chimney this time; nothing less
+than a whole house carried bodily to the ground by the fall of the
+steeple of the church of Santa Maria del Monte.  Conyngham stopped
+dead, and threw his arms over his head.  The crash was terrific,
+deafening--and for a few moments the Englishman was stunned.  He
+opened his eyes and closed them again, for the dust and powdered
+mortar whirled round him like smoke.  Almost blinded, he crept back
+by the way he had come, and the street was already full of people.
+In the Calle Preciados he sat down on a door-step, and there waited
+until he had gained mastery over his limbs, which shook still.
+Presently he made his way back to the house where he had left
+Concha.
+
+The man Sebastian had, a week earlier, seen and recognised Conyngham
+as the bearer of the letter addressed to Colonel Monreal, and left
+at that officer's lodging in Xeres at the moment of his death in the
+streets.  Sebastian approached Conyngham, and informed him that he
+had in his possession sundry papers belonging to the late Colonel
+Monreal, which might be of value to a Royalist.  This was,
+therefore, not the first time that Conyngham had climbed the narrow
+stairs of the tall house with two doors.
+
+He found Concha busying himself by the bedside, where Sebastian lay
+in the unconsciousness of deep drink.
+
+'He has probably been drugged,' said the priest.  'Or, he may be
+dying.  What is more important to us is, that the letter is not
+here.  I have searched.  Larralde escaped you?'
+
+'Yes; and of course has the letter.'
+
+'Of course, amigo.'
+
+The priest looked at the prostrate man with a face of profound
+contempt, and, shrugging his shoulders, went towards the door.
+
+'Come,' he said, 'I must return to Toledo and Julia.  It is thither
+that this Larralde always returns, and she, poor woman, believes in
+him.  Ah, my friend'--he paused and shook his long finger at
+Conyngham.  'When a woman believes in a man she makes him or mars
+him; there is no medium.'
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.  IN TOLEDO.
+
+
+
+'Meddle not with many matters; for if thou meddle much thou shalt
+not be innocent.'
+
+The Cafe of the Ambassadeurs in the Calle de la Montera was at this
+time the fashionable resort of visitors to the city of Madrid.  Its
+tone was neither political nor urban, but savoured rather of the
+cosmopolitan.  The waiters at the first-class hotels recommended the
+Cafe of the Ambassadeurs, and stepped round to the manager's office
+at the time of the New Year to mention the fact.
+
+Sir John Pleydell had been rather nonplussed by his encounter with
+Conyngham, and, being a man of the world as well as a lawyer, sat
+down, as it were, to think.  He had come to Spain in the first heat
+of a great revenge, and such men as he take, like the greater
+volcanoes, a long time to cool down.  He had been prepossessed in
+the favour of the man who subsequently owned to being Frederick
+Conyngham.  And the very manner in which this admission was made
+redounded in some degree to the honour of the young Englishman.
+Here, at least, was one who had no fear, and fearlessness appeals to
+the heart of every Briton from the peer to the navvy.
+
+Sir John took a certain cold interest in his surroundings, and in
+due course was recommended to spend an evening at the Cafe des
+Ambassadeurs, as it styled itself, for the habit of preferring
+French to Spanish designations for places of refreshment had come in
+since the great revolution.  Sir John went, therefore, to the cafe,
+and with characteristic scorn of elemental disturbance chose to
+resort thither on the evening of the great gale.  The few other
+occupants of the gorgeous room eyed his half-bottle of claret with a
+grave and decorous wonder, but made no attempt to converse with this
+chill-looking Englishman.  At length, about ten o'clock or a few
+minutes later, entered one who bowed to Sir John with an air full of
+affable promise.  This was Larralde, who called a waiter and bade
+him fetch a coat-brush.
+
+'Would you believe it, sir?' he said, addressing Sir John in broken
+English, 'but I have just escaped a terrible death.'
+
+He shrugged his shoulders, spread out his hands, and laughed good-
+humouredly, after the manner of one who has no foes.
+
+'The fall of a chimney--so--within a metre of my shoulder.'  He
+threw back his cloak with a graceful swing of the arm and handed it
+to the waiter.  Then he drew forward a chair to the table occupied
+by Sir John, who sipped his claret and bowed coldly.
+
+'You must not think that Madrid is always like this,' said Larralde.
+'But perhaps you know the city--'
+
+'No--this is my first visit.'
+
+Larralde turned aside to give his order to the waiter.  His
+movements were always picturesque, and in the presence of Englishmen
+he had a habit of accentuating those characteristics of speech and
+manner which are held by our countrymen to be native to the
+Peninsula.  There is nothing so disarming as conventionality--and
+nothing less suspicious.  Larralde seemed ever to be a typical
+Spaniard--indolently polite, gravely indifferent--a cigarette-
+smoking nonentity.
+
+They talked of topics of the day, and chiefly of that great event,
+the hurricane, which was still raging.  Larralde, whose habit it was
+to turn his neighbour to account--a seed of greatness this!--had
+almost concluded that the Englishman was useless when the
+conversation turned, as it was almost bound to turn between these
+two, upon Conyngham.
+
+'There are but few of your countrymen in Madrid at the moment,'
+Larralde had said.
+
+'I know but one,' was the guarded reply.
+
+'And I also,' said Larralde, flicking the ash from his cigarette.
+'A young fellow who has made himself somewhat notorious in the
+Royalist cause--a cause in which I admit I have no sympathy.  His
+name is Conyngham.'
+
+Then a silence fell upon the two men, and over raised glasses they
+glanced surreptitiously at each other.
+
+'I know him,' said Sir John at length, and the tone of his voice
+made Larralde glance up with a sudden gleam in his eyes.  There thus
+sprang into existence between them the closest of all bonds--a
+common foe.
+
+'The man has done me more than one ill-turn,' said Larralde after a
+pause, and he drummed on the table with his cigarette-stained
+fingers.
+
+Sir John, looking at him, coldly gauged the Spaniard with the deadly
+skill of his calling.  He noted that Larralde was poor and
+ambitious--qualities that often raise the devil in a human heart
+when fate brings them there together.  He was not deceived by the
+picturesque manner of Julia's lover, but knew exactly how much was
+assumed of that air of simple vanity to which Larralde usually
+treated strangers.  He probably gauged at one glance the depth of
+the man's power for good or ill, his sincerity, his possible
+usefulness.  In the hands of Sir John Pleydell, Larralde was the
+merest tool.
+
+They sat until long after midnight, and before they parted Sir John
+Pleydell handed to his companion a roll of notes, which he counted
+carefully and Larralde accepted with a grand air of condescension
+and indifference.
+
+'You know my address,' said Sir John, with a slight suggestion of
+masterfulness which had not been noticeable before the money changed
+hands.  'I shall remain at the same hotel.'
+
+Larralde nodded his head.
+
+'I shall remember it,' he said.  'And now I go to take a few hours'
+rest.  I have had a hard day, and am as tired as a shepherd's dog.'
+
+And indeed the day had been busy enough.  Senor Larralde hummed an
+air between his teeth as he struggled against the fierce wind.
+
+Before dawn the gale subsided, and daylight broke with a clear, calm
+freshness over the city, where sleep had been almost unknown during
+the night.  The sun had not yet risen when Larralde took the road on
+his poor, thin black horse.  He rode through the streets, still
+littered with the debris of fallen chimneys, slates, and shutters,
+with his head up and his mind so full of the great schemes which
+gave him no rest, that he never saw Concepcion Vara going to market
+with a basket on his arm and a cigarette, unlighted, between his
+lips.  Concepcion turned and watched the horseman, shrugged his
+shoulders, and quietly followed until the streets were left behind
+and there could no longer be any doubt that Larralde was bound for
+Toledo.
+
+Thither, indeed, he journeyed throughout the day with a
+leisureliness begotten of the desire to enter the ancient city after
+nightfall only.  Toledo was at this time the smouldering hotbed of
+those political intrigues which some years later burst into flame,
+and resulted finally in the expulsion of the Bourbons from the
+throne of Spain.  Larralde was sufficiently dangerous to require
+watching, and, like many of his kind, considered himself of a
+greater importance than his enemies were pleased to attach to him.
+The city of Toledo is, as many know, almost surrounded by the rapid
+Tagus, and entrance to its narrow confine is only to be gained by
+two gates.  To pass either of these barriers in open day would be to
+court a publicity singularly undesirable at this time, for Esteban
+Larralde was slipping down the social slope, which gradual progress
+is the hardest to arrest.  If one is mounting there are plenty to
+help him--those from above seeking to make unto themselves friends
+of the mammon of unrighteousness; those from below hoping to tread
+in the footsteps he may leave.  Each step, however, of the upward
+progress has to be gained at the expense of another.  But on the
+descent there are none to stay and many to push behind, while those
+in front make room readily enough.  Larralde had for the first time
+accepted a direct monetary reward for his services.  That this had
+been offered and accepted in a polite Spanish manner as an advance
+of expenses to be incurred was, of course, only natural under the
+circumstances, but the fact remained that Esteban Larralde was no
+longer a picturesque conspirator, serving a failing cause with that
+devotion which can only be repaid later by high honours, and a post
+carrying with it emoluments of proportionate value.  He had, in
+fact, been paid in advance; which is the surest sign of distrust
+upon one side or the other.
+
+The Barennas had been established at their house in Toledo some
+weeks, and, for Julia, life had been dull enough.  She had hastened
+northward, knowing well that her lover's intrigues must necessarily
+bring him to the neighbourhood of the capital--perhaps to Toledo
+itself.  Larralde had, however, hitherto failed to come near her,
+and the news of the day reported an increasing depression in the
+ranks of the Carlists.  Indeed, that cause seemed now at such a low
+ebb that the franker mercenaries were daily drifting away to more
+promising scenes of warfare, while some cynically accepted
+commissions in the army of Espartero.
+
+'I always said that Don Carlos would fail if he employed such men--
+as--well, as he does,' Madame Barenna took more than one opportunity
+of observing at this time, and her emphatic fan rapped the personal
+application home.
+
+She had just made this remark for perhaps the sixth time one evening
+when the door of the patio where she and Julia sat was thrown open,
+and Larralde--the person indirectly referred to--came towards the
+ladies.  He was not afraid of Madame Barenna, and his tired face
+lightened visibly at the sight of Julia.  Concha was right.
+According to his lights Larralde loved Julia.  She, who knew every
+expression, noted the look in his face, and her heart leapt within
+her breast.  She had long secretly rejoiced over the failure of the
+Carlist cause.  Such, messieurs, is the ambition of a woman for the
+man she really loves.
+
+Senora Barenna rose and held out her hand with a beaming smile.  She
+was rather bored that evening, and it was pleasant to imagine
+herself in the midst of great political intrigues.
+
+'We were wondering if you would come,' she said.
+
+'I am here--there--everywhere--but I always come back to the Casa
+Barenna,' he said gallantly.
+
+'You look tired,' said Julia quietly.  'Where are you from?'
+
+'At the moment I am from Madrid.  The city has been wrecked by a
+tornado--I myself almost perished.'
+
+He paused, shrugged his shoulders.
+
+'What will you?' he added carelessly.  'What is life--a single life-
+-in Spain to-day?'
+
+Julia winced.  It is marvellous how an intelligent woman may blind
+herself into absolute belief in one man.  Senora Barenna shuddered.
+
+'Blessed Heaven!' she whispered.  'Why does not someone do
+something?'
+
+'One does one's best,' answered Larralde, with his hand at his
+moustache.
+
+'But yes!' said Madame eagerly.  She had a shrewd common sense, as
+many apparently foolish women have, and probably put the right value
+on Senor Larralde's endeavours.  Father Concha and the General were,
+however, far away, and all women are time-servers.
+
+Larralde spoke of general news, and when he at length proposed to
+Julia that they should take a 'paseo' in the garden the elder lady
+made no objection.  For some moments Julia was quite happy.  She had
+schooled herself into a sort of contentment in the hope that her
+turn would come when ambition failed.  Perhaps this moment had
+arrived.  At all events, Larralde acquitted himself well, and seemed
+sincere enough in his joy at seeing her again.
+
+'Do you love me?' he asked suddenly.
+
+Julia gave a little laugh.  Heaven has been opened by such a laugh
+ere now, and men have seen for a moment the brightness of it.
+
+'Enough to leave Spain for ever and live in another country?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'Enough to risk something now for my sake?'
+
+'Enough to risk everything,' she answered.
+
+'I have tried to gain a great position for you,' went on Larralde,
+'and fortune has been against me.  I have failed.  The Carlist cause
+is dead, Julia.  Our chief has failed us--that is the truth of it.
+We set him up as a king, but unless we hold him upright he falls.
+He is a man of straw.  We are making one last effort, as you know,
+but it is a dangerous one, and we have had misfortunes.  This
+pestilential Englishman!  No one may say how much he knows.  He has
+had the letter too long in his possession for our safety.  But I
+have outwitted him this time.'
+
+Larralde paused, and drew from his pocket the letter in the pink
+envelope--somewhat soiled by its passage through the hands of
+Colonel Monreal's servant.
+
+'It requires two more signatures and will then be complete,' said
+the upholder of Don Carlos.  'We shall then make our "coup," but we
+cannot move while Conyngham remains in Spain.  It would never do for
+me to--well, to get shot at this moment.'
+
+Julia breathed hard.
+
+'And that is what Mr. Conyngham is endeavouring to bring about.  In
+the first place he wants this letter to show to Estella Vincente--
+some foolish romance.  In the second place he hates me, and seeks
+promotion in the Royalist ranks.  These Englishmen are unscrupulous.
+He tried to take my life--only last night.  I bear him no ill-
+feeling.  A la guerre comme a la guerre.  My only intention is to
+get him quietly out of Spain.  It can be managed easily enough.
+Will you help me--to save my own life?'
+
+'Yes,' answered Julia.
+
+'I want you to write a letter to Conyngham saying that you are tired
+of political intrigue.'
+
+'Heaven knows that would be true enough,' put in Julia.
+
+'And that you will give him the letter he desires on the condition
+that he promises to show it to no one but Estella Vincente and
+return it to you.  That you will also swear that it is the identical
+letter that he handed to you in the General's garden at Ronda.  If
+Conyngham agrees, he must meet you at the back of the Church of
+Santo Tome in the Calle Pedro Martir here, in Toledo, next Monday
+evening at seven o'clock.  Will you write this letter, Julia?'
+
+'And Estella Vincente?' inquired Julia.
+
+'She will forget him in a week,' laughed Larralde.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.  CONCEPCION TAKES THE ROAD.
+
+
+
+'Who knows? the man is proven by the hour.'
+
+After the great storm came a calm almost as startling.  It seemed
+indeed as if Nature stood abashed and silent before the results of
+her sudden rage.  Day after day the sun glared down from a cloudless
+sky, and all Castile was burnt brown as a desert.  In the streets of
+Madrid there arose a hot dust and the subtle odour of warm earth
+that rarely meets the nostrils in England.  It savoured of India and
+other sun-steeped lands where water is too precious to throw upon
+the roads.
+
+Those who could, remained indoors or in their shady patios until the
+heat of the day was past; and such as worked in the open lay
+unchallenged in the shade from midday till three o'clock.  During
+those days military operations were almost suspended, although the
+heads of departments were busy enough in their offices.  The
+confusion of war, it seemed, was past, and the sore-needed peace was
+immediately turned to good account.  The army of the Queen Regent
+was indeed in an almost wrecked condition, and among the field
+officers jealousy and backbiting, which had smouldered through the
+war-time, broke out openly.  General Vincente was rarely at home,
+and Estella passed this time in quiet seclusion.  Coming as she did
+from Andalusia, she was accustomed to an even greater heat, and knew
+how to avoid the discomfort of it.
+
+She was sitting one afternoon, with open windows and closed
+jalousies, during the time of the siesta, when the servant announced
+Father Concha.
+
+The old priest came into the room wiping his brow with simple ill
+manners.
+
+'You have been hurrying and have no regard for the sun,' said
+Estella.
+
+'You need not find shelter for an old ox,' replied Concha, seating
+himself.  'It is the young ones that expose themselves
+unnecessarily.'
+
+Estella glanced at him sharply but said nothing.  He sat,
+handkerchief in hand, and stared at a shaft of sunlight that lay
+across the floor from a gap in the jalousies.  From the street under
+the windows came the distant sounds of traffic and the cries of the
+vendors of water, fruit, and newspapers.
+
+Father Concha looked puzzled, and seemed to be seeking his way out
+of a difficulty.  Estella sat back in her chair, half hidden by her
+slow-waving, black fan.  There is no pride so difficult as that
+which is unconscious of its own existence, no heart so hard to touch
+as that which has thrown its stake and asks neither sympathy nor
+admiration from the outside world.  Concha glanced at Estella and
+wondered if he had been mistaken.  There was in the old man's heart,
+as indeed there is in nearly all human hearts, a thwarted instinct.
+How many are there with maternal instincts who have no children; how
+many a poet has been lost by the crying need of hungry mouths!  It
+was a thwarted instinct that made the old priest busy himself with
+the affairs of other people, and always of young people.
+
+'I came hoping to see your father,' he said at length, blandly
+untruthful.  'I have just seen Conyngham, in whom we are all
+interested, I think.  His lack of caution is singular.  I have been
+trying to persuade him not to do something most rash and imprudent.
+You remember the incident in your garden at Ronda--a letter which he
+gave to Julia?'
+
+'Yes,' answered Estella quietly, 'I remember.'
+
+'For some reason which he did not explain I understand that he is
+desirous of regaining possession of that letter, and now Julia,
+writing from Toledo, tells him that she will give it to him if he
+will go there and fetch it.  The Toledo road, as you will remember,
+is hardly to be recommended to Mr. Conyngham.'
+
+'But Julia wishes him no harm,' said Estella.
+
+'My child, rarely trust a political man and never a political woman.
+If Julia wished him to have the letter she could have sent it to him
+by post.  But Conyngham, who is all eagerness, must needs refuse to
+listen to any argument, and starts this afternoon for Toledo--alone.
+He has not even his servant Concepcion Vara, who has suddenly
+disappeared, and a woman who claims to be the scoundrel's wife from
+Algeciras has been making inquiries at Conyngham's lodging.  A hen's
+eyes are where her eggs lie.  I offered to go to Toledo with
+Conyngham, but he laughed at me for a useless old priest, and said
+that the saddle would gall me.'
+
+He paused, looking at her beneath his shaggy brows, knowing, as he
+had always known, that this was a woman beyond his reach--cleverer,
+braver, of a higher mind than her sisters--one to whom he might
+perchance tender some small assistance, but nothing better.  For
+women are wiser in their generation than men, and usually know
+better what is for their own happiness.  Estella returned his glance
+with steady eyes.
+
+'He has gone,' said Concha.  'I have not been sent to tell you that
+he is going.'
+
+'I did not think that you had,' she answered.
+
+'Conyngham has enemies in this country,' continued the priest, 'and
+despises them--a mistake to which his countrymen are singularly
+liable.  He has gone off on this foolish quest without preparation
+or precaution.  Toledo is, as you know, a hotbed of intrigue and
+dissatisfaction.  All the malcontents in Spain congregate there, and
+Conyngham would do well to avoid their company.  Who lies down with
+dogs gets up with fleas.'
+
+He paused, tapping his snuffbox, and at that moment the door opened
+to admit General Vincente.
+
+'Oh! the Padre!' cried the cheerful soldier.  'But what a sun, eh?
+It is cool here, however, and Estella's room is always a quiet one.'
+
+He touched her cheek affectionately, and drew forward a low chair
+wherein he sat, carefully disposing of the sword that always seemed
+too large for him.
+
+'And what news has the Padre?' he asked, daintily touching his brow
+with his pocket-handkerchief.
+
+'Bad,' growled Concha, and then told his tale over again in a
+briefer, blunter manner.  'It all arises,' he concluded, 'from my
+pestilential habit of interfering in the affairs of other people.'
+
+'No,' said General Vincente; 'it arises from Conyngham's
+pestilential habit of acquiring friends wherever he goes.'
+
+The door was opened again, and a servant entered.
+
+'Excellency,' he said, 'a man called Concepcion Vara, who desires a
+moment.'
+
+'What did I tell you?' said the General to Concha.  'Another of
+Conyngham's friends.  Spain is full of them.  Let Concepcion Vara
+come to this room.'
+
+The servant looked slightly surprised, and retired.  If, however,
+this manner of reception was unusual, Concepcion was too finished a
+man of the world to betray either surprise or embarrassment.  By
+good fortune he happened to be wearing a coat.  His flowing
+unstarched shirt was as usual spotless, he wore a flower in the
+ribbon of the hat carried jauntily in his hand, and about his person
+in the form of handkerchief and faja were those touches of bright
+colour by means of which he so irresistibly attracted the eye of the
+fair.
+
+'Excellency,' he murmured, bowing on the threshold; 'Reverendo,'
+with one step forward and a respectful semi-religious inclination of
+the head towards Concha; 'Senorita!'  The ceremony here concluded
+with a profound obeisance to Estella full of gallantry and grave
+admiration.  Then he stood upright, and indicated by a pleasant
+smile that no one need feel embarrassed, that in fact this meeting
+was most opportune.
+
+'A matter of urgency, Excellency,' he said confidentially to
+Vincente.  'I have reason to suspect that one of my friends--in
+fact, the Senor Conyngham, with whom I am at the moment in service--
+happens to be in danger.'
+
+'Ah! what makes you suspect that, my friend?'
+
+Concepcion waved his hand lightly, as if indicating that the news
+had been brought to him by the birds of the air.
+
+'When one goes into the cafe,' he said, 'one is not always so
+particular--one associates with those who happen to be there--
+muleteers, diligencia-drivers, bull-fighters, all and sundry, even
+contrabandistas.'
+
+He made this last admission with a face full of pious toleration,
+and Father Concha laughed grimly.
+
+'That is true, my friend,' said the General, hastening to cover the
+priest's little lapse of good manners, 'and from these gentlemen--
+honest enough in their way, no doubt--you have learnt--?'
+
+'That the Senor Conyngham has enemies in Spain.'
+
+'So I understand; but he has also friends?'
+
+'He has one,' said Vara, taking up a fine, picturesque attitude,
+with his right hand at his waist where the deadly knife was
+concealed in the rolls of his faja.
+
+'Then he is fortunate,' said the General, with his most winning
+smile; 'why do you come to me, my friend.'
+
+'I require two men,' answered Concepcion airily, 'that is all.'
+
+'Ah!  What sort of men.  Guardias Civiles?'
+
+'The Holy Saints forbid!  Honest soldiers, if it please your
+Excellency.  The Guardia Civil!  See you, Excellency.'
+
+He paused, shaking his outspread hand from side to side, palm
+downwards, fingers apart, as if describing a low level of humanity.
+
+'A brutal set of men,' he continued; 'with the finger ever on the
+trigger and the rifle ever loaded.  Pam! and a life is taken--many
+of my friends--at least, many persons I have met--in the cafe!'
+
+'It is better to give him his two men,' put in Father Concha, in his
+atrocious English, speaking to the General.  'The man is honest in
+his love of Conyngham, if in nothing else.'
+
+'And if I accord you these two men, my friend,' said the General,
+from whose face Estella's eyes had never moved, 'will you undertake
+that Mr. Conyngham comes to no harm?'
+
+'I will arrange it,' replied Concepcion, with an easy shrug of the
+shoulders.  'I will arrange it, never fear.'
+
+'You shall have two men,' said General Vincente, drawing a writing-
+case towards himself and proceeding to write the necessary order.
+'Men who are known to me personally.  You can rely upon them at all
+times.'
+
+'Since they are friends of his Excellency's,' interrupted Concepcion
+with much condescension, 'that suffices.'
+
+'He will require money,' said Estella in English--her eyes bright
+and her cheeks flushed.  For she came of a fighting race, and her
+repose of manner, the dignity which sat rather strangely on her slim
+young shoulders, were only signs of that self-control which had been
+handed down to her through the ages.
+
+The General nodded as he wrote.
+
+'Take that to headquarters,' he said, handing the papers to
+Concepcion, 'and in less than half an hour your men will be ready.
+Mr. Conyngham is a friend of mine, as you know, and any expenses
+incurred on his behalf will be defrayed by myself--'
+
+Concepcion held up his hand.
+
+'It is unnecessary, Excellency,' he said.  'At present Mr. Conyngham
+has funds.  Only yesterday he gave me money.  He liquidated my
+little account.  It has always been a jest between us--that little
+account.'
+
+He laughed pleasantly, and moved towards the door.
+
+'Vara,' said Father Concha.
+
+'Yes, reverendo.'
+
+'If I meet your wife in Madrid, what shall I say to her?'
+
+Concepcion turned and looked into the smiling face of the old
+priest.
+
+'In Madrid, reverendo?  How can you think of such a thing?  My wife
+lives in Algeciras, and at times, see you--' he stopped, casting his
+eyes up to the ceiling and fetching an exaggerated sigh, 'at times
+my heart aches.  But now I must get to the saddle.  What a thing is
+Duty, reverendo!  Duty!  God be with your Excellencies.'
+
+And he hurried out of the room.
+
+'If you would make a thief honest, trust him,' said Concha, when the
+door was closed.
+
+In less than an hour Concepcion was on the road accompanied by two
+troopers, who were ready enough to travel in company with a man of
+his reputation.  For in Spain, if one cannot be a bull-fighter it is
+good to be a smuggler.  At sunset the great heat culminated in a
+thunderstorm, which drew a veil of heavy cloud across the sky, and
+night fell before its time.
+
+The horsemen had covered two-thirds of their journey when he whom
+they followed came in sight of the lights of Toledo, set upon a rock
+like the jewels in a lady's ring, and almost surrounded by the swift
+Tagus.  Conyngham's horse was tired, and stumbled more than once on
+the hill by which the traveller descends to the great bridge and the
+gate that Wamba built thirteen hundred years ago.
+
+Through this gate he passed into the city, which was a city of the
+dead, with its hundred ruined churches, its empty palaces and silent
+streets.  Ichabod is written large over all these tokens of a bygone
+glory; where the Jews flying from Jerusalem first set foot; where
+the Moor reigned unmolested for nearly four hundred years; where the
+Goth and the Roman and the great Spaniard of the middle ages have
+trod on each other's heels.  Truly these worn stones have seen the
+greatness of the greatest nations of the world.
+
+A single lamp hung slowly swinging in the arch of Wamba's Gate, and
+the streets were but ill lighted with an oil lantern at an
+occasional corner.  Conyngham had been in Toledo before, and knew
+his way to the inn under the shadow of the great Alcazar, now burnt
+and ruined.  Here he left his horse; for the streets of Toledo are
+so narrow and tortuous, so ill-paved and steep, that wheel traffic
+is almost unknown, while a horse can with difficulty keep his feet
+on the rounded cobble stones.  In this city men go about their
+business on foot, which makes the streets as silent as the deserted
+houses.
+
+Julia had selected a spot which was easy enough to find, and
+Conyngham, having supped, made his way thither without asking for
+directions.
+
+'It is at all events worth trying,' he said to himself, 'and she can
+scarcely have forgotten that I saved her life on the Garonne as well
+as at Ronda.'
+
+But there is often in a woman's life one man who can make her forget
+all.  The streets were deserted, for it was a cold night, and the
+cafes were carefully closed against the damp air.  No one stirred in
+the Calle Pedro Martir, and Conyngham peered into the shadow of the
+high wall of the Church of San Tome in vain.  Then he heard the soft
+tread of muffled feet, and turning on his heel realised Julia's
+treachery in a flash of thought.  He charged to meet the charge of
+his assailants.  Two of them went down like felled trees, but there
+were others--four others--who fell on him silently like hounds upon
+a fox, and in a few moments all was quiet again in the Calle Pedro
+Martir.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.  ON THE TALAVERA ROAD.
+
+
+
+'Les barrieres servent a indiquer ou il faut passer.'
+
+An hour's ride to the west of Toledo, on the road to Torrijos and
+Talavera, and in the immediate neighbourhood of the village of
+Galvez, two men sat in the shadow of a great rock, and played cards.
+They played quietly and without vociferation, illustrating the
+advantages of a minute coinage.  They had gambled with varying
+fortune since the hour of the siesta, and a sprinkling of cigarette
+ends on the bare rocks around them testified to the indulgence in a
+kindred vice.
+
+The elder of the two men glanced from time to time over his
+shoulder, and down towards the dusty high road which lay across the
+arid plain beneath them like a tape.  The country here is barren and
+stone-ridden, but to the west, where Torrijos gleamed whitely on the
+plain, the earth was green with lush corn and heavy blades of maize,
+now springing into ear.  Where the two soldiers sat the herbage was
+scant and of an aromatic scent, as it mostly is in hot countries and
+in rocky places.  That these men belonged to a mounted branch of the
+service was evident from their equipment, and notably from the great
+rusty spurs at their heels.  They were clad in cotton--dusky white
+breeches, dusky blue tunics--a sort of undress, tempered by the
+vicissitudes of a long war and the laxity of discipline engendered
+by political trouble at home.
+
+They had left their horses in the stable of a venta, hidden among
+ilex trees by the roadside, and had clambered to this point of
+vantage above the highway, to pass the afternoon after the manner of
+their race.  For the Spaniard will be found playing cards amid the
+wreck of the world and in the intervals between the stupendous
+events of the last day.
+
+'He comes,' said the elder man at length, as he leisurely shuffled
+the greasy cards.  'I hear his horse's hoofs.'
+
+And, indeed, the great silence which seems to brood over the uplands
+of Spain--the silence, as it were, of an historic past and a dead
+present--was broken by the distant regular beat of hoofs.
+
+The trooper who had spoken was a bullet-headed Castilian, with
+square jaw and close-set eyes.  His companion, a younger man, merely
+nodded his head, and studied the cards which had just been dealt to
+him.  The game progressed, and Concepcion Vara, on the Toledo road,
+approached at a steady trot.  This man showed to greater advantage
+on horseback and beneath God's open sky than in the streets of a
+city.  Here, in the open and among the mountains, he held his head
+erect and faced the world, ready to hold his own against it.  In the
+streets he wore a furtive air, and glanced from left to right
+fearing recognition.
+
+He now took his tired horse to the stable of the little venta,
+where, with his usual gallantry, he assisted a hideous old hag to
+find a place in the stalls.  While uttering a gay compliment, he
+deftly secured for his mount a feed of corn which was much in excess
+of that usually provided for the money.
+
+'Ah!' he said, as he tipped the measure; 'I can always tell when a
+woman has been pretty; but with you, senora, no such knowledge is
+required.  You will have your beauty for many years yet.'
+
+Thus Vara and his horse fared ever well upon the road.  He lingered
+at the stable door, knowing perhaps that corn poured into the manger
+may yet find its way back to the bin, and then turned his steps
+towards the mountain.
+
+The cards were still falling with a whispering sound upon the rock
+selected as a table, and, with the spirit of a true sportsman,
+Concepcion waited until the hand was played out before imparting his
+news.
+
+'It is well,' he said at length.  'A carriage has been ordered from
+a friend of mine in Toledo to take the road to-night to Talavera--
+and Talavera is on the way to Lisbon.  What did I tell you?'
+
+The two soldiers nodded.  One was counting his gains, which amounted
+to almost threepence.  The loser wore a brave air of indifference,
+as behoved a reckless soldier taking loss or gain in a Spartan
+spirit.
+
+'There will be six men,' continued Concepcion.  'Two on horseback,
+two on the box, two inside the carriage with their prisoner--my
+friend.'
+
+'Ah!' said the younger soldier thoughtfully.
+
+Concepcion looked at him.
+
+'What have you in your mind?' he asked.
+
+'I was wondering how three men could best kill six.'
+
+'Out of six,' said the older man, 'there is always one who runs
+away.  I have found it so in my experience.'
+
+'And of five there is always one who cannot use his knife,' added
+Concepcion.
+
+Still the younger soldier, who had medals all across his chest,
+shook his head.
+
+'I am afraid,' he said.  'I am always afraid before I fight.'
+
+Concepcion looked at the man whom General Vincente had selected from
+a brigade of tried soldiers, and gave a little upward jerk of the
+head.
+
+'With me,' he said, 'it is afterwards--when all is over.  Then my
+hand shakes, and the wet trickles down my face.'
+
+He laughed, and spread out his hands.
+
+'And yet,' he said gaily, 'it is the best game of all--is it not
+so?'
+
+The troopers shrugged their shoulders.  One may have too much of
+even the best game.
+
+'The carriage is ordered for eight o'clock,' continued the practical
+Concepcion, rolling a cigarette, which he placed behind his ear
+where a clerk would carry his pen.  'Those who take the road when
+the night-birds come abroad have something to hide.  We will see
+what they have in their carriage, eh?  The horses are hired for the
+journey to Galvez, where a relay is doubtless ordered.  It will be a
+fine night for a journey.  There is a half moon, which is better
+than the full for those who use the knife; but the Galvez horses
+will not be required, I think.'
+
+The younger soldier, upon whose shoulder gleamed the stars of a
+rapid promotion, looked up to the sky, where a few fleecy clouds
+were beginning to gather above the setting sun like sheep about a
+gate.
+
+'A half moon for the knife and a full moon for firearms,' he said.
+
+'Yes; and they will shoot quick enough if we give them the chance,'
+said Concepcion.  'They are Carlists!  There is a river between this
+and Galvez--a little stream such as we have in Andalusia--so small
+that there is only a ford and no bridge.  The bed of the river is
+soft; the horses will stop, or, at all events, must go at the
+walking pace.  Across the stream are a few trees' (he paused,
+illustrating his description with rapid gestures and an imaginary
+diagram drawn upon the rock with the forefinger), 'ilex, and here,
+to the left, some pines.  The stream runs thus from north-east to
+south-west.  This bank is high, and over here are low-lying meadows
+where pigs feed.'
+
+He looked up, and the two soldiers nodded.  The position lay before
+them like a bird's-eye view; and Concepcion, in whom Spain had
+perhaps lost a guerilla general, had only set eyes on the spot once
+as he rode past it.
+
+'This matter is best settled on foot; is it not so?  We cross the
+stream, and tie our horses to the pine trees.  I will recross the
+water, and come back to meet the carriage at the top of the hill--
+here.  The horsemen will be in advance.  We will allow them to cross
+the stream.  The horses will come out of the water slowly, or I know
+nothing of horses.  As they step up the incline, you take their
+riders, and remember to give them the chance of running away.  In
+midstream I will attack the two on the box, pulling him who is not
+driving into the water by his legs, and giving him the blade in the
+right shoulder above the lung.  He will think himself dead, but
+should recover.  Then you must join me.  We shall be three to three,
+unless the Englishman's hands are loose; then we shall be four to
+three, and need do no man any injury.  The Englishman is as strong
+as two, and quick with it, as big men rarely are.'
+
+'Do you take a hand?' asked the Castilian, fingering the cards.
+
+'No; I have affairs.  Continue your game.'
+
+So the sun went down, and the two soldiers continued their game,
+while Concepcion sat beside them and slowly, lovingly sharpened his
+knife on a piece of slate which he carried in his pocket for the
+purpose.
+
+After sunset there usually arises a cold breeze which blows across
+the table-lands of Castile quite gently and unobtrusively.  A local
+proverb says of this wind that it will extinguish a man but not a
+candle.  When this arose, the three men descended the mountain-side
+and sat down to a simple if highly-flavoured meal provided by the
+ancient mistress of the venta.  At half-past eight, when there
+remained nothing of the day but a faint greenish light in the
+western sky, the little party mounted their horses and rode away
+towards Galvez.
+
+''Tis better,' said Concepcion, with a meaning and gallant bow to
+the hostess.  ''Tis for my peace of mind.  I am but a man.'
+
+Then he haggled over the price of the supper.
+
+They rode forward to the ford described by Concepcion, and there
+made their preparations--carefully and coolly--as men recognising
+the odds against them.  The half moon was just rising as the
+soldiers splashed through the water leading Concepcion's horse, he
+remaining on the Toledo side of the river.
+
+'The saints protect us!' said the nervous soldier, and his hand
+shook on the bridle.  His companion smiled at the recollection of
+former fights passed through together.  It is well, in love and war,
+to beware of him who says he is afraid.
+
+Shortly after nine o'clock the silence of that deserted plain was
+broken by a distant murmur, which presently shaped itself into the
+beat of horses' feet.  To this was added soon the rumble of wheels.
+The elder soldier put a whole cigarette into his mouth and chewed
+it.  The younger man made no movement now.  They crouched low at
+their posts one on each side of the ford.  Concepcion was across the
+river, but they could not see him.  In Andalusia they say that a
+contrabandist can conceal himself behind half a brick.
+
+The two riders were well in front of the carriage, and, as had been
+foreseen, the horses lingered on the rise of the bank as if
+reluctant to leave the water without having tasted it.  In a moment
+the younger soldier had his man out of the saddle, raising his own
+knee sharply as the man fell, so that the falling head and the
+lifted knee came into deadly contact.  It was a trick well known to
+the trooper, who let the insensible form roll to the ground, and
+immediately darted down the bank to the stream.  The other soldier
+was chasing his opponent up the hill, shelling him, as he rode away,
+with oaths and stones.
+
+In mid-stream the clumsy travelling carriage had come to a
+standstill.  The driver on the box, having cast down his reins, was
+engaged in imploring the assistance of a black-letter saint, upon
+which assistance he did not hesitate to put a price, in candles.
+There was a scurrying in the water, which was about two feet deep,
+where Concepcion was settling accounts with the man who had been
+seated by the driver's side.  A half-choked scream of pain appeared
+to indicate that Concepcion had found the spot he sought, above the
+right lung, and that amiable smuggler now rose dripping from the
+flood and hurried to the carriage.
+
+'Conyngham!' he shouted, laying aside that ceremony upon which he
+never set great store.
+
+'Yes,' answered a voice from within.  'Is that you, Concepcion?'
+
+'Of course; throw them out.'
+
+'But the door is locked,' answered Conyngham in a muffled voice.
+And the carriage began to rock and crack upon its springs, as if an
+earthquake were taking place inside it.
+
+'The window is good enough for such rubbish,' said Concepcion.  As
+he spoke a man, violently propelled from within, came head foremost,
+and most blasphemously vociferous, into Concepcion's arms, who
+immediately, and with the rapidity of a terrier, had him by the
+throat and forced him under water.
+
+'You have hold of my leg--you, on the other side,' shouted Conyngham
+from the turmoil within.
+
+'A thousand pardons, senor!' said the soldier, and took a new grip
+of another limb.
+
+Concepcion, holding his man under water, heard the sharp crack of
+another head upon the soldier's kneecap, and knew that all was well.
+
+'That is all?' he inquired.
+
+'That is all,' replied the soldier, who did not seem at all nervous
+now.  'And we have killed no one.'
+
+'Put a knife into that son of a mule who prays upon the box there,'
+said Concepcion judicially.  'This is no time for prayer.  Just
+where the neck joins the shoulder--that is a good place.'
+
+And a sudden silence reigned upon the box.
+
+'Pull the carriage to the bank,' commanded Concepcion.  'There is no
+need for the English Excellency to wet his feet.  He might catch a
+cold.'
+
+They all made their way to the bank, where, in the dim moonlight,
+one man sat nursing his shoulder while another lay, at length, quite
+still, upon the pebbles.
+
+The young soldier laid a second victim to the same deadly trick
+beside him, while Concepcion patted his foe kindly on the back.
+
+'It is well,' he said, 'you have swallowed water.  You will be sick,
+and then you will be well.  But if you move from that spot I will
+let the water out another way.'
+
+And, laughing pleasantly at this delicate display of humour, he
+turned to help Conyngham, who was clambering out of the carriage
+window.
+
+'Whom have you with you?' asked Conyngham.
+
+'Two honest soldiers of General Vincente's division.  You see,
+senor, you have good friends.'
+
+'Yes, I see that.'
+
+'One of them,' said Concepcion meaningly, 'is at Toledo at the
+moment, journeying after you.
+
+'Ah!'
+
+'The Senor Pleydell.'
+
+'Then we will go back to meet him.'
+
+'I thought so,' said Concepcion.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.  A CROSS-EXAMINATION.
+
+
+
+'Wherein I am false I am honest--not true to be true.'
+
+'I will sing you a contrabandista song,' said Concepcion, as the
+party rode towards Toledo in the moonlight.  'The song we--they sing
+when the venture has been successful.  You may hear it any dark
+night in the streets of Gaucin.'
+
+'Sing,' said the older soldier, 'if it is in your lungs.  For us--we
+prefer to travel silent.'
+
+Conyngham, mounted on the horse from which the Carlist rider had
+been dragged unceremoniously enough, rode a few paces in front.  The
+carriage had been left behind at the venta, where no questions were
+asked, and the injured men revived readily enough.
+
+'It is well,' answered Concepcion, in no way abashed.  'I will sing.
+In Andalusia we can all sing.  The pigs sing better there than the
+men of Castile.'
+
+It was after midnight when the party rode past the Church of the
+Cristo de la Vega, and faced the long hill that leads to the gate
+Del Cambron.  Above them towered the city of Toledo--silent and
+dreamlike.  Concepcion had ceased singing now, and the hard
+breathing of the horses alone broke the silence.  The Tagus,
+emerging here from rocky fastness, flowed noiselessly away to the
+west--a gleaming ribbon laid across the breast of the night.  In the
+summer it is no uncommon thing for travellers to take the road by
+night in Spain, and although many doubtless heard the clatter of
+horses' feet on the polished cobble stones of the city, none rose
+from bed to watch the horsemen pass.
+
+At that time Toledo possessed, and indeed to the present day can
+boast of, but one good inn--a picturesque old house in the Plaza de
+Zocodover, overhung by the mighty Alcazar.  Here Cervantes must have
+eaten and Lazarillo de Tormes no doubt caroused.  Here those
+melancholy men and mighty humorists must have delighted the idler by
+their talk.  Concepcion soon aroused the sleeping porter, and the
+great doors being thrown open, the party passed into the courtyard
+without quitting the saddle.
+
+'It is,' said Concepcion, 'an English Excellency and his suite.'
+
+'We have another such in the house,' answered the sleepy doorkeeper,
+'though he travels with but one servant.'
+
+'We know that, my friend, which is the reason why we patronise your
+dog-hole of an inn.  See that the two Excellencies breakfast
+together at a table apart in the morning.'
+
+'You will have matters to speak about with the Senor Pleydell in the
+morning,' said Concepcion, as he unpacked Conyngham's luggage a few
+minutes later.
+
+'Yes, I should like to speak to Senor Pleydell.'
+
+'And I,' said Concepcion, turning round with a brush in his hand,
+'should like a moment's conversation with Senor Larralde.'
+
+'Ah!'
+
+'Yes, Excellency, he is in this matter too.  But the Senor Larralde
+is so modest--so modest!  He always remains in the background.'
+
+In the tents of Kedar men sleep as sound as those who lie on soft
+pillows, and Conyngham was late astir the next morning.  Sir John
+Pleydell was, it transpired, already at his breakfast, and had
+ordered his carriage for an early hour to take the road to Talavera.
+It was thus evident that Sir John knew nothing of the arrival of his
+fellow-countryman at midnight.
+
+The cold face of the great lawyer wore a look of satisfaction as he
+sat at a small table in the patio of the hotel and drank his coffee.
+Conyngham watched him for a moment from the balcony of the
+courtyard, himself unseen, while Concepcion stood within his
+master's bedroom, and rubbed his brown hands together in
+anticipation of a dramatic moment.  Conyngham passed down the stone
+steps and crossed the patio with a gay smile.  Sir John recognised
+him as he emerged from the darkness of the stairway, but his face
+betrayed neither surprise nor fear.  There was a look in the grey
+eyes, however, that seemed to betoken doubt.  Such a look a man
+might wear who had long travelled with assurance upon a road which
+he took to be the right one, and then at a turning found himself in
+a strange country with no landmark to guide him.
+
+Sir John Pleydell had always outwitted his fellows.  He had, in
+fact, been what is called a successful man--a little cleverer, a
+little more cunning than those around him.
+
+He looked up now at Conyngham, who was drawing forward a chair to
+the neighbouring table, and the cold eye, which had been the dread
+of many a criminal, wavered.
+
+'The waiter has set my breakfast near to yours,' said Conyngham,
+unconcernedly seating himself.
+
+And Concepcion in the balcony above cursed the English for a cold-
+blooded race.  This was not the sort of meeting he had anticipated.
+He could throw a knife very prettily, and gave a short sigh of
+regret as he turned to his peaceful duties.
+
+Conyngham examined the simple fare provided for him, and then looked
+towards his companion with that cheerfulness which is too rare in
+this world; for it is born of a great courage, and outward
+circumstances cannot affect it.  Sir John Pleydell had lost all
+interest in his meal, and was looking keenly at Conyngham--
+dissecting, as it were, his face, probing his mind, searching
+through the outward manner of the man, and running helplessly
+against a motive which he failed to understand.
+
+'I have in my long experience found that all men may be divided into
+two classes,' he said acidly.
+
+'Fools and knaves?' suggested Conyngham.
+
+'You have practised at the Bar,' parenthetically.
+
+Conyngham shrugged his shoulders.
+
+'Unsuccessfully--anybody can do that.'
+
+'Which are you--a fool or a knave?' asked Sir John.
+
+And suddenly Conyngham pitied him.  For no man is proof against the
+quick sense of pathos aroused by the sight of man, or dumb animal,
+baffled.  At the end of his life Sir John had engaged upon the
+greatest quest of it--an unworthy quest, no doubt, but his heart was
+in it--and he was an old man, though be bore his years well enough.
+
+'Perhaps that is the mistake you have always made,' said Conyngham
+gravely.  'Perhaps men are not to be divided into two classes.
+There may be some who only make mistakes, Sir John.'
+
+Unconsciously he had lapsed into the advocate, as those who have
+once played the part are apt to do.  This was not his own cause, but
+Geoffrey Horner's.  And he served his friend so thoroughly that for
+the moment he really was the man whose part he had elected to play.
+Sir John Pleydell was no mean foe.  Geoffrey Horner had succeeded in
+turning aside the public suspicion, and in the eternal march of
+events, of which the sound is louder as the world grows older and
+hollower, the murder of Alfred Pleydell had been forgotten by all
+save his father.  Conyngham saw the danger, and never thought to
+avoid it.  What had been undertaken half in jest would be carried
+out in deadly earnest.
+
+'Mistakes,' said Sir John sceptically.  In dealing with the seamy
+side of life men come to believe that it is all stitches.
+
+'Which they may pass the rest of their lives in regretting.'
+
+Sir John looked sharply at his companion, with suspicion dawning in
+his eyes again.  It was Conyngham's tendency to overplay his part.
+Later, when he became a soldier, and found that path in life for
+which he was best fitted, his superior officers and the cooler
+tacticians complained that he was over-eager, and in battle outpaced
+the men he led.
+
+'Then you see now that it was a mistake?' suggested Sir John.  In
+cross-examinations the suggestions of Sir John Pleydell are
+remembered in certain courts of justice to this day.
+
+'Of course.'
+
+'To have mixed yourself in such an affair at all?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+Sir John seemed to be softening, and Conyngham began to see a way
+out of this difficulty which had never suggested itself to him
+before.
+
+'Such mistakes have to be paid for--and the law assesses the price.'
+
+Conyngham shrugged his shoulders.
+
+'It is easy enough to say you are sorry--the law can make no
+allowance for regret.'
+
+Conyngham turned his attention to his breakfast, deeming it useless
+to continue the topic.
+
+'It was a mistake to attend the meeting at Durham--you admit that?'
+continued Sir John.
+
+'Yes--I admit that, if it is any satisfaction to you.'
+
+'Then it was worse than a mistake to actually lead the men out to my
+house for the purpose of breaking the windows.  It was almost a
+crime.  I would suggest to you, as a soldier for the moment, to lead
+a charge up a steep hill against a body of farm labourers and others
+entrenched behind a railing.'
+
+'That is a mere matter of opinion.'
+
+'And yet you did that,' said Sir John.  'If you are going to break
+the law you should insure success before embarking on your
+undertaking.'
+
+Conyngham made no answer.
+
+'It was also a stupid error, if I may say so, to make your way back
+to Durham by Ravensworth, where you were seen and recognised.  You
+see I have a good case against you, Mr. Conyngham.'
+
+'Yes, I admit you have a good case against me, but you have not
+caught me yet.'
+
+Sir John Pleydell looked at him coldly.
+
+'You do not even take the trouble to deny the facts I have named.'
+
+'Why should I, when they are true?' asked Conyngham carelessly.
+
+Sir John Pleydell leant back in his chair.
+
+'I have classified you,' he said with a queer laugh.
+
+'Ah!' answered Conyngham, suddenly uneasy.
+
+'Yes--as a fool.'
+
+He leant forward with a deprecating gesture of his thin white hand.
+
+'Do not be offended,' he said, 'and do not reproach yourself for
+having given your case away.  You never had a case, Mr. Conyngham.
+Chartists are not made of your material at all.  As soon as you gave
+me your card in Madrid, I had a slight suspicion.  I thought you
+were travelling under a false name.  It was plain to the merest
+onlooker that you were not the man I sought.  You are too easy-
+going, too much of a gentleman to be a Chartist.  You are screening
+somebody else.  You have played the part well, and with an admirable
+courage and fidelity.  I wish my boy Alfred had had a few such
+friends as you.  But you are a fool, Mr. Conyngham.  No man on earth
+is worth the sacrifice that you have made.'
+
+Conyngham slowly stirred his coffee.  He was meditating.
+
+'You have pieced together a very pretty tale,' he said at length.
+'Some new scheme to get me within the reach of the English law, no
+doubt.'
+
+'It is a pretty tale--too pretty for practical life.  And if you
+want proofs I will mention the fact that the Chartist meeting was at
+Chester-le-Street, not Durham; that my house stands in a hollow and
+not on a hill; that you could not possibly go to Durham via
+Ravensworth, for they lie in opposite directions.  No, Mr.
+Conyngham, you are not the man I seek.  And, strange to say, I took
+a liking to you when I first saw you.  I am no believer in instinct,
+or mutual sympathy, or any such sentimental nonsense.  I do not
+believe in much, Mr. Conyngham, and not in human nature at all.  I
+know too much about it for that.  But there must have been something
+in that liking for you at first sight.  I wish you no harm, Mr.
+Conyngham.  I am like Balaam--I came to curse, and now stay to
+bless.  Or, perhaps, I am more like Balaam's companion and adviser--
+I bray too much.'
+
+He sat back again with a queer smile.
+
+'You may go home to England to-morrow if you care to,' he added,
+after a pause, 'and if that affair is ever raked up against you I
+will be your counsel, if you will have me.'
+
+'Thank you.'
+
+'You do not want to go home to England?' suggested Sir John, whose
+ear was as quick as his eye.
+
+'No, I have affairs in Spain.'
+
+'Or--perhaps a castle here.  Beware of such--I once had one.'
+
+And the cold grey face softened for an instant.  It seemed at times
+as if there were after all a man behind that marble casing.
+
+'A man who can secure such a friendship as yours has proved itself
+to be,' said Sir John after a short silence, 'can scarcely be wholly
+bad.  He may, as you say, have made a mistake.  I promise nothing;
+but perhaps I will make no further attempts to find him.'
+
+Conyngham was silent.  To speak would have been to admit.
+
+'So far as I am concerned,' said Sir John, rising, 'you are safe in
+this or any country.  But I warn you--you have a dangerous enemy in
+Spain.'
+
+'I know,' answered Conyngham, with a laugh, 'Mr. Esteban Larralde.
+I once undertook to deliver a letter for him.  It was not what he
+represented it to be, and after I had delivered it he began to
+suspect me of having read it.  He is kind enough to consider me of
+some importance in the politics of this country owing to the
+information I am supposed to possess.  I know nothing of the
+contents of the letter, but I want to regain it--if only for a few
+moments.  That is the whole story, and that is how matters stand
+between Larralde and myself.'
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.  REPARATION.
+
+
+
+'Il s'en faut bien que l'innocence trouve autant de protection que
+le crime.'
+
+For those minded to leave Spain at this time, there was but one
+route, namely, the south, for the northern exits were closed by the
+Carlists, still in power there, though thinning fast.  Indeed, Don
+Carlos was now illustrating the fact, which any may learn by the
+study of the world's history, that it is not the great causes, but
+the great men, who have made and destroyed nations.  Nearly half of
+Spain was for Don Carlos.  The Church sided with him, and the best
+soldiers were those who, unpaid, unfed, and half clad, fought on the
+southern slopes of the Pyrenees for a man who dared not lead them.
+
+Sir John Pleydell had intended crossing the frontier into Portugal,
+following the carriage conveying his prisoner to the seaport of
+Lisbon, where he anticipated no difficulty in finding a ship captain
+who would be willing to carry Conyngham to England.  All this,
+however, had been frustrated by so unimportant a person as
+Concepcion Vara, and the carriage ordered for nine o'clock to
+proceed to Talavera now stood in the courtyard of the hotel, while
+the Baronet in his lonely apartment sat and wondered what he should
+do next.  He had dealt with justice all his life, and had ensued it
+not from love, but as a matter of convenience and a means of
+livelihood.  From the mere habit, he now desired to do justice to
+Conyngham.
+
+'See if you can find out for me the whereabouts of General Vincente
+at the moment, and let the carriage wait,' he said to his servant, a
+valet-courier of taciturn habit.
+
+The man was absent about half an hour, and returned with a face that
+promised little.
+
+'There is a man in the hotel, sir,' he said, 'the servant of Mr.
+Conyngham, who knows, but will not tell me.  I am told, however,
+that a lady living in Toledo, a Contessa Barenna, will undoubtedly
+have the information.  General Vincente was lately in Madrid, but
+his movements are so rapid and uncertain, that he has become a by-
+word in Spain.'
+
+'So I understand.  I will call on this Contessa this afternoon,
+unless you can get the information elsewhere during the morning.  I
+shall not want the carriage.'
+
+Sir John walked slowly to the window, deep in thought.  He was
+interested in Conyngham, despite himself.  It is possible that he
+had not hitherto met a man capable of so far forgetting his own
+interests as to undertake a foolish and dangerous escapade without
+anything in the nature of gain or advantage to recommend it.  The
+windows of the hotel of the Comercio in Toledo look out upon the
+market-place, and Sir John, who was an indoor man, and mentally
+active enough to be intensely bored at times, frequently used this
+opportunity of studying Spanish life.
+
+He was looking idly through the vile panes, when an old priest
+passed by, and glanced up beneath shaggy brows.
+
+'Seen that man before,' said Sir John.
+
+'Ah!' muttered Father Concha, as he hurried on towards the Palazzo
+Barenna.  'So far, so good.  Where the fox is, will be found the
+stolen fowl.'
+
+Concepcion Vara, who was saddling his horse in the stable yard of
+the inn, saw the Padre pass.
+
+'Ah, clever one!' he muttered, 'with your jokes about my wife.  Now
+you may make a false journey for all the help you receive from me.'
+
+And a few minutes later Concepcion rode across the Bridge of
+Alcantara, some paces behind Conyngham, who deemed it wise to return
+to his duties at Madrid without delay.
+
+Despite the great heat on the plains, which, indeed, made it almost
+dangerous to travel at midday, the streets of Toledo were cool and
+shady enough, as Sir John Pleydell traversed them in search of the
+Palazzo Barenna.  The Contessa was in, and the Englishman was
+ushered into a vast room, which even the taste of the day could not
+entirely deprive of its mediaeval grandeur.  Sir John explained to
+the servant in halting Spanish that his name was unknown to the
+Senora Barenna, but that--a stranger in some slight difficulty--he
+had been recommended to seek her assistance.
+
+Sir John was an imposing-looking man, with that grand air which
+enables some men not only to look, but to get over a wall while an
+insignificant wight may not so much as approach the gate.  The
+senora's curiosity did the rest.  In a few minutes the rustle of
+silk made Sir John turn from the contemplation of a suit of armour.
+
+'Madame speaks French?'
+
+'But yes, senor.'
+
+Madame Barenna glanced towards a chair, which Sir John hastened to
+bring forward.  He despised her already, and she admired his manner
+vastly.
+
+'I have taken the immense liberty of intruding myself upon your
+notice, Madame.'
+
+'Not to sell me a Bible?' exclaimed Senora Barenna, with her fan
+upheld in warning.
+
+'A Bible!  I believe I have one at home, in England, Madame, but--'
+
+'It is well,' said Madame sinking back and fanning herself rather
+faintly.  'Excuse my fears.  But there is an Englishman--what is his
+name?  I forget.'
+
+'Borrow.'
+
+'Yes; that is it, Borrow.  And he sells Bibles; and Father Concha,
+my confessor, a bear, but a holy man--a holy bear, as one might say-
+-has forbidden me to buy one.  I am so afraid of disobeying him, by
+heedlessness or forgetfulness.  There are, it appears, some things
+in the Bible which one ought not to read, and one naturally--'
+
+She finished the sentence with a shrug, and an expressive gesture of
+the fan.
+
+'One naturally desires to read them,' suggested Sir John.  'The
+privilege of all Eve's daughters, Madame.'
+
+Senora Barenna treated the flatterer to what the French call a fin
+sourire, and wondered how long Julia would stay away.  This man
+would pay her a compliment in another moment.
+
+'I merely called on the excuse of a common friendship, to ask if you
+can tell me the whereabouts of General Vincente,' said Sir John,
+stating his business in haste and when the opportunity presented
+itself.
+
+'Is it politics?' asked the lady, with a hasty glance round the
+room.
+
+'No, it is scarcely politics; but why do you ask?  You are surely
+too wise, Madame, to take part in such.  It is a woman's mission to
+please--and when it is so easy!'
+
+He waved his thin white hand in completion of a suggestion which
+made his hearer bridle her stout person.
+
+'No, no,' she whispered, glancing over her shoulder at the door.
+'No; it is my daughter.  Ah! senor, you can scarce imagine what it
+is to live upon a volcano!'
+
+And she pointed to the oaken floor with her fan.  Sir John deemed it
+wise to confine his display of sympathy to a glance of the deepest
+concern.
+
+'No,' he said; 'it is merely a personal matter.  I have a
+communication to make to my friend General Vincente or to his
+daughter.'
+
+'To Estella?'
+
+'To the Senorita Estella.'
+
+'Do you think her beautiful?  Some do, you know.  Eyes--I admit--
+yes, lovely.'
+
+'I admire the senorita exceedingly.'
+
+'Ah yes, yes.  You have not seen my daughter, have you, senor?
+Julia--she rather resembles Estella.'
+
+Senora Barenna paused and examined her fan with a careless air.
+
+'Some say,' she went on, apparently with reluctance, 'that Julia is-
+-well--has some advantages over Estella.  But _I_ do not, of course.
+I admire Estella, excessively--oh yes, yes.'
+
+And the senora's dark eyes searched Sir John's face.  They might
+have found more in sculptured marble.
+
+'Do you know where she is?' asked Sir John, almost bluntly.  Like a
+workman who has mistaken his material, he was laying aside his finer
+conversational tools.
+
+'Well, I believe they arrive in Toledo this evening.  I cannot think
+why.  But with General Vincente one never knows.  He is so pleasant,
+so playful--such a smile--but you know him.  Well, they say in Spain
+that he is always where he is wanted.  Ah!' Madame paused and cast
+her eyes up to the ceiling, 'what it is to be wanted somewhere,
+senor.'
+
+And she gave him the benefit of one of her deepest sighs.  Sir John
+mentally followed the direction of her glance, and wondered what the
+late Count thought about it.
+
+'Yes, I am deeply interested in Estella--as indeed is natural, for
+she is my niece.  She has no mother, and the General has such absurd
+ideas.  He thinks that a girl is capable of choosing a husband for
+herself.  But to you--an Englishman--such an idea is naturally not
+astonishing.  I am told that in your country it is the girls who
+actually propose marriage.'
+
+'Not in words, Madame--not more in England than elsewhere.'
+
+'Ah,' said Madame, looking at him doubtfully, and thinking, despite
+herself, of Father Concha.
+
+Sir John rose from the chair he had taken at the senora's silent
+invitation.
+
+'Then I may expect the General to arrive at my hotel this evening,'
+he said.  'I am staying at the Comercio, the only hotel, as I
+understand, in Toledo.'
+
+'Yes, he will doubtless descend there.  Do you know Frederick
+Conyngham, senor?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'But everyone knows him!' exclaimed the lady vivaciously.  'Tell me
+how it is.  A most pleasant young man, I allow you--but without
+introductions and quite unconnected.  Yet he has friends
+everywhere.'
+
+She paused and, closing her fan, leant forward in an attitude of
+intense confidence and secrecy.
+
+'And how about his little affair?' she whispered.
+
+'His little affair, Madame?'
+
+'De coeur,' explained the lady, tapping her own breast with an
+eloquent fan.
+
+'Estella,' she whispered after a pause.
+
+'Ah!' said Sir John, as if he knew too much about it to give an
+opinion.  And he took his leave.
+
+'That is the sort of woman to break one's heart in the witness box,'
+he said as he passed out into the deserted street, and Senora
+Barenna, in the great room with the armour, reflected complacently
+that the English lord had been visibly impressed.
+
+General Vincente and Estella arrived at the hotel in the evening,
+but did not of course appear in the public rooms.  The dusty old
+travelling carriage was placed in a quiet corner of the courtyard of
+the hotel, and the General appeared on this, as on all occasions, to
+court retirement and oblivion.  Unlike many of his brothers-in-arms,
+he had no desire to catch the public eye.
+
+'There is doubtless something astir,' said the waiter, who, in the
+intervals of a casual attendance on Sir John, spoke of these things,
+cigarette in mouth.  'There is doubtless something astir, since
+General Vincente is on the road.  They call him the Stormy Petrel,
+for when he appears abroad there usually follows a disturbance.'
+
+Sir John sent his servant to the General's apartment about eight
+o'clock in the evening asking permission to present himself.  In
+reply, the General himself came to Sir John's room.
+
+'My dear sir,' he cried, taking both the Englishman's hands in an
+affectionate grasp, 'to think that you were in the hotel and that we
+did not dine together.  Come, yes, come to our poor apartment, where
+Estella awaits the pleasure of renewing your acquaintance.'
+
+'Then the senorita,' said Sir John, following his companion along
+the dimly-lighted passage, 'has her father's pleasant faculty of
+forgetting any little contretemps of the past?'
+
+'Ask her,' exclaimed the General in his cheery way.  'Ask her.'  And
+he threw open the door of the dingy salon they occupied.
+
+Estella was standing with her back to the window, and her attitude
+suggested that she had not sat down since she had heard of Sir
+John's presence in the hotel.
+
+'Senorita,' said the Englishman, with that perfect knowledge of the
+world which usually has its firmest basis upon indifference to
+criticism, 'senorita, I have come to avow a mistake and to make my
+excuses.'
+
+'It is surely unnecessary,' said Estella, rather coldly.
+
+'Say rather,' broke in the General in his smoothest way, 'that you
+have come to take a cup of coffee with us and to tell us your news.'
+
+Sir John took the chair which the General brought forward.
+
+'At all events,' he said, still addressing Estella, 'it is probably
+a matter of indifference to you, as it is merely an opinion
+expressed by myself which I wish to retract.  When I first had the
+pleasure of meeting you, I took it upon myself to speak of a guest
+in your father's house, fortunately in the presence of that guest
+himself, and I now wish to tell you that what I said does not apply
+to Frederick Conyngham himself, but to another whom Conyngham is
+screening.  He has not confessed so much to me, but I have satisfied
+myself that he is not the man I seek.  You, General, who know more
+of the world than the senorita, and have been in it almost as long
+as I have, can bear me out in the statement that the motives of men
+are not so easy to discern as younger folks imagine.  I do not know
+what induced Conyngham to undertake this thing; probably he entered
+into it in a spirit of impetuous and reckless generosity, which
+would only be in keeping with his character.  I only know that he
+has carried it out with a thoroughness and daring worthy of all
+praise.  If such a tie were possible between an old man and a young,
+I should like to be able to claim Mr. Conyngham as a friend.  There,
+senorita--thank you, I will take coffee.  I made the accusation in
+your presence.  I retract it before you.  It is, as you see, a small
+matter.'
+
+'But it is of small matters that life is made up,' put in the
+General in his deferential way.  'Our friend,' he went on after a
+pause, 'is unfortunate in misrepresenting himself.  We also have a
+little grudge against him--a little matter of a letter which has not
+been explained.  I admit that I should like to see that letter.'
+
+'And where is it?' asked Sir John.
+
+'Ah!' replied Vincente, with a shrug of the shoulders and a gay
+little laugh, 'who can tell?  Perhaps in Toledo, my dear sir--
+perhaps in Toledo.'
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.  LARRALDE'S PRICE.
+
+
+
+'It is as difficult to be entirely bad as it is to be entirely
+good.'
+
+To those who say that there is no Faith, Spain is in itself a
+palpable answer.  No country in the world can show such cathedrals
+as those of Granada, Cordova, Seville, Toledo, Burgos.  In any other
+land any one of these great structures would suffice.  But in Spain
+these huge monuments to that Faith which has held serenely through
+war and fashion, through thought and thoughtlessness, are to be
+found in all the great cities.  And the queen of them all is Toledo.
+
+Father Concha, that sour-visaged philosopher, had a queer pride in
+his profession and in the history of that Church which is to-day
+seen in its purest form in the Peninsula, while it is so entangled
+with the national story of Spain that the two are but one tale told
+from a different point of view.  As a private soldier may take
+pleasure in standing on a great battlefield noting each spot of
+interest--here a valley of death, there the scene of a cavalry
+charge of which the thunder will echo down through all the ages--so
+Concha, a mere country priest, liked to pace the aisles of a great
+cathedral, indulging the while in a half-cynical pride.  He was no
+great general, no leader, of no importance in the ranks.  But he was
+of the army, and partook in a minute degree in those victories that
+belonged to the past.  It was his habit thus to pay a visit to
+Toledo Cathedral whensoever his journeys led him to Castile.  It
+was, moreover, his simple custom to attend the early mass which is
+here historical; and, indeed, to walk through the church, grey and
+cool, with the hush that seems to belong only to buildings of
+stupendous age, is in itself a religious service.
+
+Concha was passing across the nave, hat in hand, a gaunt, ill-clad,
+and somewhat pathetic figure, when he caught sight of Sir John
+Pleydell.  The Englishman paused involuntarily and looked at the
+Spaniard.  Concha bowed.
+
+'We met,' he said, 'for a moment in the garden of General Vincente's
+house at Ronda.'
+
+'True,' answered Sir John.  'Are you leaving the Cathedral?  We
+might walk a little way together.  One cannot talk idly--here.'
+
+He paused and looked up at the great oak screen--at the towering
+masonry.
+
+'No,' answered Concha gravely.  'One cannot talk idly here.'
+
+Concha held back the great leathern portiere, and the Englishman
+passed out.
+
+'This is a queer country, and you are a queer people,' he said
+presently.  'When I was at Ronda I met a certain number of persons--
+I can count them on my fingers.  General Vincente, his daughter,
+Senora Barenna, Senorita Barenna, the Englishman Conyngham,
+yourself, Senor Concha.  I arrived in Toledo yesterday morning; in
+twenty-four hours I have caught sight of all the persons mentioned,
+here in Toledo.'
+
+'And here, in Toledo, is another of whom you have not caught sight,'
+said Concha.
+
+'Ah?'
+
+'Yes; Senor Larralde.'
+
+'Is he here?'
+
+'Yes,' said Concha.
+
+They walked on in silence for some minutes.
+
+'What are we all doing here, Padre?' inquired Sir John, with his
+cold laugh.
+
+'What are you doing here, senor?'
+
+Sir John did not answer at once.  They were walking leisurely.  The
+streets were deserted, as indeed the streets of Toledo usually are.
+
+'I am putting two and two together,' the great lawyer answered at
+length.  'I began doing so in idleness, and now I have become
+interested.'
+
+'Ah!'
+
+'Yes.  I have become interested.  They say, Padre, that a pebble set
+in motion at the summit of a mountain may gather other pebbles and
+increase in bulk and speed until, in the form of an avalanche, it
+overwhelms a city in the valley.'
+
+'Yes, senor.'
+
+'And I have conceived the strange fancy that Frederick Conyngham,
+when he first came to this country, set such a pebble in motion at
+the summit of a very high mountain.  It has been falling and falling
+silently ever since, and it is gaining in bulk.  And you, and
+General Vincente, and Estella Vincente, and Senorita Barenna, and
+Frederick Conyngham, and in a minor degree myself, are on the slope
+in the track of the avalanche, and are sliding down behind it.  And
+the General and Estella, and yourself and Conyngham, are trying to
+overtake it and stop it.  And, reverendo, in the valley below is the
+monarchy of Spain--the Bourbon cause.'
+
+Father Concha, remembering his favourite maxim that no flies enter a
+shut mouth, was silent.
+
+'The pebble was a letter,' said Sir John.
+
+'And Larralde has it,' he added after a pause.  'And that is why you
+are all in Toledo--why the air is thick with apprehension, and why
+all Spain seems to pause and wait breathlessly.  Will the avalanche
+be stopped, or will it not?  Will the Bourbons--than whom history
+has known no more interesting and more unsatisfactory race, except
+our own Stuarts--will the Bourbons fall, Senor Padre?'
+
+'Ah!' said Concha, whose furrowed face and pessimistic glance
+betrayed nothing.  'Ah!'
+
+'You will not tell me, of course.  You know much that you will not
+tell me, and I merely ask you from curiosity.  You perhaps know one
+thing, and that I wish to learn from you--not out of curiosity, but
+because I, too, would fain overtake the avalanche and stop it.  I am
+no politician, senor, though of course I have my views.  When a man
+has reached my age, he knows assuredly that politics merely mean
+self-aggrandisement, and nothing else.  No--the Bourbons may fall;
+Spain may follow the lead of France and make an exhibition of
+herself before the world as a Republic.  I am indifferent to these
+events.  But I wish to do Frederick Conyngham a good turn, and I ask
+you to tell me where I shall find Larralde--you who know everything,
+Senor Padre.'
+
+Concha reflected while they walked along on the shady side of the
+narrow street.  It happened to be the street where the saddlers
+live, and the sharp sound of their little hammers on leather and
+wood came from almost every darkened doorway.  The Padre had a
+wholesome fear of Esteban Larralde, and an exaggerated estimation of
+that schemer's ability.  He was a humble-minded old man, and ever
+hesitated to pit his own brain against that of another.  He knew
+that Sir John was a cleverer man than Larralde, deeper versed in
+that side of human nature where the seams are and the knots and the
+unsightly stitches; older, more experienced, and probably no more
+scrupulous.
+
+'Yes,' said the priest, 'I can tell you that.  Larralde lodges in
+the house of a malcontent, one Lamberto, a scribbling journalist,
+who is hurt because the world takes him at its own valuation and not
+at his.  The house is next to the little synagogue in the Calle de
+Madrid, a small stationer's shop, where one may buy the curse of
+this generation--pens and paper.'
+
+'Thank you,' said Sir John, civilly and simply.  This man has no
+doubt been ill-painted, but some may have seen that with different
+companions he wore a different manner.  He was, as all successful
+men are, an unconscious actor, and in entering into the personality
+of the companion of the moment he completely sank his own.  He never
+sought to be all things to all men, and yet he came near to the
+accomplishment of that hard task.  Sir John was not a sympathetic
+man; he merely mistook life for a court of justice, and arraigned
+all human nature in the witness-box, with the inward conviction that
+this should by rights be exchanged for the felon's dock.
+
+With Concha he was as simple, as direct, and as unsophisticated as
+the old priest himself, and now took his leave without attempting to
+disguise the fact that he had accomplished a foreset purpose.
+
+Without difficulty he found the small stationer's shop next to the
+synagogue in the Calle de Madrid, and bade the stationer--a
+spectacled individual with upright hair and the air of seeking
+something in the world which is not usually behind a counter--take
+his card to Senor Larralde.  At first the stationer pretended
+ignorance of the name, but on discovering that Sir John had not
+sufficient Spanish to conduct a conversation of intrigue,
+disappeared into a back room, whence emanated a villanous smell of
+cooking.
+
+While Sir John waited in the little shop, Father Concha walked to
+the Plazuela de l'Iglesia Vieja, which small square, overhanging the
+Tagus and within reach of its murmuring voice, is deserted except at
+midday, when the boys play at bull-fighting and a few workmen engage
+in a grave game of bowls.  Concha sat, book in hand, opened honestly
+at the office of the day and hour, and read no word.  Instead, he
+stared across the gorge at the brown bank of land which commands the
+city and renders it useless as a fortress in the days of modern
+artillery.  He sat and stared grimly, and thought perhaps of those
+secret springs within the human heart that make one man successful
+and unhappy, while another, possessing brains and ability and
+energy, fails in life, yet is perhaps the happier of the two.  For
+it had happened to Father Concha, as it may happen to writer and
+reader at any moment, to meet one who in individuality bears a
+resemblance to that self which we never know and yet are ever
+conscious of.
+
+Sir John Pleydell, a few hundred yards away, obeyed the shopman's
+invitation to step upstairs with something approaching alacrity.
+
+Larralde was seated at a table strewn with newspapers and soiled by
+cigarette ash.  He had the unkempt and pallid look of one who has
+not seen the sun or breathed fresh air for days.  For, as Concepcion
+had said, this was a conspirator who preferred to lurk in friendly
+shelter while others played the bolder game at the front.  Larralde
+had, in fact, not stirred abroad for nearly a week.
+
+'Well, senor,' he said, with a false air of bravado.  'How fares it
+with your little undertaking?'
+
+'That,' replied Sir John, 'is past--and paid for.  And I have
+another matter for your consideration.  Conyngham is not, after all,
+the man I seek.'
+
+Sir John's manner had changed.  He spoke as one having authority.
+And Larralde shrugged his shoulders, remembering a past payment.
+
+'Ah!' he said, rolling a cigarette with a fine air of indifference.
+
+'On the one hand,' continued Sir John judicially, 'I come to make
+you an offer which can only be beneficial to you; on the other hand,
+Senor Larralde, I know enough to make things particularly unpleasant
+for you.'
+
+Larralde raised his eyebrows and sought the matchbox.  His thoughts
+seemed to amuse him.
+
+'I have reason to assume that a certain letter is now in your
+possession again.  I do not know the contents of this letter, and I
+cannot say that I am at all interested in it.  But a friend of mine
+is particularly anxious to have possession of it for a short space
+of time.  I have, unasked, taken upon myself the office of
+intermediary.'
+
+Larralde's eyes flashed through the smoke.
+
+'You are about to offer me money; be careful, senor,' he said hotly,
+and Sir John smiled.
+
+'Be careful, that it is enough,' he suggested.  'Keep your grand
+airs for your fellows, Senor Larralde.  Yes, I am about to offer you
+two hundred pounds--say three thousand pesetas--for the loan of that
+letter for a few hours only.  I will guarantee that it is read by
+one person only, and that a lady.  This lady will probably glance at
+the first lines, merely to satisfy herself as to the nature of its
+contents.  Three thousand pesetas will enable you to escape to Cuba
+if your schemes fail.  If you succeed, three thousand pesetas will
+always be of use, even to a member of a Republican Government.'
+
+Larralde reflected.  He had lately realised the fact that the
+Carlist cause was doomed.  There is a time in the schemes of men,
+and it usually comes just before the crisis, when the stoutest heart
+hesitates and the most reckless conspirator thinks of his retreat.
+Esteban Larralde had begun to think of Cuba during the last few
+days, and the mention of that haven for Spanish failures almost
+unnerved him.
+
+'In a week,' suggested Sir John again, 'it may be--well--settled one
+way or the other.'
+
+Larralde glanced at him sharply.  This Englishman was either well-
+informed or very cunning.  He seemed to have read the thought in
+Larralde's mind.
+
+'No doubt,' went on the Englishman, 'you have divined for whom I
+want the letter and who will read it.  We have both mistaken our
+man.  We both owe Conyngham a good turn--I, in reparation, you, in
+gratitude; for he undoubtedly saved the Senorita Barenna from
+imprisonment for life.'
+
+Larralde shrugged his shoulders.
+
+'Each man,' he said, 'must fight for himself.'
+
+'And the majority of us for a woman as well,' amended Sir John.  'At
+least, in Spain, chivalry is not dead.'
+
+Larralde laughed.  He was vain, and Sir John knew it.  He had a keen
+sight for the breach in his opponent's armour.
+
+'You have put your case well,' said the Spaniard patronisingly, 'and
+I do not see why, at the end of a week, I should not agree to your
+proposal.  It is, as you say, for the sake of a woman.'
+
+'Precisely.'
+
+Larralde leant back in his chair, remembering the legendary
+gallantry of his race, and wearing an appropriate expression.
+
+'For a woman,' he repeated with an eloquent gesture.
+
+'Precisely.'
+
+'Then I will do it, senor.  I will do it.'
+
+'For two hundred pounds?' inquired Sir John coldly.
+
+'As you will,' answered the Spaniard, with a noble indifference to
+such sordid matters.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.  PRIESTCRAFT.
+
+
+
+'No man I fear can effect great benefits for his country without
+some sacrifice of the minor virtues.'
+
+The Senora Barenna was a leading social light in Toledo, insomuch as
+she never refused an invitation.
+
+'One has one's duties towards society,' she would say with a sigh.
+'Though the saints know that I take no pleasure in these affairs.'
+
+Then she put on her best Seville mantilla and bustled off to some
+function or another, where she talked volubly and without
+discretion.
+
+Julia had of late withdrawn more and more from that life of
+continued and mild festivity of which it is to be feared the
+existence of many women is composed.  This afternoon she sat alone
+in the great gloomy house in Toledo, waiting for Larralde.  For she,
+like thousands of her sisters, loved an unworthy object--faute de
+mieux--with open eyes and a queer philosophy that bade her love
+Larralde rather than love none.  She had lately spent a large part
+of her existence in waiting for Larralde, who, indeed, was busy
+enough at this time, and rarely stirred abroad while the sun was up.
+
+'Julia,' said Senora Barenna to Concha, 'is no longer a companion to
+me.  She does not even attempt to understand my sensitive
+organisation.  She is a mere statue, and thinks of nothing but
+politics.'
+
+'For her, Madame, as for all women, there would be no politics if
+there were no politicians,' the priest replied.
+
+This afternoon Julia was more restless than ever.  Larralde had not
+been to see her for many days, and had only written a hurried note
+from time to time in answer to her urgent request, telling her that
+he was well and in no danger.
+
+She now no longer knew whether he was in Toledo or not, but had
+sufficient knowledge of the schemes in which he was engaged to be
+aware of the fact that these were coming to a crisis.  Esteban
+Larralde had indeed told her more than was either necessary or
+discreet, and it was his vanity that led him into this imprudence.
+We are all ready enough to impart information which will show our
+neighbours that we are more important than we appear.
+
+After a broiling day the sun was now beginning to lose a little of
+his terrific power, and, in the shade of the patio upon which the
+windows of Julia's room opened, the air was quite cool and pleasant.
+A fountain plashed continuously in a little basin that had been
+white six centuries ago, when the Moors had brought the marble
+across the Gulf of Lyons to build it.  The very sound of the water
+was a relief to overstrained nerves, and seemed to diminish the
+tension of the shimmering atmosphere.
+
+Julia was alone, and barely made pretence to read the book she held
+in her hand.  From her seat she could see the bell suspended on the
+opposite wall of the courtyard, of which the deep voice at any time
+of day or night had the power of stirring her heart to a sudden joy.
+At last the desired sound broke the silence of the great house, and
+Julia stood breathless at the window while the servant leisurely
+crossed the patio and threw open the great door, large enough to
+admit a carriage and pair.  It was not Larralde, but Father Concha,
+brought hither by a note he had received from Sir John Pleydell
+earlier in the afternoon.
+
+'I shall have the letter in a week from now,' the Englishman had
+written.
+
+'Which will be too late,' commented Concha pessimistically.
+
+The senora was out, they told him, but the senorita had remained at
+home.
+
+'It is the senorita I desire to see.'
+
+And Julia, at the window above, heard the remark with a sinking
+heart.  The air seemed to be weighted with the suggestion of
+calamity.  Concha had the manner of one bringing bad news.  She
+forgot that this was his usual mien.
+
+'Ah, my child,' he said, coming into the room a minute later and
+sitting down rather wearily.
+
+'What?' she asked, her two hands at her breast.
+
+He glanced at her beneath his brows.  The wind was in the north-
+east, dry and tingling.  The sun had worn a coppery hue all day.
+Such matters affect women and those who are in mental distress.
+After such a day as had at last worn to evening, the mind is at a
+great tension, the nerves are strained.  It is at such times that
+men fly into sudden anger and whip out the knife.  At such times
+women are reckless, and the stories of human lives take sudden
+turns.
+
+Concha knew that he had this woman at a disadvantage.
+
+'What?' he echoed.  'I wish I knew.  I wish at times I was no
+priest.'
+
+'Why?'
+
+'Because I could help you better.  Sometimes it is the man and not
+the priest who is the truest friend.'
+
+'Why do you speak like this?' she cried.  'Is there danger?  What
+has happened?'
+
+'You know best, my child, if there is danger; you know what is
+likely to happen.'
+
+Julia stood looking at him with hard eyes--the eyes of one in mortal
+fear.
+
+'You have always been my friend,' she said slowly, 'my best friend.'
+
+'Yes.  A woman's lover is never her best friend.'
+
+'Has anything happened to Esteban?'
+
+The priest did not answer at once, but paused, reflecting, and
+dusting his sleeve, where there was always some snuff requiring
+attention at such moments.
+
+'I know so little,' he said.  'I am no politician.  What can I say?
+What can I advise you when I am in the dark?  And the time is
+slipping by--slipping by.'
+
+'I cannot tell you,' she answered, turning away and looking out of
+the window.
+
+'You cannot tell the priest--tell the man.'
+
+Then, suddenly, she reached the end of her endurance.  Standing with
+her back towards him, she told her story, and Concha listened with a
+still, breathless avidity as one who, having long sought knowledge,
+finds it at last when it seemed out of reach.  The little fountain
+plashed in the courtyard below; a frog in the basin among the water-
+lilies croaked sociably while the priest and the beautiful woman in
+the room above made history.  For it is not only in kings' palaces
+nor yet in Parliaments that the story of the world is shaped.
+
+Concha spoke no word, and Julia, having begun, left nothing unsaid,
+but told him every detail in a slow mechanical voice, as if bidden
+thereto by a stronger will than her own.
+
+'He is all the world to me,' she said simply, in conclusion.
+
+'Yes; and the happiest women are those who live in a small world.'
+
+A silence fell upon them.  The old priest surreptitiously looked at
+his watch.  He was essentially a man of action.
+
+'My child,' he said, rising, 'when you are an old woman with
+children to harass you and make your life worth living, you will
+probably look back with thankfulness to this moment.  For you have
+done that which was your only chance of happiness.'
+
+'Why do you always help me?' she asked, as she had asked a hundred
+times.
+
+'Because happiness is so rare that I hate to see it wasted,' he
+answered, going towards the door with a grim laugh.
+
+He passed out of the room and crossed the patio slowly.  Then, when
+the great door had closed behind him, he gathered up the skirts of
+his cassock and hurried down the narrow street.  In such
+thoroughfares as were deserted he ran with the speed and endurance
+of a spare, hard-living man.  Woman-like, Julia had, after all, done
+things by half.  She had timed her confession too late.
+
+At the hotel they told the Padre that General Vincente was at dinner
+and could not be disturbed.
+
+'He sees no one,' the servant said.
+
+'You do not know who I am,' said Concha, in an irony which, under
+the circumstances, he alone could enjoy.  Then he passed up the
+stairs and bade the waiter begone.
+
+'But I carry the General's dessert,' protested the man.
+
+'No,' said Concha half to himself, 'I have that.'
+
+Vincente was indeed at table with Estella.  He looked up as the
+priest entered, fingering a cigarette delicately.
+
+'How soon can you take the road?' asked Concha abruptly.
+
+'Ten minutes--the time for a cup of coffee,' was the answer, given
+with a pleasant laugh.
+
+'Then order your carriage.'
+
+Vincente looked at his old friend, and the smile never left his
+lips, though his eyes were grave enough.  It was hard to say whether
+aught on earth could disturb this man's equanimity.  Then the
+General rose and went to the window which opened upon the courtyard.
+In the quiet corner near the rain-tank, where a vine grows upon
+trellis-work, the dusty travelling-carriage stood, and upon the step
+of it, eating a simple meal of bread and dried figs, sat the man who
+had the reputation of being the fastest driver in Spain.
+
+'In ten minutes, my good Manuel,' said the General.
+
+'Bueno,' grumbled the driver, with his mouth full--a man of few
+words.
+
+'Is it to go far?' asked the General, turning on his heel and
+addressing Concha.
+
+'A long journey.'
+
+'To take the road, Manuel,' cried Vincente, leaning out.  He closed
+the window before resuming his seat.
+
+'And now, have you any more orders?' he asked with a gay
+carelessness.  'I counted on sleeping in a bed to-night.'
+
+'You will not do that,' replied Concha, 'when you hear my news.'
+
+'Ah!'
+
+'But first you must promise me not to make use of the information I
+give you against any suspected persons--to take, in fact, only
+preventive measures.'
+
+'You have only to name it, my friend.  Proceed.'
+
+The old priest paused and passed his hand across his brow.  He was
+breathless still, and looked worn.
+
+'It is,' he said, 'a very grave matter.  I have not had much
+experience in such things, for my path has always lain in small
+parochial affairs--dealings with children and women.'
+
+Estella was already pouring some wine into a glass.  With a woman's
+instinct she saw that the old man was overwrought and faint.  It was
+a Friday, and in his simple way there was no more austere abstinent
+than Father Concha, who had probably touched little food throughout
+the long hot day.
+
+'Take your time, my friend; take your time,' said the General, who
+never hurried and was never too late.  'A pinch of snuff now--it
+stimulates the nerves.'
+
+'It is,' said Concha at length--breaking a biscuit in his long bony
+fingers and speaking unembarrassedly with his mouth full--'it is
+that I have by the merest accident lighted upon a matter of
+political importance.'
+
+The General nodded, and held his wine up to the light.
+
+'There are matters of much political importance,' he said, 'in the
+air just now.'
+
+'A plot,' continued Concha, 'spreading over all Spain; the devil is
+surely in it, and I know the Carlists are.  A plot, believe me, to
+assassinate and rob and kidnap.'
+
+'Yes,' said the General with his tolerant little smile.  'Yes, my
+dear Padre.  Some men are so bloodthirsty; is it not so?'
+
+'This plot is directed against the little Queen; against the Queen
+Regent; against many who are notable Royalists occupying high posts
+in the Government or the army.'
+
+He glanced at Estella, and then looked meaningly at the General, who
+could scarcely fail to comprehend.  'Let us deal with the Queen and
+the Queen Regent,' said Vincente; 'the others are probably able to
+take care of themselves.'
+
+'None can guard himself against assassination.'
+
+The General seemed for a moment inclined to dispute this statement,
+but shrugged his shoulders and finally passed it by.
+
+'The Queen,' he said.  'What of her?'
+
+In response, Concha took a newspaper from his pocket and spread it
+out on the table.  After a brief search up and down the ill-printed
+columns, he found the desired paragraph, and read aloud:
+
+'The Queen is in Madrid.  The Queen Regent journeys from Seville to
+rejoin her daughter in the capital, prosecuting her journey by easy
+stages and accompanied by a small guard.  Her Majesty sleeps at
+Ciudad Real to-night, and at Toledo to-morrow night.'
+
+'This,' said Concha, folding the newspaper, 'is a Carlist and
+revolutionary rag whose readers are scarcely likely to be interested
+for a good motive in the movements of the Queen Regent.'
+
+'True, my dear Padre--true,' admitted Vincente, half reluctantly.
+
+'Many kiss hands they would fain see chopped off.  In the streets
+and on the Plaza I have seen many reading this newspaper and talking
+over it with unusual interest.  Like a bad lawyer, I am giving the
+confirmation of the argument before the argument itself.'
+
+'No matter--no matter.'
+
+'Ah! but we have no time to do things ill or carelessly,' said the
+priest.  'My story is a long one, but I will tell it as quickly as I
+can.'
+
+'Take your time,' urged the General soothingly.  'This great plot,
+you say, which is to spread over all Spain--'
+
+'Is for to-morrow night, my friend.'
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.  SWORDCRAFT.
+
+
+
+'Rien n'est plus courageux qu'un coeur patient, rien n'est plus sur
+de soi qu'un esprit doux.'
+
+The General set down his glass, and a queer light came into his
+eyes, usually so smiling and pleasant.
+
+'Ah!  Then you are right, my friend.  Tell us your story as quickly
+as possible.'
+
+'It appears,' said Concha, 'that there has been in progress for many
+months a plot to assassinate the Queen Regent and to seize the
+person of the little Queen, expelling her from Spain, and bringing
+in, not Don Carlos, who is a spent firework, but a Republic--a more
+dangerous firework, that usually bursts in the hands of those that
+light it.  This plot has been finally put into shape by a letter--'
+
+He paused, tapped on the table with his bony fingers, and glanced at
+Estella.
+
+'A letter which has been going the round of all the malcontents in
+the Peninsula.  Each faction-leader, to show that he has read it and
+agrees to obey its commands, initials the letter.  It has then been
+returned to an intermediary, who sends it to the next--never by
+post, because the post is watched--always by hand, and usually by
+the hand of a person innocent of its contents.'
+
+'Yes,' murmured the General absently, and there was a queer little
+smile on Estella's lips.
+
+'To think,' cried Concha, with a sudden fire less surprising in
+Spain than in England, 'to think that we have all seen it--have
+touched it!  Name of a saint!  I had it under my hand in the hotel
+at Algeciras, and I left it on the table.  And now it has been the
+round, and all the initials are placed upon it, and it is for to-
+morrow night.'
+
+'Where have you learnt this?' asked the General in a voice that made
+Estella look at him.  She had never seen him as his enemies had seen
+him, and even they confessed that he was always visible enough in
+action.  Perhaps there was another man behind the personality of
+this deprecating, pleasant-spoken little sybarite--a man who only
+appeared (oh rara avis!) when he was wanted.
+
+'No matter,' replied Concha, in a voice as hard and sharp.
+
+'No; after all, it is of no matter, so long as your information is
+reliable.'
+
+'You may stake your life on that,' said Concha, and remembered the
+words ever after.  'It has been decided to make this journey from
+Seville to Madrid the opportunity of assassinating the Queen
+Regent.'
+
+'It will not be the first time they have tried,' put in the General.
+
+'No.  But this time they will succeed, and it is to be here--to-
+morrow night--in Toledo.  After the Queen Regent's death, and in the
+confusion that will supervene, the little Queen will disappear, and
+then upon the rubbish-heap will spring up the mushrooms as they did
+in France; and this rubbish-heap, like the other, will foul the
+whole air of Europe.'
+
+He shook his head pessimistically till the long, wispy grey hair
+waved from side to side, and his left hand, resting on the wrist-
+bone on the table, made an indescribable gesture that showed a
+foetid air tainted by darksome growths.
+
+There was a silence in the room broken by no outside sound but the
+chink of champed bits as the horses stood in their traces below.
+Indeed, the city of Toledo seemed strangely still this evening, and
+the very air had a sense of waiting in it.  The priest sat and
+looked at his lifelong friend, his furrowed face the incarnation of
+cynical hopelessness.  'What is, is worst,' he seemed to say.  His
+yellow, wise old eyes watched the quick face with the air of one
+who, having posed an insoluble problem, awaits with a sarcastic
+humour the admission of failure.
+
+General Vincente, who had just finished his wine, wiped his
+moustache delicately with his table-napkin.  He was thinking--
+quickly, systematically, as men learn to think under fire.  Perhaps,
+indeed, he had the thoughts half matured in his mind--as the
+greatest general the world has seen confessed that he ever had--that
+he was never taken quite by surprise.  Vincente smiled as he
+thought:  a habit he had acquired on the field, where a staff, and
+perhaps a whole army, took its cue from his face and read the turn
+of fortune there.  Then he looked up straight at Estella, who was
+watching him.
+
+'Can you start on a journey, now--in five minutes?' he asked.
+
+'Yes,' she answered, rising and going towards the door.
+
+'Have you a white mantilla among your travelling things?' he asked
+again.
+
+Estella turned at the doorway and nodded.  'Yes,' she said again.
+
+'Then take it with you, and a cloak, but no heavy luggage.'
+
+Estella closed the door.
+
+'You can come with us?' said the General to Concha, half command,
+half interrogation.
+
+'If you wish it.'
+
+'You may be wanted.  I have a plan--a little plan,' and he gave a
+short laugh.  'It may succeed.'
+
+He went to a side table, where some cold meats still stood, and,
+taking up a small chicken daintily with a fork, he folded it in a
+napkin.
+
+'It will be Saturday,' he said simply, 'before we have reached our
+journey's end, and you will be hungry.  Have you a pocket?'
+
+'Has a priest a pocket?' asked Concha, with a grim humour, and he
+slipped the provisions into the folds of his cassock.  He was still
+eating a biscuit hurriedly.
+
+'I believe you have no money?' said the General suddenly.
+
+'I have only enough,' admitted the old man, 'to take me back to
+Ronda; whither, by the way, my duty calls me.'
+
+'I think not.  Your Master can spare you for a while; my mistress
+cannot do without you.'
+
+At this moment Estella came back into the room ready for her
+journey.  The girl had changed of late.  Her face had lost a little
+roundness and had gained exceedingly in expression.  Her eyes, too,
+were different.  That change had come to them which comes to all
+women between the ages of twenty and thirty, quite irrespective of
+their state.  A certain restlessness, or a quiet content, are what
+one usually sees in a woman's face.  Estella's eyes wore that latter
+look, which seems to indicate a knowledge of the meaning of life and
+a contentment that it should be no different.
+
+Vincente was writing at the table.
+
+'We shall want help,' he said, without looking up.  'I am sending
+for a good man.'
+
+And he smiled as he shook the small sand-castor over the paper.
+
+'May one ask,' said Concha, 'where we are going?'
+
+'We are going to Ciudad Real, my dear friend, since you are so
+curious.  But we shall come back--we shall come back.'
+
+He was writing another despatch as he spoke, and at a sign from him
+Estella went to the door and clapped her hands, the only method of
+summoning a servant in general use at that time in Spain.  The call
+was answered by an orderly, who stood at attention in the doorway
+for a full five minutes while the General wrote further orders in
+his neat, small calligraphy.  There were half a dozen letters in
+all--curt military despatches without preamble and without mercy.
+For this soldier conducted military matters in a singularly domestic
+way, planning his campaigns by the fireside and bringing about the
+downfall of an enemy while sitting in his daughter's drawing-room.
+Indeed, Estella's blotting-book bore the impress of more than one
+death warrant or an order as good as such, written casually on her
+stationery and with her pen.
+
+'Will you have the goodness to despatch these at once?' was the
+message taken by the orderly to the General's aide-de-camp, and the
+gallopers, who were always in readiness, smiled as they heard the
+modest request.
+
+'It will be pleasant to travel in the cool of the evening, provided
+that one guards against a chill,' said the General, making his final
+preparations.  'I require but a moment to speak to my faithful aide-
+de-camp, and then we embark.'
+
+The moon was rising as the carriage rattled across the Bridge of
+Alcantara, and Larralde, taking the air between Wamba's Gate and the
+little fort that guards the entrance to the city, recognised the
+equipage as it passed him.  He saw also the outline of Concha's
+figure in the darkest corner of the carriage, with his back to the
+horses, his head bowed in meditation.  Estella he saw and
+recognised, while two mounted attendants clattering in the rear of
+the carriage testified by their presence to the fact that the
+General had taken the road again.
+
+'It is well,' said Larralde to himself.  'They are all going back to
+Ronda, and Julia will be rid of their influence.  Ronda will serve
+as well as Toledo so far as Vincente is concerned.  But I will wait
+to make sure that they are not losing sight of him.'
+
+So Senor Larralde, cloaked to the eyebrows, leant gracefully against
+the wall, and, like many another upon the bridge after that
+breathless day, drank in the cool air that rose from the river.
+Presently--indeed, before the sound of the distant wheels was quite
+lost--two horsemen, cloaked and provided with such light luggage as
+the saddle can accommodate, rode leisurely through the gateway and
+up the incline that makes a short cut to the great road running
+southward to Ciudad Real.  Larralde gave a little nod of self-
+confidence and satisfaction, as one who, having conceived and built
+up a great scheme, is pleased to see each component part of it act
+independently, and slip into its place.
+
+The General's first thought was for Estella's comfort, and he
+utilised the long hill which they had to ascend on leaving the town
+to make such arrangements as space would allow for their common
+ease.
+
+'You must sleep, my child,' he said.  'We cannot hope to reach
+Ciudad Real before midday to-morrow, and it is as likely as not that
+we shall have but a few hours' rest there.'
+
+And Estella, who had travelled vast distances over vile roads so
+long as her memory went back, who had never known what it is to live
+in a country that is at peace, leant back in her corner and closed
+her eyes.  Had she really been disposed to sleep, however, she could
+scarcely have done it, for the General's solicitude manifested
+itself by a hundred little devices for her greater repose.  For her
+comfort he made Concha move.
+
+'An old traveller like you must shift for yourself,' he said gaily.
+
+'No need to seek shelter for an old ox,' replied Concha, moving into
+the other corner, where he carefully unfolded his pocket-
+handkerchief and laid it over his face, where his long nose,
+protruding, caused it to fall into fantastic folds.  He clasped his
+hands upon his hat, which lay on his knee, and, leaning back,
+presently began to snore gently and regularly--a peaceful, sleep-
+inducing sound, and an excellent example.  The General, whose sword
+seemed to take up half the carriage, still watched Estella, and if
+the air made her mantilla flutter, drew up the window with the
+solicitude of a lover and a maternal noiselessness.  Then, with one
+hand on hers, and the other grasping his sword, he leant back, but
+did not close his eyes.
+
+Thus they travelled on through the luminous night.  The roads were
+neither worse nor better than they are to-day in Spain--than they
+were in England in the Middle Ages--and their way lay over the hill
+ranges that lie between the watersheds of the Tagus and the
+Guadiana.  At times they passed through well-tended valleys, where
+corn and olives and vines seemed to grow on the same soil, but for
+the greater part of the night they ascended and descended the upper
+slopes, where herds of goats, half awakened as they slept in a ring
+about their guardian, looked at them with startled eyes.  The
+shepherds and goatherds, who, like those of old, lay cloaked upon
+the ground, and tended their flocks by night, did not trouble to
+raise their heads.
+
+Concha alone slept, for the General had a thousand thoughts that
+kept him awake and bright-eyed, while Estella knew from her father's
+manner and restlessness that these were no small events that now
+stirred Spain, and seemed to close men's mouths, so that near
+friends distrusted one another, and brother was divided against
+brother.  Indeed, others were on the road that night, and horsemen
+passed the heavy carriage from time to time.
+
+In the early morning a change of horses was effected at a large inn
+near the summit of a pass above Malagon, and here an orderly, who
+seemed to recognise the General, was climbing into the saddle as the
+Vincentes quitted their carriage and passed into the common room of
+the venta for a hasty cup of coffee.
+
+'It is the Queen's courier,' said the innkeeper grandly, 'who takes
+the road before her Majesty in order to secure horses.'
+
+'Ah,' said the General, breaking his bread and dropping it into his
+cup.  'Is that so?  The Queen Regent, you mean?'
+
+'Queen or Queen Regent, she requires four horses this evening,
+Excellency--that is all my concern.'
+
+'True, my friend; true.  That is well said.  And the horses will be
+forthcoming, no doubt.'
+
+'They will be forthcoming,' said the man.  'And the Excellency's
+carriage is ready.'
+
+In the early morning light they drove on, now descending towards the
+great valley of the Guadiana, and at midday, as Vincente had
+foreseen, gained a sight of the ancient city of Ciudad Real lying
+amid trees below them.  Ciudad Real is less interesting than its
+name, and there is little that is royal about its dirty streets and
+ill-kept houses.  No one gave great heed to the travelling-carriage,
+for this is a great centre where travellers journeying east or west,
+north or south, must needs pause for a change of horses.  At the inn
+there were vacant rooms, and that hasty welcome accorded to the
+traveller at wayside houses where none stay longer than they can
+help.
+
+'No,' said the landlord, in answer to the General's query.  'We are
+not busy, though we expect a lady who will pass the hour of the
+siesta here and then proceed northward.'
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.  WOMANCRAFT.
+
+
+
+'Il est rare que la tete des rois soit faite a la mesure de leur
+couronne.'
+
+In the best room of the inn where Vincente and his tired companions
+sought a few hours' rest there sat alone, and in thought, a woman of
+middle age.  Somewhat stout, she yet had that air which arouses the
+attention without being worthy of the name of beauty.  This lady had
+doubtless swayed men's hearts by a word or a glance, for she still
+carried herself with assurance, and a hundred little details of her
+dress would have told another woman that she still desired to
+please.  She wore a white mantilla.
+
+The hour of the siesta was over, and after the great heat of the day
+a cool air was swinging down on the bosom of the river to the
+parched lowlands.  It stirred the leaves of a climbing heliotrope
+which encircled the open windows, and wafted into the ill-furnished
+room a scent of stable-yard and dust.
+
+The lady, sitting with her chin resting in the palm of her small
+white hand, seemed to have lately roused herself from sleep, and now
+had the expectant air of one who awaits a carriage and is about to
+set out on a long journey.  Her eyes were dark and tired-looking,
+and their expression was not that of a good woman.  A sensual man is
+usually weak, but women are different; and this face, with its faded
+complexion and tired eyes, this woman of the majestic presence and
+beautiful hands, was both strong and sensual.  This, in a word, was
+a Queen who never forgot that she was a woman.  As it was said of
+the Princess Christina, so it has been spoken of the Queen, that
+many had killed themselves for hopeless love of her.  For this was
+the most dangerous of the world's creatures--a royal coquette.  Such
+would our own Queen Bess have been had not God, for the good of
+England, given her a plain face and an ungainly form.  For surely
+the devil is in it when a woman can command both love and men.
+Queen Christina, since the death of a husband who was years older
+than herself (and, as some say, before that historic event), had
+played a woman's game with that skill which men only half recognise,
+and had played it with the additional incentive that behind her
+insatiable vanity lay the heavier stake of a crown.
+
+She was not the first to turn the strong current of man's passion to
+her own deliberate gain--nay, ninety-nine out of a hundred women do
+it.  But the majority only play for a suburban villa and a few
+hundred pounds a year; Queen Christina of Spain handled her cards
+for a throne and the continuance of an ill-starred dynasty.
+
+As she sat in the hotel chamber in Ciudad Real--that forlornest of
+royal cities--her face wore the pettish look of one who, having
+passed through great events, having tasted of great passions and
+moved amid the machinery of life and death, finds the ordinary
+routine of existence intolerably irksome.  Many faces wear such a
+look in this country; every second beautiful face in London has it.
+And these women--heaven help them--find the morning hours dull,
+because every afternoon has not its great event and every evening
+the excitement of a social function.
+
+The Queen was travelling incognita, and that fact alone robbed her
+progress of a sense of excitement.  She had to do without the shout
+of the multitude--the passing admiration of the man in the street.
+She knew that she was yet many hours removed from Madrid, where she
+had admirers, and the next best possession--enemies.  Ciudad Real
+was intolerably dull and provincial.  A servant knocked at the door.
+
+'General Vincente, your Majesty, craves the favour of a moment.'
+
+'Ah!' exclaimed the Queen, the light returning to her eyes, a faint
+colour flushing her cheek.  'In five minutes I will receive him.'
+
+And there is no need to say how the Queen spent those minutes.
+
+'Your Majesty,' said the General, bending over her hand, which he
+touched with his lips, 'I have news of the greatest importance.'
+
+The suggestion of a scornful smile flickered for a moment in the
+royal eyes.  It was surely news enough for any man that she was a
+woman--beautiful still--possessing still that intangible and fatal
+gift of pleasing.  The woman slowly faded from her eyes as they
+rested on the great soldier's face, and the Queen it was who, with a
+gracious gesture, bade him be seated.  But the General remained
+standing.  He alone perhaps of all the men who had to deal with her-
+-of all those military puppets with whom she played her royal game--
+had never crossed that vague boundary which many had overstepped to
+their own inevitable undoing.
+
+'It concerns your Majesty's life,' said Vincente bluntly, and calm
+in the certainty of his own theory that good blood, whether it flow
+in the veins of man or woman, assuredly carries a high courage.
+
+'Ah!' said the Queen Regent, whose humour still inclined towards
+those affairs which interested her before the affairs of State.
+'But with men such as you about me, my dear General, what need I
+fear?'
+
+'Treachery, Madame,' he answered, with his sudden smile and a bow.
+'Treachery.'
+
+She frowned.  When a Queen stoops to dalliance a subject must not be
+too practical.
+
+'Ah!  What is it that concerns my life?  Another plot?' she inquired
+shortly.
+
+'Another plot, but one of greater importance than those that exist
+in the republican cafes of every town in your Majesty's kingdom.
+This is a widespread conspiracy, and I fear that many powerful
+persons are concerned in it; but that, your Majesty, is not my
+department nor concern.'
+
+'What is your concern, General?' she asked, looking at him over her
+fan.
+
+'To save your Majesty's life to-night.'
+
+'To-night!' she echoed, her coquetry gone.
+
+'To-night.'
+
+'But how and where?'
+
+'Assassination, Madame, in Toledo.  You are three hours late in your
+journey.  But all Toledo will be astir awaiting you, though it be
+till dawn.'
+
+The Queen Regent closed her fan slowly.  She was, as the rapid
+events of her reign and regency have proved, one of those women who
+rise to the occasion.
+
+'Then one must act at once,' she said.
+
+The General bowed.
+
+'What have you done?' she asked.
+
+'I have sent to Madrid for a regiment that I know; they are as my
+own children.  I have killed so many of them that the remainder love
+me.  I have travelled from Toledo to meet your Majesty on the road,
+or here.'
+
+'And what means have you of preventing this thing?'
+
+'I have brought the means with me, Madame.'
+
+'Troops?' asked the Queen doubtfully, knowing where the canker-worm
+lay hidden.
+
+'A woman and a priest, Madame.'
+
+'And--'
+
+'And I propose that your Majesty journey to Madrid in my carriage,
+attended only by my orderlies, by way of Aranjuez.  You will be safe
+in Madrid, where the Queen will require her mother's care.'
+
+'Yes.  And the remainder of your plan?'
+
+'I will travel back to Toledo in your Majesty's carriage with the
+woman and the priest and your bodyguard--just as your Majesty is in
+the habit of travelling.  Toledo wants a fight; nothing else will
+satisfy them.  They shall have it--before dawn.  The very best I
+have to offer them.'
+
+And General Vincente gave a queer, cheery little laugh, as if he
+were arranging a practical joke.
+
+'But the fight will be round my carriage--'
+
+'Possibly.  I would rather that it took place in the Calle de la
+Ciudad, or around the Casa del Ayuntamiento, where your Majesty is
+expected to sleep to-night.'
+
+'And these persons--this woman who risks her life to save mine--who
+is she?'
+
+'My daughter,' answered the General gravely.
+
+'She is here--in the hotel now?'
+
+The General bowed.
+
+'I have heard that she is beautiful,' said the Queen, with a quick
+glance towards her companion.  'How is it that you have never
+brought her to Court, you who come so seldom yourself?'
+
+Vincente made no reply.
+
+'However, bring her to me now.'
+
+'She has travelled far, Madame, and is not prepared for presentation
+to her Queen.'
+
+'This is no time for formalities.  She is about to run a great risk
+for my sake, a greater risk than I could ever ask her to run.
+Present her as one woman to another, General.'
+
+But General Vincente bowed gravely and made no reply.  The colour
+slowly rose to the Queen Regent's face--a dull red.  She opened her
+fan, closed it again, and sat with furtive downcast eyes.  Suddenly
+she looked up and met his gaze.
+
+'You refuse,' she said, with an insolent air of indifference.  'You
+think that I am unworthy to--meet your daughter.'
+
+'I think only of the exigency of the moment,' was his reply.  'Every
+minute we lose is a gain to our enemies.  If our trick is discovered
+Aranjuez will be no safer for your Majesty than is Toledo.  You must
+be safely in Madrid before it is discovered in Toledo that you have
+taken the other route, and that the person they have mistaken for
+you is in reality my daughter.'
+
+'But she may be killed,' exclaimed the Queen.
+
+'We may all be killed, Madame,' he replied lightly.  'I beg that you
+will start at once in my carriage with your chaplain and the holy
+lady who is doubtless travelling with you.'
+
+The Queen glanced sharply at him.  It was known that although her
+own life was anything but exemplary, she loved to associate with
+women who, under the cloak of religion and an austere virtue,
+intrigued with all parties and condoned the Queen's offences.
+
+'I cannot understand you,' she said, with that sudden lapse into
+familiarity which had led to the undoing of more than one ambitious
+courtier.  'You seem to worship the crown and despise the head it
+rests on.'
+
+'So long as I serve your Majesty faithfully--'
+
+'But you have no right to despise me,' she interrupted passionately.
+
+'If I despised you, should I be here now--should I be doing you this
+service?'
+
+'I do not know.  I tell you I do not understand you.'
+
+And the Queen looked hard at the man who, for this very reason,
+interested one who had all her life dealt and intrigued with men of
+obvious motive and unblushing ambition.
+
+So strong is a ruling passion that even in sight of death (for the
+Queen Regent knew that Spain was full of her enemies and rendered
+callous to bloodshed by a long war) vanity was alert in this woman's
+breast.  Even while General Vincente, that unrivalled strategist,
+detailed his plans, she kept harking back to the question that
+puzzled her, and but half listened to his instructions.
+
+Those desirous of travelling without attracting attention in Spain
+are wise to time their arrival and departure for the afternoon.  At
+this time, while the sun is yet hot, all shutters are closed, and
+the business of life, the haggling in the market-place, the bustle
+of the barrack yard, the leisurely labour of the fields, are
+suspended.  It was about four o'clock--indeed, the city clocks were
+striking that hour--when the two carriages in the inn yard at Ciudad
+Real were made ready for the road.  Father Concha, who never took an
+active part in passing incidents while his old friend and comrade
+was near, sat in a shady corner of the patio and smoked a cigarette.
+An affable ostler had in vain endeavoured to engage him in
+conversation.  Two small children had begged of him, and now he was
+left in meditative solitude.
+
+'In a short three minutes,' said the ostler, 'and the Excellencies
+can then depart.  In which direction, reverendo, if one may ask?'
+
+'One may always ask, my friend,' replied the priest.  'Indeed, the
+holy books are of opinion that it cannot be overdone.  That chin
+strap is too tight.'
+
+'Ah, I see the reverendo knows a horse.'
+
+'And an ass,' added Concha.
+
+At this moment the General emerged from the shadow of the staircase,
+which was open and of stone.  He was followed by Estella, as it
+would appear, and they hurried across the sunlighted patio, the girl
+carrying her fan to screen her face.
+
+'Are you rested, my child?' asked Concha at the carriage door.
+
+The lady lowered the fan for a moment and met his eyes.  A quick
+look of surprise flashed across Concha's face and he half bowed.
+Then he repeated his question in a louder voice:
+
+'Are you rested, my child, after our long journey?'
+
+'Thank you, my father, yes.'
+
+And the ostler watched with open-mouthed interest.
+
+The other carriage had been drawn up to that side of the courtyard
+where the open stairway was, and here also the bustle of departure
+and a hurrying female form, anxious to gain the shade of the
+vehicle, were discernible.  It was all done so quickly, with such a
+military completeness of detail, that the carriages had passed
+through the great doorway and the troopers--merely a general's
+escort--had clattered after them before the few onlookers had fully
+realised that these were surely travellers of some note.
+
+The ostler hurried to the street to watch them go.
+
+'They are going to the north,' he said to himself, as he saw the
+carriages turn in the direction of the river and the ancient Puerta
+de Toledo.  'They go to the north--and assuredly the General has
+come to conduct her to Toledo.'
+
+Strange to say, although it was the hour of rest, many shutters in
+the narrow street were open, and more than one peeping face was
+turned towards the departing carriages.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.  A NIGHT JOURNEY.
+
+
+
+'Let me but bear your love, I'll bear your cares.'
+
+At the cross-roads on the northern side of the river the two
+carriages parted company, the dusty equipage of General Vincente
+taking the road to Aranjuez that leads to the right and mounts
+steadily through olive groves.  The other carriage--which, despite
+its plain and sombre colours, still had an air of grandeur and
+almost of royalty, with its great wheels and curved springs--turned
+to the left and headed for Toledo.  Behind it clattered a dozen
+troopers, picked men, with huge swinging swords and travel-stained
+clothes.  The dust rose in a cloud under the horses' feet and
+hovered in the sullen air.  There was no breath of wind, and the sun
+shone through a faint haze which seemed only to add to the heat.
+
+Concha lowered the window and thrust forward his long inquiring
+nose.
+
+'What is it?' asked the General.
+
+'Thunder--I smell it.  We shall have a storm to-night.'  He looked
+out mopping his brow.  'Name of a saint! how thick the air is.'
+
+'It will be clear before the morning,' said Vincente the optimist.
+
+And the carriage rattled on towards the city of strife, where Jew,
+Goth and Roman, Moor and Inquisitor, have all had their day.
+Estella was silent, drooping with fatigue.  The General alone seemed
+unmoved and heedless of the heat--a man of steel, as bright and
+ready as his own sword.
+
+There is no civilised country in the world so bare as Spain, and no
+part of the Peninsula so sparsely populated as the Castiles.  The
+road ran for the most part over brown and barren uplands, with here
+and there a valley where wheat and olives and vineyards graced the
+lower slopes.  The crying need of all nature was for shade; for the
+ilex is a small-leaved tree giving a thin shadow with no cool depths
+amid the branches.  All was brown and barren and parched.  The earth
+seemed to lie fainting and awaiting the rain.  The horses trotted
+with extended necks and open mouths, their coats wet with sweat.
+The driver--an Andalusian, with a face like a Moorish pirate--kept
+encouraging them with word and rein, jerking and whipping only when
+they seemed likely to fall from sheer fatigue and sun-weariness.  At
+last the sun began to set in a glow like that of a great furnace,
+and the reflection lay over the land in ruddy splendour.
+
+'Ah!' said Concha, looking out, 'it will be a great storm--and it
+will soon come.'
+
+Vast columns of cloud were climbing up from the sunset into a sullen
+sky, thrown up in spreading mares' tails by a hundred contrary gusts
+of wind, as if there were explosive matter in the great furnace of
+the west.
+
+'Nature is always on my side,' said Vincente, with his chuckling
+laugh.  He sat, watch in hand, noting the passage of the kilometres.
+
+At last the sun went down behind a distant line of hill--the
+watershed of the Tagus--and immediately the air was cool.  Without
+stopping, the driver wrapped his cloak round him, and the troopers
+followed his example.  A few minutes later a cold breeze sprung up
+suddenly, coming from the north and swirling the dust high in the
+air.
+
+'It is well,' said Vincente, who assuredly saw good in everything;
+'the wind comes first, and therefore the storm will be short.'
+
+As he spoke the thunder rolled among the hills.
+
+'It is almost like guns,' he added, with a queer look in his eyes
+suggestive of some memory.
+
+Then, preceded by a rushing wind, the rain came, turning to hail,
+and stopping suddenly in a breathless pause, only to recommence with
+a renewed and splashing vigour.  Concha drew up the windows, and the
+water streamed down them in a continuous ripple.  Estella, who had
+been sleeping, roused herself.  She looked fresh, and her eyes were
+bright with excitement.  She had brought home with her from her
+English school that air of freshness and a dainty vigour which makes
+Englishwomen different from all other women in the world, and an
+English schoolgirl one of the brightest, purest, and sweetest of
+God's creatures.
+
+Concha looked at her with his grim smile--amused at a youthfulness
+which could enable her to fall asleep at such a time and wake up so
+manifestly refreshed.
+
+A halt was made at a roadside venta, where the travellers partook of
+a hurried meal.  Darkness came on before the horses were
+sufficiently rested, and by the light of an ill-smelling lamp the
+General had his inevitable cup of coffee.  The rain had now ceased,
+but the sky remained overcast and the night was a dark one.  The
+travellers took their places in the carriage, and again the monotony
+of the road, the steady trot of the horses, the sing-song words of
+encouragement of their driver, monopolised the thoughts of sleepy
+minds.  It seemed to Estella that life was all journeys, and that
+she had been on the road for years.  The swing of the carriage, the
+little varieties of the road, but served to add to her somnolence.
+She only half woke up when, about ten o'clock, a halt was made to
+change horses, and the General quitted the carriage for a few
+minutes to talk earnestly with two horsemen, who were apparently
+awaiting their arrival.  No time was lost here, and the carriage
+went forward with an increased escort.  The two new-comers rode by
+the carriage, one on either side.
+
+When Estella woke up, the moon had risen and the carriage was making
+slow progress up a long hill.  She noticed that a horseman was on
+either side, close by the carriage window.
+
+'Who is that?' she asked.
+
+'Conyngham,' replied the General.
+
+'You sent for him?' inquired Estella, in a hard voice.
+
+'Yes.'
+
+Estella was wakeful enough now, and sat upright, looking straight in
+front of her.  At times she glanced towards the window, which was
+now open, where the head of Conyngham's charger appeared.  The horse
+trotted steadily, with a queer jerk of the head and that willingness
+to do his best which gains for horses a place in the hearts of all
+who have to do with them.
+
+'Will there be fighting?' asked Estella suddenly.
+
+The General shrugged his shoulders.
+
+'One cannot call it fighting.  There may be a disturbance in the
+streets,' he answered.
+
+Concha, quiet in his corner, with his back to the horses, watched
+the girl, and saw that her eyes were wide with anxiety now--quite
+suddenly.  She, who had never thought of fear till this moment.  She
+moved uneasily in her seat, fidgeting as the young ever do when
+troubled.  It is only with years that we learn to bear a burden
+quietly.
+
+'Who is that?' she asked shortly, pointing to the other window,
+which was closed.
+
+'Concepcion Vara--Conyngham's servant,' replied the General, who for
+some reason was inclined to curtness in his speech.
+
+They were approaching Toledo, and passed through a village from time
+to time, where the cafes were still lighted up, and people seemed to
+be astir in the shadow of the houses.  At last, in the main
+thoroughfare of a larger village within a stage of Toledo, a final
+halt was made to change horses.  The street, dimly lighted by a
+couple of oil lamps swinging from gibbets at the corners of a
+crossroad, seemed to be peopled by shadows surreptitiously lurking
+in doorways.  There was a false air of quiet in the houses, and
+peeping eyes looked out from behind the bars that covered every
+window, for even modern Spanish houses are barred as if for a siege,
+and in the ancient villages every man's house is indeed his castle.
+
+The driver had left the box, and seemed to be having some trouble
+with the ostlers and stable-helps; for his voice could be heard
+raised in anger and urging them to greater haste.
+
+Conyngham, motionless in the saddle, touched his horse with his
+heel, advancing a few paces so as to screen the window.  Concepcion,
+on the other side, did the same, so that the travellers in the
+interior of the vehicle saw but the dark shape of the horses and the
+long cloaks of their riders.  They could perceive Conyngham quickly
+throw back his cape in order to have a free hand.  Then there came
+the sound of scuffling feet and an indefinable sense of strife in
+the very air.
+
+'But we will see--we will see who is in the carriage!' cried a
+shrill voice, and a hoarse shout from many bibulous throats
+confirmed the desire.
+
+'Quick!' said Conyngham's voice.  'Quick--take your reins--never
+mind the lamps.'
+
+And the carriage swayed as the man leapt to his place.  Estella made
+a movement to look out of the window, but Concha had stood up
+against it, opposing his broad back alike to curious glances or a
+knife or a bullet.  At the other window the General, better versed
+in such matters, held the leather cushion upon which he had been
+sitting across the sash.  With his left hand he restrained Estella.
+
+'Keep still,' he said.  'Sit back.  Conyngham can take care of
+himself.'
+
+The carriage swayed forward, and a volley of stones rattled on it
+like hail.  It rose jerkily on one side, and bumped over some
+obstacle.
+
+'One who has his quietus,' said Concha; 'these royal carriages are
+heavy.'
+
+The horses were galloping now.  Concha sat down rubbing his back.
+Conyngham was galloping by the window, and they could see his spur
+flashing in the moonlight as he used it.  The reins hung loose, and
+both his hands were employed elsewhere, for he had a man half across
+the saddle in front of him, who held to him with one arm thrown
+round his neck, while the other was raised and a gleam of steel was
+at the end of it.  Concepcion, from the other side, threw a knife
+over the roof of the carriage--he could hit a cork at twenty paces
+but he missed this time.
+
+The General, from within, leant across Estella, sword in hand, with
+gleaming eyes.  But Conyngham seemed to have got the hold he
+desired, for his assailant came suddenly swinging over the horse's
+neck, and one of his flying heels crashed through the window by
+Concha's head, making that ecclesiastic swear like any layman.  The
+carriage was lifted on one side again, and bumped heavily.
+
+'Another,' said Concha, looking for broken glass in the folds of his
+cassock.  'That is a pretty trick of Conyngham's.'
+
+'And the man is a horseman,' added the General, sheathing his sword-
+-'a horseman.  It warms the heart to see it.'
+
+Then he leant out of the window and asked if any were hurt.
+
+'I am afraid, Excellency, that I hurt one,' answered Vara.  'Where
+the neck joins the shoulder.  It is a pretty spot for the knife--
+nothing to turn a point.'
+
+He rubbed a sulphur match on the leg of his trouser, and lighted a
+cigarette as he rode along.
+
+'On our side no accidents,' continued Vara, with a careless
+grandeur, 'unless the reverendo received a kick in the face.'
+
+'The reverendo received a stone in the small of the back,' growled
+Concha pessimistically, 'where there was already a corner of
+lumbago.'
+
+Conyngham, standing in his stirrups, was looking back.  A man lay
+motionless on the road, and beyond, at the cross-roads, another was
+riding up a hill to the right at a hand gallop.
+
+'It is the road to Madrid,' said Concepcion, noting the direction of
+the Englishman's glance.
+
+The General, leaning out of the carriage window, was also looking
+back anxiously.
+
+'They have sent a messenger to Madrid, Excellency, with the news
+that the Queen is on the road to Toledo,' said Concepcion.
+
+'It is well,' answered Vincente, with a laugh.
+
+As they journeyed, although it was nearly midnight, there appeared
+from time to time, and for the most part in the neighbourhood of a
+village, one who seemed to have been awaiting their passage, and
+immediately set out on foot or horseback by one of the shorter
+bridle-paths that abound in Spain.  No one of these spies escaped
+the notice of Concepcion, whose training amid the mountains of
+Andalusia had sharpened his eyesight and added keenness to every
+sense.
+
+'It is like a cat walking down an alley full of dogs,' he muttered.
+
+At last the lights of Toledo hove in sight, and across the river
+came the sound of the city clocks tolling the hour.
+
+'Midnight,' said Concha.  'And all respectable folk are in their
+beds.  At night all cats are grey.'
+
+No one heeded him.  Estella was sitting upright, bright-eyed and
+wakeful.  The General looked out of the window at every moment.
+Across the river they could see lights moving, and many houses that
+had been illuminated were suddenly dark.
+
+'See,' said the General, leaning out of the window and speaking to
+Conyngham, 'they have heard the sound of our wheels.'
+
+At the farther end of the Bridge of Alcantara, on the road which now
+leads to the railway station, two horsemen were stationed, hidden in
+the shadow of the trees that border the pathway.
+
+'Those should be Guardias Civiles,' said Concepcion, who had studied
+the ways of those gentry all his life.  'But they are not.  They
+have horses that have never been taught to stand still.'
+
+As he spoke the men vanished, moving noiselessly in the thick dust
+which lay on the Madrid road.
+
+The General saw them go--and smiled.  These men carried word to
+their fellows in Madrid for the seizure of the little Queen.  But
+before they could reach the capital the Queen Regent herself would
+be there--a woman in a thousand, of inflexible nerve, of infinite
+resource.
+
+The carriage rattled over the narrow bridge which rings hollow to
+the sound of wheels.  It passed under the gate that Wamba built and
+up the tree-girt incline to the city.  The streets were deserted,
+and no window showed a light.  A watchman in his shelter, at the
+corner by the synagogue, peered at them over the folds of his cloak,
+and noting the clank of scabbard against spur, paid no further heed
+to a traveller who took the road with such outward signs of
+authority.
+
+'It is still enough--and quiet,' said Concha, looking out.
+
+'As quiet as a watching cat,' replied Vincente.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.  THE CITY OF STRIFE.
+
+
+
+                    'What lot is mine
+     Whose foresight preaches peace, my heart so slow
+     To feel it!'
+
+Through these quiet streets the party clattered noisily enough, for
+the rain had left the rounded stones slippery, and the horses were
+too tired for a sure step.  There were no lights at the street
+corners, for all had been extinguished at midnight, and the only
+glimmer of a lamp that relieved the darkness was shining through the
+stained-glass windows of the Cathedral, where the sacred oil burnt
+night and day.
+
+The Queen was evidently expected at the Casa del Ayuntamiento, for
+at the approach of the carriage the great doors were thrown open and
+a number of servants appeared in the patio, which was but dimly
+lighted.  By the General's orders the small body-guard passed
+through the doors, which were then closed, instead of continuing
+their way to the barracks in the Alcazar.
+
+This Casa del Ayuntamiento stands, as many travellers know, in the
+Plaza of the same name, and faces the Cathedral, which is without
+doubt the oldest, as it assuredly is the most beautiful, church in
+the world.  The mansion-house of Toledo, in addition to some
+palatial halls which are of historic renown, has several suites of
+rooms used from time to time by great personages passing through or
+visiting the city.  The house itself is old, as we esteem age in
+England, while in comparison to the buildings around it it is
+modern.  Built, however, at a period when beauty of architecture was
+secondary to power of resistance, the palace is strong enough, and
+General Vincente smiled happily as the great doors were closed.  He
+was the last to look out into the streets and across the little
+Plaza del Ayuntamiento, which was deserted and looked peaceful
+enough in the light of a waning moon.
+
+The carriage door was opened by a lacquey, and Conyngham gave
+Estella his hand.  All the servants bowed as she passed up the
+stairs, her face screened by the folds of her white mantilla.  There
+was a queer hush in this great house, and in the manner of the
+servants.  The cathedral clock rang out the half-hour.  The General
+led the way to the room on the first floor that overlooks the Plaza
+del Ayuntamiento.  It is a vast apartment, hung with tapestries and
+pictures such as men travel many miles to see.  The windows, which
+are large in proportion to the height of the room, open upon a stone
+balcony, which runs the length of the house and looks down upon the
+Plaza and across this to the great facade of the Cathedral.
+Candles, hurriedly lighted, made the room into a very desert of
+shadows.  At the far end, a table was spread with cold meats and
+lighted by high silver candelabra.
+
+'Ah!' said Concha, going towards the supper-table.
+
+Estella turned, and for the first time met Conyngham's eyes.  His
+face startled her.  It was so grave.
+
+'Were you hurt?' she asked sharply.
+
+'Not this time, senorita.'
+
+Then she turned with a sudden laugh towards her father.  'Did I play
+my part well?' she asked.
+
+'Yes, my child.'  And even he was grave.
+
+'Unless I am mistaken,' he continued, glancing at the shuttered
+windows, 'we have only begun our task.'  He was reading, as he
+spoke, some despatches which a servant had handed to him.
+
+'There is one advantage in a soldier's life,' he said, smiling at
+Conyngham, 'which is not, I think, sufficiently recognised--namely,
+that one's duty is so often clearly defined.  At the present moment
+it is a question of keeping up the deception we have practised upon
+these good people of Toledo sufficiently long to enable the Queen
+Regent to reach Madrid.  In order to make certain of this we must
+lead the people to understand that the Queen is in this house until,
+at least, daylight.  Given so much advantage, I think that her
+Majesty can reach the capital an hour before any messenger from
+Toledo.  Two horsemen quitted the Bridge of Alcantara as we crossed
+it, riding towards Madrid; but they will not reach the capital--I
+have seen to that.'
+
+He paused and walked to one of the long windows, which he opened.
+The outer shutters remained closed, and he did not unbar them, but
+stood listening.
+
+'All is still as yet,' he said, returning to the table, where Father
+Concha was philosophically cutting up a cold chicken.  'That is a
+good idea of yours,' he said.  'We may all require our full forces
+of mind and body before the dawn.'
+
+He drew forward a chair, and Estella, obeying his gesture, sat down
+and so far controlled her feelings as to eat a little.
+
+'Do queens always feed on old birds such as this?' asked Concha
+discontentedly; and Vincente, spreading out his napkin, laughed with
+gay good humour.
+
+'Before the dawn,' he said to Conyngham, 'we may all be great men,
+and the good Concha here on the high road to a bishopric.'
+
+'He would rather be in bed,' muttered the priest, with his mouth
+full.
+
+It was a queer scene, such as we only act in real life.  The vast
+room, with its gorgeous hangings, the flickering candles, the table
+spread with delicacies, and the strange party seated at it--Concha
+eating steadily, the General looking round with his domesticated
+little smile, Estella with a new light in her eyes and a new
+happiness on her face, Conyngham, a giant among these southerners,
+in his dust-laden uniform--all made up a picture that none forgot.
+
+'They will probably attack this place,' said the General, pouring
+out a glass of wine; 'but the house is a strong one.  I cannot rely
+on the regiments stationed at Toledo, and have sent to Madrid for
+cavalry.  There is nothing like cavalry--in the streets.  We can
+stand a siege--till the dawn.'
+
+He turned, looking over his shoulder towards the door; for he had
+heard a footstep unnoticed by the others.  It was Concepcion Vara
+who came into the room, coatless, his face grey with dust, adding a
+startling and picturesque incongruity to the scene.
+
+'Pardon, Excellency,' he said, with that easy grasp of the situation
+which always made an utterly unabashed smuggler of him, 'but there
+is one in the house whom I think his Excellency should speak with.'
+
+'Ah!'
+
+'The Senorita Barenna.'
+
+The General rose from the table.
+
+'How did she get in here?' he asked sharply.
+
+'By the side door in the Calle de la Ciudad.  The keeper of that
+door, Excellency, is a mule.  The senorita forced him to admit her.
+The sex can do so much,' he added, with a tolerant shrug of the
+shoulders.
+
+'And the other--this Larralde?'
+
+Concepcion raised his hand with outspread fingers, and shook it
+slowly from side to side from the wrist, with the palm turned
+towards his interlocutor--a gesture which seemed to indicate that
+the subject was an unpleasant, almost an indelicate, one.
+
+'Larralde, Excellency,' he said, 'is one of those who are never
+found at the front.  He will not be in Toledo to-night--that
+Larralde.'
+
+'Where is the Senorita Barenna?' asked the General.
+
+'She is downstairs--commanding his Excellency's soldiers to let her
+pass.'
+
+'You go down, my friend, and bring her here.  Then take that door
+yourself.'
+
+Concepcion bowed ceremoniously and withdrew.  He might have been an
+ambassador, and his salutation was worthy of an Imperial Court.
+
+A moment later Julia Barenna came into the room, her dark eyes wide
+with terror, her face pale and drawn.
+
+'Where is the Queen Regent?' she asked, looking from one face to the
+other, and seeing all her foes assembled as if by magic before her.
+
+'Her Majesty is on the road between Aranjuez and Madrid--in safety,
+my dear Julia,' replied the General soothingly.
+
+'But they think she is here.  The people are in the streets.  Look
+out of the window.  They are in the Plaza.'
+
+'I know it, my dear,' said the General.
+
+'They are armed--they are going to attack this house.'
+
+'I am aware of it.'
+
+'Their plan is to murder the Queen.'
+
+'So we understand,' said the General gently.  He had a horror of
+anything approaching sensation or a scene, a feeling which Spaniards
+share with Englishmen.  'That is the Queen for the time being,'
+added Vincente, pointing to Estella.
+
+Julia stood looking from one to the other--a self-contained woman
+made strong by love.  For there is nothing in life or human
+experience that raises and strengthens man or woman so much as a
+great and abiding love.  But Julia Barenna was driven and almost
+panic-stricken.  She held herself in control by an effort that was
+drawing lines in her face never to be wiped out.
+
+'But you will tell them?  I will do it.  Let me go to them.  I am
+not afraid.'
+
+'No one must leave this house now,' said the General.  'You have
+come to us, my dear, you must now throw in your lot with ours.'
+
+'But Estella must not take this risk,' exclaimed Julia.  'Let me do
+it.'
+
+And some woman's instinct sent her to Estella's side--two women
+alone in that great house amid this man's work, this strife of
+reckless politicians.
+
+'And you, and Senor Conyngham,' she cried, 'you must not run this
+great risk.'
+
+'It is what we are paid for, my dear Julia,' answered the General,
+holding out his arm and indicating the gold stripes upon it.
+
+He walked to the window and opened the massive shutters, which swung
+back heavily.  Then he stepped out on to the balcony without fear or
+hesitation.
+
+'See,' he said, 'the square is full of them.'
+
+He came back into the room, and Conyngham, standing beside him,
+looked down into the moonlit Plaza.  The square was, indeed,
+thronged with dark and silent shadows, while others, stealing from
+the doorways and narrow alleys with which Toledo abounds, joined the
+groups with stealthy steps.  No one spoke, though the sound of their
+whispering arose in the still night air like the murmur of a breeze
+through reeds.  A hundred faces peered upwards through the darkness
+at the two intrepid figures on the balcony.
+
+'And these are Spaniards, my dear Conyngham,' whispered the General.
+'A hundred of them against one woman.  Name of God!  I blush for
+them.'
+
+The throng increased every moment, and withal the silence never
+lifted, but brooded breathlessly over the ancient town.  Instead of
+living men, these might well have been the shades of the countless
+and forgotten dead who had come to a violent end in the streets of a
+city where Peace has never found a home since the days of
+Nebuchadnezzar.  Vincente came back into the room, leaving shutter
+and window open.
+
+'They cannot see in,' he said, 'the building is too high.  And
+across the Plaza there is nothing but the Cathedral, which has no
+windows accessible without ladders.'
+
+He paused, looking at his watch.
+
+'They are in doubt,' he said, speaking to Conyngham.  'They are not
+sure that the Queen is here.  We will keep them in doubt for a short
+time.  Every minute lost by them is an inestimable gain to us.  That
+open window will whet their curiosity, and give them something to
+whisper about.  It is so easy to deceive a crowd.'
+
+He sat down and began to peel a peach.  Julia looked at him,
+wondering wherein this man's greatness lay, and yet perceiving dimly
+that, against such as he, men like Esteban Larralde could do
+nothing.
+
+Concha, having supped satisfactorily, was now sitting back in his
+chair seeking for something in the pockets of his cassock.
+
+'It is to be presumed,' he said, 'that one may smoke--even in a
+palace.'
+
+And under their gaze he quietly lighted a cigarette with the
+deliberation of one in whom a long and solitary life had bred habits
+only to be broken at last by death.
+
+Presently the General rose and went to the window again.
+
+'They are still doubtful,' he said, returning, 'and I think their
+numbers have decreased.  We cannot allow them to disperse.'
+
+He paused, thinking deeply.
+
+'My child,' he said suddenly to Estella, 'you must show yourself on
+the balcony.'
+
+Estella rose at once; but Julia held her back.
+
+'No,' she said; 'let me do it.  Give me the white mantilla.'
+
+There was a momentary silence while Estella freed herself from her
+cousin's grasp.  Conyngham looked at the woman he loved while she
+stood, little more than a child, with something youthful and
+inimitably graceful in the lines of her throat and averted face.
+Would she accept Julia's offer?  Conyngham bit his lip and awaited
+her decision.  Then, as if divining his thought, she turned and
+looked at him gravely.
+
+'No,' she said; 'I will do it.'
+
+She went towards the window.  Her father and Conyngham had taken
+their places, one on each side, as if she were the Queen indeed.
+She stood for a moment on the threshold, and then passed out into
+the moonlight, alone.  Immediately there arose the most terrifying
+of all earthly sounds--the dull, antagonistic roar of a thousand
+angry throats.  Estella walked to the front of the balcony and
+stood, with an intrepidity which was worthy of the royal woman whose
+part she played, looking down on the upturned faces.  A red flash
+streaked the darkness of a far corner of the square, and a bullet
+whistled through the open window into the woodwork of a mirror.
+
+'Come back,' whispered General Vincente.  'Slowly, my child--
+slowly.'
+
+Estella stood for a moment looking down with a royal insolence, then
+turned, and with measured steps approached the window.  As she
+passed in she met Conyngham's eyes, and that one moment assuredly
+made two lives worth living.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.  MIDNIGHT AND DAWN.
+
+
+
+          'I have set my life upon a cast
+     And I will stand the hazard of the die.'
+
+'Excellency,' reported a man who entered the room at this moment,
+'they are bringing carts of fuel through the Calle de la Ciudad to
+set against the door and burn it.'
+
+'To set against which door, my honest friend?'
+
+'The great door on the Plaza, Excellency; the other is an old door
+of iron.'
+
+'And they cannot burn it or break it open?'
+
+'No, Excellency.  And, besides, there are loopholes in the thickness
+of the wall at the side.'
+
+The General smiled on this man as being after his own heart.
+
+'One may not shoot to-night, my friend.  I have already given the
+order.'
+
+'But one may prick them with the sword, Excellency?' suggested the
+trooper, with a sort of suppressed enthusiasm.
+
+The General shrugged his shoulders, wisely tolerant.
+
+'Oh yes,' he answered, 'I suppose one may prick them with the
+sword.'
+
+Conyngham, who had been standing half in and half out of the open
+window, listening to this conversation, now came forward.
+
+'I think,' he said, 'that I can clear the Plaza from time to time if
+you give me twenty men.  We can thus gain time.'
+
+'Street-fighting,' answered the General gravely.  'Do you know
+anything of it?  It is nasty work.'
+
+'I know something of it.  One has to shout very loud.  I studied it-
+-at Dublin University.'
+
+'To be sure--I forgot.'
+
+Julia and Estella watched and listened.  Their lot had been cast in
+the paths of war, and since childhood they had remembered naught
+else.  But neither had yet been so near to the work, nor had they
+seen and heard men talk and plan with a certain grim humour--a curt
+and deliberate scorn of haste or excitement--as these men spoke and
+planned now.  Conyngham and Concepcion Vara were altered by these
+circumstances--there was a light in their eyes which women rarely
+see, but the General was the same little man of peace and of a high
+domestic virtue, who seemed embarrassed by a sword which was
+obviously too big for him.  Yet in all their voices there rang alike
+a queer note of exultation.  For man is a fighting animal, and from
+St. Paul down to the humblest little five-foot-one recruit, would
+find life a dull affair were there no strife in it.
+
+'Yes,' said the General, after a moment's reflection, 'that is a
+good idea, and will gain time.  But let them first bring their fuel
+and set it up.  Every moment is a gain.'
+
+At this instant some humorist in the crowd threw a stone in at the
+open window.  The old priest picked up the missile and examined it
+curiously.
+
+'It is fortunate,' he said, 'that the stones are fixed in Toledo.
+In Xeres they are loose, and are always in the air.  I wonder if I
+can hit a citizen.'  And he threw the stone back.
+
+'Close the shutters,' said the General.  'Let us avoid arousing ill-
+feeling.'
+
+The priest drew the jalousies together, but did not quite shut them.
+Vincente stood and looked out through the aperture at the moonlit
+square and the dark shadows moving there.
+
+'I wish they would shout,' he said.  'It is unnatural.  They are
+like children.  When there is noise there is little mischief.'
+
+Then he remained silent for some minutes, watching intently.  All in
+the room noted his every movement.  At length he turned on his heel.
+
+'Go, my friend,' he said to Conyngham.  'Form your men in the Calle
+de la Ciudad, and charge round in line.  Do not place yourself too
+much in advance of your men, or you will be killed, and remember--
+the point!  Resist the temptation to cut--the point is best.'
+
+He patted Conyngham on the arm affectionately, as if he were sending
+him to bed with a good wish, and accompanied him to the door.
+
+'I knew,' he said, returning to the window and rubbing his hands
+together, 'that that was a good man the first moment I saw him.'
+
+He glanced at Estella, and then, turning, opened another window,
+setting the shutters ajar so as to make a second point of
+observation.
+
+'My poor child,' he whispered, as she went to the window and looked
+out, 'it is an ill-fortune to have to do with men whose trade this
+is.'
+
+Estella smiled--a little whitely--and said nothing.  The moon was
+now shining from an almost cloudless sky.  The few fleecy remains of
+the storm sailing towards the east only added brightness to the
+night.  It was almost possible to see the faces of the men moving in
+the square below, and to read their expressions.  The majority stood
+in a group in the centre of the Plaza, while a daring few, reckoning
+on the Spanish aversion to firearms, ran forward from time to time
+and set a bundle of wood or straw against the door beneath the
+balcony.
+
+Some, who appeared to be the leaders, looked up constantly and
+curiously at the windows, wondering if any resistance would be made.
+Had they known that General Vincente was in that silent house they
+would probably have gone home to bed, and the crowd would have
+dispersed like smoke.
+
+Suddenly there arose a roar to the right hand of the square where
+the Calle de la Ciudad was situated, and Conyngham appeared for a
+moment alone, running towards the group, with the moonlight flashing
+on his sword.  At his heels an instant later a single line of men
+swung round the corner and charged across the square.
+
+'Dear, dear,' muttered the General; 'too quick, my friend, too
+quick!'
+
+For Conyngham was already among the crowd, which broke and surged
+back towards the Cathedral.  He paused for a moment to draw his
+sword out of a dark form that lay upon the ground, as a cricketer
+draws a stump.  He had, at all events, remembered the point.  The
+troopers swept across the square like a broom, sending the people as
+dust before them, and leaving the clean, moonlit square behind.
+They also left behind one or two shadows, lying stark upon the
+around.  One of these got upon its knees and crawled painfully away,
+all one-sided, like a beetle that has been trodden underfoot.  Those
+watching from the windows saw with a gasp of horror that part of
+him--part of an arm--had been left behind, and a sigh of relief went
+up when he stopped crawling and lay quite still.
+
+The troopers were now retreating slowly towards the Calle de la
+Ciudad.
+
+'Be careful, Conyngham,' shouted the General from the balcony.
+'They will return.'
+
+And as he spoke a rattling fire was opened upon them from the far
+corner of the square, where the crowd had taken refuge in the
+opening of the Calle del Arco.  Immediately, the people, having
+noted that the troopers were few in number, charged down upon them.
+The men fought in line, retreating step by step, their swords
+gleaming in the moonlight.  Estella, hearing footsteps in the room
+behind her, turned in time to see her father disappearing through
+the doorway.  Concepcion Vara, coatless, as he loved to work, his
+white shirtsleeves fluttering as his arm swung, had now joined the
+troopers, and was fighting by Conyngham's side.
+
+Estella and Julia were out on the balcony now, leaning over and
+forgetting all but the breathless interest of battle.  Concha stood
+beside them, muttering and cursing like any soldier.
+
+They saw Vincente appear at the corner of the Calle de la Ciudad and
+throw away his scabbard as he ran.
+
+'Now, my children!' he cried in a voice that Estella had never heard
+before, which rang out across the square, and was answered by a yell
+that was nothing but a cry of sheer delight.  The crowd swayed back
+as if before a gust of wind, and the General, following it, seemed
+to clear a space for himself as a reaper clears away the standing
+corn before him.  It was, however, only for a moment.  The crowd
+surged back, those in front against their will, and on to the
+glittering steel--those behind shouting encouragement.
+
+'Name of God!' shouted Concha, and was gone.  They saw him a minute
+later appear in the square, having thrown aside his cassock.  He
+made a strange lean figure of a man with his knee-breeches and dingy
+purple stockings, his grey flannel shirt, and the moonlight shining
+on his tonsured head.  He fought without skill, and heedless of
+danger, swinging a great sword that he had picked up from the hand
+of a fallen trooper, and each blow that he got home killed its
+victim.  The metal of the man had suddenly shown itself after years
+of suppression.  This, as Vincente had laughingly said, was no
+priest, but a soldier.  Concepcion, in the thick of it, using the
+knife now with a deadly skill, looked over his shoulder and laughed.
+
+Suddenly the crowd swayed.  The faint sound of a distant bugle came
+to the ears of all.
+
+'It is nothing,' shouted Concha, in English.  'It is nothing.  It is
+I who sent the bugler round.'
+
+And his great sword whistled into a man's brain.  In another moment
+the square was empty, for the politicians who came to murder a woman
+had had enough steel.  The sound of the bugle, intimating, as they
+supposed, the arrival of troops, completed the work of
+demoralisation which the recognition of General Vincente had begun.
+
+The little party--the few defenders of the Casa del Ayuntamiento--
+were left in some confusion in the Plaza, and Estella saw with a
+sudden cold fear that Conyngham and Concha were on their knees in
+the midst of a little group of hesitating men.  It was Concha who
+rose first and held up his hand to the watchers on the balcony,
+bidding them stay where they were.  Then Conyngham rose to his feet
+slowly, as one bearing a burden.  Estella looked down in a sort of
+dream, and saw her lover carrying her father towards the house, her
+mind only half comprehending, in that semi-dreamlike reception of
+sudden calamity which is one of Heaven's deepest mercies.
+
+It was Concepcion who came into the room first, his white shirt dyed
+with blood in great patches like the colour on a piebald horse.  A
+cut in his cheek was slowly dripping.  He went straight to a sofa
+covered in gorgeous yellow satin, and set the cushions in order.
+
+'Senorita,' he said, and spread out his hands.  The tears were in
+his eyes, 'Half of Spain,' he added, 'would rather that it had been
+the Queen--and the world is poorer.'
+
+A moment later Concha came into the room dragging on his cassock.
+
+'My child, we are in God's hand,' he said, with a break in his gruff
+voice.
+
+And then came the heavy step of one carrying sorrow.
+
+Conyngham laid his burden on the sofa.  General Vincente was holding
+his handkerchief to his side, and his eyes, which had a thoughtful
+look, saw only Estella's face.
+
+'I have sent for a doctor,' said Conyngham.  'Your father is
+wounded.'
+
+'Yes,' said Vincente immediately; 'but I am in no pain, my dear
+child.  There is no reason, surely, for us to distress ourselves.'
+
+He looked round and smiled.
+
+'And this good Conyngham,' he added, 'carried me like a child.'
+
+Julia was on her knees at the foot of the sofa, her face hidden in
+her hands.
+
+'My dear Julia,' he said, 'why this distress?'
+
+'Because all of this is my doing,' she answered, lifting her drawn
+and terror-stricken face.
+
+'No, no!' said Vincente, with a characteristic pleasantry.  'You
+take too much upon yourself.  All these things are written down for
+us beforehand.  We only add the punctuation--delaying a little or
+hurrying a little.'
+
+They looked at him silently, and assuredly none could mistake the
+shadows that were gathering on his face.  Estella, who was holding
+his hand, knelt on the floor by his side, quiet and strong, offering
+silently that sympathy which is woman's greatest gift.
+
+Concepcion, who perhaps knew more of this matter than any present,
+looked at Concha and shook his head.  The priest was buttoning his
+cassock, and began to seek something in his pocket.
+
+'Your breviary?' whispered Concepcion; 'I saw it lying out there--
+among the dead.'
+
+'It is a comfort to have one's duty clearly defined,' said the
+General suddenly, in a clear voice.  He was evidently addressing
+Conyngham.  'One of the advantages of a military life.  We have done
+our best, and this time we have succeeded.  But--it is only
+deferred.  It will come at length, and Spain will be a republic.  It
+is a failing cause--because, at the head of it, is a bad woman.'
+
+Conyngham nodded, but no one spoke.  No one seemed capable of
+following his thoughts.  Already he seemed to look at them as from a
+distance, as if he had started on a journey and was looking back.
+During this silence there came a great clatter in the streets, and a
+sharp voice cried 'Halt!'  The General turned his eyes towards the
+window.
+
+'The cavalry,' said Conyngham, 'from Madrid.'
+
+'I did not expect--them,' said Vincente slowly, 'before the dawn.'
+
+The sound of the horses' feet and the clatter of arms died away as
+the troop passed on towards the Calle de la Ciudad, and the quiet of
+night was again unbroken.
+
+Then Concha, getting down on to his knees, began reciting from
+memory the office--which, alas! he knew too well.
+
+When it was finished, and the gruff voice died away, Vincente opened
+his eyes.
+
+'Every man to his trade,' he said, with a little laugh.
+
+Then suddenly he made a grimace.
+
+'A twinge of pain,' he said deprecatingly, as if apologising for
+giving them the sorrow of seeing it.  'It will pass--before the
+dawn.'
+
+Presently he opened his eyes again and smiled at Estella, before he
+moved with a tired sigh and turned his face towards that Dawn which
+knows no eventide.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX.  THE DAWN OF PEACE.
+
+
+
+'Quien no ama, no vive.'
+
+The fall of Morella had proved to be, as many anticipated, the knell
+of the Carlist cause.  Cabrera, that great general and consummate
+leader, followed Don Carlos, who had months earlier fled to France.
+General Espartero--a man made and strengthened by circumstances--was
+now at the height of his fame, and for the moment peace seemed to be
+assured to Spain.  It was now a struggle between Espartero and Queen
+Christina.  But with these matters the people of Spain had little to
+do.  Such warfare of the council-chamber and the boudoir is carried
+on quietly, and the sound of it rarely reaches the ear, and never
+the heart, of the masses.  Politics, indeed, had been the daily fare
+of the Spaniards for so long that their palates were now prepared to
+accept any sop so long as it was flavoured with peace.  Aragon was
+devastated, and the northern provinces had neither seed nor
+labourers for the coming autumn.  The peasants who, having lost
+faith in Don Carlos, rallied round Cabrera, now saw themselves
+abandoned by their worshipped leader, and turned hopelessly enough
+homewards.  Thus gradually the country relapsed into quiet, and
+empty garners compelled many to lay aside the bayonet and take up
+the spade who, having tasted the thrill of battle, had no longer any
+taste for the ways of peace.
+
+Frederick Conyngham was brought into sudden prominence by the part
+he played in the disturbance at Toledo--which disturbance proved, as
+history tells, to be a forerunner of the great revolution a year
+later in Madrid.  Promotion was at this time rapid, and the
+Englishman made many strides in a few months.  Jealousy was so rife
+among the Spanish leaders, Christinos distrusted so thoroughly the
+reformed Carlists, that one who was outside these petty
+considerations received from both sides many honours on the sole
+recommendation of his neutrality.
+
+'And besides,' said Father Concha, sitting in the sunlight on his
+church steps at Ronda, reading to the barber, and the shoemaker, and
+other of his parishioners, the latest newspaper, 'and besides--he is
+clever.'
+
+He paused, slowly taking a pinch of snuff.
+
+'Where the river is deepest it makes least noise,' he added.
+
+The barber wagged his head after the manner of one who will never
+admit that he does not understand an allusion.  And before any could
+speak the clatter of horses in the narrow street diverted attention.
+Concha rose to his feet.
+
+'Ah!' he said, and went forward to meet Conyngham, who was riding
+with Concepcion at his side.
+
+'So you have come, my son,' he said, shaking hands.  He looked up
+into the Englishman's face, which was burnt brown by service under a
+merciless sun.  Conyngham looked lean and strong, but his eyes had
+no rest in them.  This was not a man who had all he wanted.
+
+'Are you come to Ronda, or are you passing through?' asked the
+priest.
+
+'To Ronda.  As I passed the Casa Barenna I made inquiries.  The
+ladies are in the town, it appears.'
+
+'Yes; they are with Estella in the house you know--unless you have
+forgotten it.'
+
+'No,' answered Conyngham getting out of the saddle.  'No; I have
+forgotten nothing.'
+
+Concepcion came forward and led the horse away.
+
+'I will walk to the Casa Vincente.  Have you the time to accompany
+me?' said Conyngham.
+
+'I have always time--for my neighbour's business,' replied Concha.
+And they set off together.
+
+'You walk stiffly,' said Concha.  'Have you ridden far?'
+
+'From Osuna--forty miles since daybreak.'
+
+'You are in a hurry.'
+
+'Yes, I am in a hurry.'
+
+Without further comment he extracted from inside his smart tunic a
+letter--the famous letter in a pink envelope--which he handed to
+Concha.
+
+'Yes,' said the priest, turning it over.  'You and I first saw this
+in the Hotel de la Marina at Algeciras, when we were fools not to
+throw it into the nearest brazier.  We should have saved a good
+man's life, my friend.'
+
+He handed the letter back, and thoughtfully dusted his cassock where
+it was worn and shiny with constant dusting, so that the snuff had
+nought to cling to.
+
+'And you have got it--at last.  Holy saints--these Englishmen!  Do
+you always get what you want, my son?'
+
+'Not always,' replied Conyngham, with an uneasy laugh.  'But I
+should be a fool not to try.'
+
+'Assuredly,' said Concha, 'assuredly.  And you have come to Ronda--
+to try?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+They walked on in silence, on the shady side of the street, and
+presently passed and saluted a priest--one of Concha's colleagues in
+this city of the South.
+
+'There walks a tragedy,' said Concha, in his curt way.  'Inside
+every cassock there walks a tragedy--or a villain.'
+
+After a pause it was Concha who again broke the silence.  Conyngham
+seemed to be occupied with his own thoughts.
+
+'And Larralde--?' said the priest.
+
+'I come from him--from Barcelona,' answered Conyngham, 'where he is
+in safety.  Catalonia is full of such as he.  Sir John Pleydell,
+before leaving Spain, bought this letter for two hundred pounds--a
+few months ago--when I was a poor man and could not offer a price
+for it.  But Larralde disappeared when the plot failed, and I have
+only found him lately in Barcelona.'
+
+'In Barcelona?' echoed Concha.
+
+'Yes; where he can take a passage to Cuba, and where he awaits Julia
+Barenna.'
+
+'Ah!' said Concha, 'so he also is faithful--because life is not
+long, my son.  That is the only reason.  How wise was the great God
+when He made a human life short! '
+
+'I have a letter,' continued Conyngham, 'from Larralde to the
+Senorita Barenna.'
+
+'So you parted friends in Barcelona--after all--when his knife has
+been between your shoulders?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'God bless you, my son!' said the priest, in Latin, with his
+careless, hurried gesture of the Cross.
+
+After they had walked a few paces he spoke again.
+
+'I shall go to Barcelona with her,' he said, 'and marry her to this
+man.  When one has no affairs of one's own there always remain--for
+old women and priests--the affairs of one's neighbour.  Tell me--'
+he paused and looked fiercely at him under shaggy brows--'tell me
+why you came to Spain.'
+
+'You want to know who and what I am--before we reach the Calle
+Mayor?' said Conyngham.
+
+'I know what you are, amigo mio, better than yourself, perhaps.'
+
+As they walked through the narrow streets Conyngham told his simple
+history, dwelling more particularly on the circumstances preceding
+his departure from England, and Concha listened with no further sign
+of interest than a grimace or a dry smile here and there.
+
+'The mill gains by going, and not by standing still,' he said, and
+added, after a pause, 'But it is always a mistake to grind another's
+wheat for nothing.'
+
+They were now approaching the old house in the Calle Mayor, and
+Conyngham lapsed into a silence which his companion respected.  They
+passed under the great doorway into the patio, which was quiet and
+shady at this afternoon hour.  The servants, of whom there are a
+multitude in all great Spanish houses, had apparently retired to the
+seclusion of their own quarters.  One person alone was discernible
+amid the orange trees and in the neighbourhood of the murmuring
+fountain.  She was asleep in a rocking-chair, with a newspaper on
+her lap.  She preferred the patio to the garden, which was too quiet
+for one of her temperament.  In the patio she found herself better
+placed to exchange a word with those engaged in the business of the
+house, to learn, in fact, from the servants the latest gossip, to
+ask futile questions of them, and to sit in that idleness which will
+not allow others to be employed.  In a word, this was the Senora
+Barenna, and Concha, seeing her, stood for a moment in hesitation.
+Then, with a signal to Conyngham, he crept noiselessly across the
+tessellated pavement to the shadow of the staircase.  They passed up
+the broad steps without sound and without awaking the sleeping lady.
+In the gallery above, the priest paused and looked down into the
+courtyard, his grim face twisted in a queer smile.  Then, at the
+woman sitting there--at life and all its illusions, perhaps--he
+shrugged his shoulders and passed on.
+
+In the drawing-room they found Julia, who leapt to her feet and
+hurried across the floor when she saw Conyngham.  She stood looking
+at him breathlessly, her whole history written in her eyes.
+
+'Yes,' she whispered, as if he had called her.  'Yes--what is it?
+Have you come to tell me--something?'
+
+'I have come to give you a letter, senorita,' he answered, handing
+her Larralde's missive.  She held out her hand, and never took her
+eyes from his face.
+
+Concha walked to the window--the window whence the Alcalde of Ronda
+had seen Conyngham hand Julia Barenna another letter.  The old
+priest stood looking down into the garden, where, amid the feathery
+foliage of the pepper trees and the bamboos, he could perceive the
+shadow of a black dress.  Conyngham also turned away, and thus the
+two men who held this woman's happiness in the hollow of their hands
+stood listening to the crisp rattle of the paper as she tore the
+envelope and unfolded her lover's letter.  A great happiness and a
+great sorrow are alike impossible of realisation.  We only perceive
+their extent when their importance has begun to wane.
+
+Julia Barenna read the letter through to the end, and it is possible
+(for women are blind in such matters) failed to perceive the
+selfishness in every line of it.  Then, with the message of
+happiness in her hand, she returned to the chair she had just
+quitted, with a vague wonder in her mind, and the very human doubt
+that accompanies all possession, as to whether the price paid has
+not been too high.
+
+Concha was the first to move.  He turned and crossed the room
+towards Conyngham.
+
+'I see,' he said, 'Estella in the garden.'
+
+And they passed out of the room together, leaving Julia Barenna
+alone with her thoughts.  On the broad stone balcony Concha paused.
+
+'I will stay here,' he said.  He looked over the balustrade.  Senora
+Barenna was still asleep.
+
+'Do not awake her,' he whispered.  'Let all sleeping things sleep.'
+
+Conyngham passed down the stairs noiselessly, and through the
+doorway into the garden.
+
+'And at the end--the Gloria is chanted,' said Concha, watching him
+go.
+
+The scent of the violets greeted Conyngham as he went forward
+beneath the trees planted there in the Moslems' day.  The running
+water murmured sleepily as it hurried in its narrow channel towards
+the outlet through the grey wall, whence it leapt four hundred feet
+into the Tajo below.
+
+Estella was seated in the shade of a gnarled fig tree, where tables
+and chairs indicated the Spanish habit of an out-of-door existence.
+She rose as he came towards her, and met his eyes gravely.  A gleam
+of sun glancing through the leaves fell on her golden hair, half
+hidden by the mantilla, and showed that she was pale with some fear
+or desire.
+
+'Senorita,' he said, 'I have brought you the letter.'  He held it
+out, and she took it, turning over the worn envelope absent-
+mindedly.
+
+'I have not read it myself, and am permitted to give it to you on
+one condition--namely, that you destroy it as soon as you have read
+it.'
+
+She looked at it again.
+
+'It contains the lives of many men--their lives and the happiness of
+those connected with them,' said Conyngham.  'That is what you hold
+in your hand, senorita--as well as my life and happiness.'
+
+She raised her dark eyes to his for a moment, and their tenderness
+was not of earth or of this world at all.  Then she tore the
+envelope and its contents slowly into a hundred pieces, and dropped
+the fluttering papers into the stream pacing in its marble bed
+towards the Tajo and the oblivion of the sea.
+
+'There--I have destroyed the letter,' she said, with a thoughtful
+little smile.  Then, looking up, she met his eyes.
+
+'I did not want it.  I am glad you gave it to me.  It will make a
+difference to our lives.  Though--I never wanted it.'
+
+Then she came slowly towards him.
+
+
+
+
+
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+<a href="#startoftext">In Kedar's Tents, by Henry Seton Merriman</a>
+</h2>
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+Title: In Kedar's Tents
+
+Author: Henry Seton Merriman
+
+Release Date: June, 2004  [EBook #5987]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on October 8, 2002]
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+Edition: 10
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+</pre>
+<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p>
+<p>Transcribed from the 1909 Smith, Elder and Co. edition by Les Bowler,
+St. Ives, Dorset.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h1>IN KEDAR&rsquo;S TENTS<br />by Henry Seton Merriman.</h1>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div>
+<p>CONTENTS</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<pre>CHAPTER<br />I.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; ONE SOWETH.<br />II.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;  ANOTHER REAPETH.<br />III.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; LIKE SHIPS UPON THE SEA.<br />IV.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;  LE PREMIER PAS.<br />V.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; CONTRABAND.<br />VI.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;  AT RONDA.<br />VII.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; IN A MOORISH GARDEN.<br />VIII.&nbsp; &nbsp;  THE LOVE LETTER.<br />IX.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;  A WAR OF WIT.<br />X.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; THE CITY OF DISCONTENT.<br />XI.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;  A TANGLED WEB.<br />XII.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; ON THE TOLEDO ROAD.<br />XIII.&nbsp; &nbsp;  A WISE IGNORAMUS.<br />XIV.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; A WEIGHT OF EVIDENCE.<br />XV.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;  AN ULTIMATUM.<br />XVI.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; IN HONOUR.<br />XVII.&nbsp; &nbsp;  IN MADRID.<br />XVIII.&nbsp; &nbsp; IN TOLEDO.<br />XIX.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; CONCEP&Ccedil;ION TAKES THE ROAD.<br />XX.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;  ON THE TALAVERA ROAD.<br />XXI.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; A CROSS-EXAMINATION.<br />XXII.&nbsp; &nbsp;  REPARATION.<br />XXIII.&nbsp; &nbsp; LARRALDE&rsquo;S PRICE.<br />XXIV.&nbsp; &nbsp;  PRIESTCRAFT.<br />XXV.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; SWORDCRAFT.<br />XXVI.&nbsp; &nbsp;  WOMANCRAFT.<br />XXVII.&nbsp; &nbsp; A NIGHT JOURNEY.<br />XXVIII.&nbsp;  THE CITY OF STRIFE.<br />XXIX.&nbsp; &nbsp;  MIDNIGHT AND DAWN.<br />XXX.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; THE DAWN OF PEACE.</pre>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER I. ONE SOWETH.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p><i>&lsquo;If it be a duty to respect other men&rsquo;s claims, so
+also is it a duty to maintain our own.&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>It is in the staging of her comedies that fate shows herself superior
+to mere human invention.&nbsp; While we, with careful regard to scenery,
+place our conventional puppets on the stage and bid them play their
+old old parts in a manner as ancient, she rings up the curtain and starts
+a tragedy on a scene that has obviously been set by the carpenter for
+a farce.&nbsp; She deals out the parts with a fine inconsistency, and
+the jolly-faced little man is cast to play Romeo, while the poetic youth
+with lantern jaw and an impaired digestion finds no Juliet to match
+his love.</p>
+<p>Fate, with that playfulness which some take too seriously or quite
+amiss, set her queer stage as long ago as 1838 for the comedy of certain
+lives, and rang up the curtain one dark evening on no fitter scene than
+the high road from Gateshead to Durham.&nbsp; It was raining hard, and
+a fresh breeze from the south-east swept a salt rime from the North
+Sea across a tract of land as bare and bleak as the waters of that grim
+ocean.&nbsp; A hard, cold land this, where the iron that has filled
+men&rsquo;s purses has also entered their souls.</p>
+<p>There had been a great meeting at Chester-le-Street of those who
+were at this time beginning to be known as Chartists, and, the Act having
+been lately passed that torchlight meetings were illegal, this assembly
+had gathered by the light of a waning moon long since hidden by the
+clouds.&nbsp; Amid the storm of wind and rain, orators had expounded
+views as wild as the night itself, to which the hard-visaged sons of
+Northumbria had listened with grunts of approval or muttered words of
+discontent.&nbsp; A dangerous game to play - this stirring up of the
+people&rsquo;s heart, and one that may at any moment turn to the deepest
+earnest.</p>
+<p>Few thought at this time that the movement awakening in the working
+centres of the North and Midlands was destined to spread with the strange
+rapidity of popular passion - to spread and live for a decade.&nbsp;
+Few of the Chartists expected to see the fulfilment of half of their
+desires.&nbsp; Yet, to-day, a moiety of the People&rsquo;s Charter has
+been granted.&nbsp; These voices crying in the night demanded an extended
+suffrage, vote by ballot, and freedom for rich and poor alike to sit
+in Parliament.&nbsp; Within the scope of one reign these demands have
+been granted.</p>
+<p>The meeting at Chester-le-Street was no different from a hundred
+others held in England at the same time.&nbsp; It was illegal, and yet
+the authorities dared not to pronounce it so.&nbsp; It might prove dangerous
+to those taking part in it.&nbsp; Lawyers said that the leaders laid
+themselves open to the charge of high treason.&nbsp; In this assembly
+as in others there were wirepullers - men playing their own game, and
+from the safety of the rear pushing on those in front.&nbsp; With one
+of these we have to do.&nbsp; With his mistake Fate raised the curtain,
+and on the horizon of several lives arose a cloud no bigger than a man&rsquo;s
+hand.</p>
+<p>Geoffrey Horner lived before his time, insomuch as he was a gentleman-Radical.&nbsp;
+He was clever, and the world heeded not.&nbsp; He was brilliant, well
+educated, capable of great achievements, and the world refused to be
+astonished.&nbsp; Here were the makings of a malcontent.&nbsp; A well-born
+Radical is one whom the world has refused to accept at his own valuation.&nbsp;
+A wise man is ready to strike a bargain with Fate.&nbsp; The wisest
+are those who ask much and then take half.&nbsp; It is the coward who
+asks too little, and the fool who imagines that he will receive without
+demanding.</p>
+<p>Horner had thrown in his lot with the Chartists in that spirit of
+pique which makes a man marry the wrong woman because the right one
+will have none of him.&nbsp; At the Chester-le-Street meeting he had
+declared himself an upholder of moral persuasion, while in his heart
+he pandered to those who knew only of physical force and placed their
+reliance thereon.&nbsp; He had come from Durham with a contingent of
+malcontents, and was now returning thither on foot in company with the
+local leaders.&nbsp; These were intelligent mechanics seeking clumsily
+and blindly enough what they knew to be the good of their fellows.&nbsp;
+At their heels tramped the rank and file of the great movement.&nbsp;
+The assembly was a subtle foreshadowing of things to come - of Newport
+and the march of twenty thousand men, of violence and bloodshed, of
+strife between brethren, and of justice nonplussed and hesitating.</p>
+<p>The toil-worn miners were mostly silent, their dimly enlightened
+intellects uneasily stirred by the words they had lately heard - their
+stubborn hearts full of a great hope with a minute misgiving at the
+back of it.&nbsp; With this dangerous material Geoffrey Horner proposed
+to play his game.</p>
+<p>Suddenly a voice was raised.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Mates,&rsquo; it cried, at the cross-roads, &lsquo;let&rsquo;s
+go and smash Pleydell&rsquo;s windows!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And a muttered acquiescence to the proposal swept through the moving
+mass like a sullen breeze through reeds.</p>
+<p>The desire for action rustled among these men of few words and mighty
+arms.</p>
+<p>Horner hurriedly consulted his colleagues.&nbsp; Was it wise to attempt
+to exert an authority which was merely nominal?&nbsp; The principles
+of Chartism were at this time to keep within the limits of the law,
+and yet to hint, when such a course was safe, that stronger measures
+lay behind mere words.&nbsp; Their fatal habit was to strike softly.</p>
+<p>In peace and war, at home and abroad, there is but one humane and
+safe rule: Hesitate to strike - strike hard.</p>
+<p>Sir John Pleydell was a member of that Parliament which had treated
+the Charter with contempt.&nbsp; He was one of those who had voted with
+the majority against the measures it embodied.</p>
+<p>In addition to these damnatory facts, he was a local Tory of some
+renown - an ambitious man, the neighbours said, who wished to leave
+his son a peerage.</p>
+<p>To the minds of the rabble this magnate represented the tyranny against
+which their protest was raised.&nbsp; Geoffrey Horner looked on him
+as a political opponent and a dangerous member of the winning party.&nbsp;
+The blow was easy to strike.&nbsp; Horner hesitated - at the cross roads
+of other lives than his own - and held his tongue.</p>
+<p>The suggestion of the unknown humorist in the crowd commended itself
+to the more energetic of the party, who immediately turned towards the
+by-road leading to Dene Hall.&nbsp; The others - the minority - followed
+as minorities do, because they distrusted themselves.&nbsp; Some one
+struck up a song with words lately published in the &lsquo;Northern
+Liberator&rsquo; and set to a well-known local air.</p>
+<p>The shooting party assembled at Dene Hall was still at the dinner
+table when the malcontents entered the park, and the talk of coverts
+and guns ceased suddenly at the sound of their rough voices.&nbsp; Sir
+John Pleydell, an alert man still, despite his grey hair and drawn,
+careworn face, looked up sharply.&nbsp; He had been sitting silently
+fingering the stem of his wineglass - a habit of his when the ladies
+quitted the room - and, although he had shot as well as, perhaps better
+than, any present, had taken but little part in the conversation.&nbsp;
+He had, in fact, only half listened, and when a rare smile passed across
+his grey face it invariably owed its existence to some sally made by
+his son, Alfred Pleydell, gay, light-hearted, <i>d&eacute;bonnaire</i>,
+at the far end of the table.&nbsp; When Sir John&rsquo;s thoughtful
+eyes rested on his motherless son, a dull and suppressed light gleamed
+momentarily beneath his heavy lids.&nbsp; Superficial observers said
+that John Pleydell was an ambitious man; &lsquo;not for himself,&rsquo;
+added the few who saw deeper.</p>
+<p>When his quick mind now took in the import of the sound that broke
+the outer silence of the night, Sir John&rsquo;s glance sought his son&rsquo;s
+face.&nbsp; In moments of alarm the glance flies to where the heart
+is.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What is that?&rsquo; asked Alfred Pleydell, standing up.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Chartists,&rsquo; said Sir John.</p>
+<p>Alfred looked round.&nbsp; He was a soldier, though the ink had hardly
+dried upon the parchment that made him one - the only soldier in the
+room.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We are eleven here,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;and two men downstairs
+- some of you fellows have your valets too - say fifteen in all.&nbsp;
+We cannot stand this, you know. &lsquo;</p>
+<p>As he spoke the first volley of stones crashed through the windows,
+and the broken glass rattled to the floor behind the shutters.&nbsp;
+The cries of the ladies in the drawing-room could be heard, and all
+the men sprang to their feet.&nbsp; With blazing eyes Alfred Pleydell
+ran to the door, but his father was there before him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not you,&rsquo; said the elder man, quiet but a little paler
+than usual; &lsquo;I will go and speak to them.&nbsp; They will not
+dare to touch me.&nbsp; They are probably running away by this time.
+&lsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then we&rsquo;ll run after &rsquo;em,&rsquo; answered Alfred
+with a fine spirit, and something in his attitude, in the ring of his
+voice, awoke that demon of combativeness which lies dormant in men of
+the Anglo-Saxon race.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come on, you fellows!&rsquo; cried the boy with a queer glad
+laugh, and without knowing that he did it Sir John stood aside, his
+heart warm with a sudden pride, his blood stirred by something that
+had not moved it these thirty years.&nbsp; The guests crowded out of
+the room - old men who should have known better - laughing as they threw
+aside their dinner napkins.&nbsp; What a strange thing is man, peaceful
+through long years, and at a moment&rsquo;s notice a mere fighting devil.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come on, we&rsquo;ll teach them to break windows!&rsquo; repeated
+Alfred Pleydell, running to the stick rack.&nbsp; The rain rattled on
+the skylight of the square hall, and the wind roared down the open chimney.&nbsp;
+Among the men hastily arming themselves with heavy sticks and cramming
+caps upon their heads were some who had tasted of rheumatism, but they
+never thought of an overcoat.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We&rsquo;ll know each other by our shirt fronts,&rsquo; said
+a quiet man who was standing on a chair in order to reach an Indian
+club suspended on the wall.</p>
+<p>Alfred was at the door leading through to the servants&rsquo; quarters,
+and his summons brought several men from the pantry and kitchens.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come on!&rsquo; he cried, &lsquo;take anything you can find
+- stick or poker - yes, and those old guns, use &rsquo;em like a club,
+hit very hard and very often.&nbsp; We&rsquo;ll charge the devils -
+there&rsquo;s nothing like a charge - come on!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And he was already out of the door with a dozen at his heels.</p>
+<p>The change from the lighted rooms to the outer darkness made them
+pause a moment, during which time the defenders had leisure to group
+themselves around Alfred Pleydell.&nbsp; A hoarse shout, which indeed
+drowned Geoffrey Horner&rsquo;s voice, showed where the assailants stood.&nbsp;
+Horner had found his tongue after the first volley of stones.&nbsp;
+It was the policy of the Chartist leaders and wirepullers to suggest
+rather than demonstrate physical force.&nbsp; Enough had been done to
+call attention to the Chester-le-Street meeting, and give it the desired
+prominence in the eyes of the nation.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Get back, go to your homes!&rsquo; he was shouting, with upraised
+arms, when the hoarse cry of his adherents and the flood of light from
+the opened door made him turn hastily.&nbsp; In a moment he saw the
+meaning of this development, but it was too late.</p>
+<p>With a cheer, Alfred Pleydell, little more than a boy, led the charge,
+and seeing Horner in front, ran at him with upraised stick.&nbsp; Horner
+half warded the blow, which came whistling down his own stick and paralysed
+his thumb.&nbsp; He returned the stroke with a sudden fury, striking
+Pleydell full on the head.&nbsp; Then, because he had a young wife and
+child at home, he pushed his way through the struggling crowd, and ran
+away in the darkness.&nbsp; As he ran he could hear his late adherents
+dispersing in all directions, like sheep before a dog.&nbsp; He heard
+a voice calling:</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Alfred!&nbsp; Alfred!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And Horner, who an hour - nay, ten minutes - earlier had had no thought
+of violence, ran his fastest along the road by which he had lately come.&nbsp;
+His heart was as water within his breast, and his staring eyes played
+their part mechanically.&nbsp; He did not fall, but he noted nothing,
+and had no knowledge whither he was running.</p>
+<p>Alfred Pleydell lay quite still on the lawn in front of his father&rsquo;s
+house.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER II. ANOTHER REAPETH.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p><i>&lsquo;Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt.&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>During the course of a harum-scarum youth in the city of Dublin certain
+persons had been known to predict that Mr. Frederick Conyngham had a
+future before him.&nbsp; Mostly pleasant-spoken Irish persons these,
+who had the racial habit of saying that which is likely to be welcome.&nbsp;
+Many of them added, &lsquo;the young divil,&rsquo; under their breath,
+in a pious hope of thereby cleansing their souls from guilt.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I suppose I&rsquo;m idle, and what is worse, I know I&rsquo;m
+a fool,&rsquo; said Conyngham himself to his tutor when that gentleman,
+with a toleration which was undeserved, took him severely to task before
+sending him up for the Bar examination.&nbsp; The tutor said nothing,
+but he suspected that this, his wildest pupil, was no fool.&nbsp; Truth
+to tell, Frederick Conyngham had devoted little thought to the matter
+of which he spoke, namely, himself, and was perhaps none the worse for
+that.&nbsp; A young man who thinks too often usually falls into the
+error of also thinking too much, of himself.</p>
+<p>The examination was, however, safely passed, and in due course Frederick
+was called to the Irish Bar, where a Queen&rsquo;s Counsel, with an
+accent like rich wine, told him that he was now a gintleman, and entitled
+so to call himself.</p>
+<p>All these events were left behind, and Conyngham, sitting alone in
+his rooms in Norfolk Street, Strand, three days after the breaking of
+Sir John Pleydell&rsquo;s windows, was engaged in realising that the
+predicted future was still in every sense before him, and in nowise
+nearer than it had been in his mother&rsquo;s lifetime.</p>
+<p>This realisation of an unpleasant fact appeared in no way to disturb
+his equanimity, for, as he knocked his pipe against the bars of the
+fire, he murmured a popular air in a careless voice.&nbsp; The firelight
+showed his face to be pleasant enough in a way that left the land of
+his birth undoubted.&nbsp; Blue eyes, quick and kind; a square chin,
+closely curling hair, and square shoulders bespoke an Irishman.&nbsp;
+Something, however, in the cut of his lips - something close and firm
+- suggested an admixture of Anglo-Saxon blood.&nbsp; The man looked
+as if he might have had an English mother.&nbsp; It was perhaps this
+formation of the mouth that had led those pleasant-spoken persons to
+name to his relatives their conviction that Conyngham had a future before
+him.&nbsp; The best liars are those who base their fancy upon fact.&nbsp;
+They knew that the ordinary thoroughbred Irishman has usually a cheerful
+enough life before him, but not that which is vaguely called a future.&nbsp;
+Fred Conyngham looked like a man who could hold to his purpose, but
+at this moment he also had the unfortunate appearance of not possessing
+one to hold to.</p>
+<p>He knocked the ashes from his pipe, and held the hot briar bowl against
+the ear of a sleeping fox terrier, which animal growled, without moving,
+in a manner that suggested its possession of a sense of humour and a
+full comprehension of the harmless practical joke.</p>
+<p>A moment later the dog sat up and listened with an interest that
+gradually increased until the door opened and Geoffrey Horner came into
+the room.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Faith, it&rsquo;s Horner!&rsquo; said Conyngham.&nbsp; &lsquo;Where
+are you from?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The North.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah - sit down.&nbsp; What have you been doing up there - tub-thumping?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Horner came forward and sat down in the chair indicated.&nbsp; He
+looked five years older than when he had last been there.&nbsp; Conyngham
+glanced at his friend, who was staring into the fire.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Edith all right?&rsquo; he asked carelessly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And - the little chap?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham glanced at his companion again.&nbsp; Horner&rsquo;s eyes
+had the hard look that comes from hopelessness; his lips were dry and
+white.&nbsp; He wore the air of one whose stake in the game of life
+was heavy, who played that game nervously.&nbsp; For this was an ambitious
+man with wife and child whom he loved.&nbsp; Conyngham&rsquo;s attitude
+towards Fate was in strong contrast.&nbsp; He held his head up and faced
+the world without encumbrance, without a settled ambition, without any
+sense of responsibility at all.&nbsp; The sharp-eyed dog on the hearthrug
+looked from one to the other.&nbsp; A moment before, the atmosphere
+of the room had been one of ease and comfortable assurance - an atmosphere
+that some men, without any warrant or the justification of personal
+success or distinction, seem to carry with them through life.&nbsp;
+Since Horner had crossed the threshold the ceaseless hum of the streets
+seemed to be nearer, the sound of it louder in the room; the restlessness
+of that great strife stirred the air.&nbsp; The fox terrier laid himself
+on the hearthrug again, but instead of sleeping watched his two human
+companions.</p>
+<p>Conyngham filled his pipe.&nbsp; He turned to the table where the
+matchbox stood at his elbow, took it up, rattled it, and laid it down.&nbsp;
+He pressed the tobacco hard with his thumb, and, turning to Horner,
+said sharply:</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What is it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know yet; ruin, I think.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nonsense, man!&rsquo; said Conyngham cheerily.&nbsp; &lsquo;There
+is no such thing in this world.&nbsp; At least, the jolliest fellows
+I know are bankrupts, or no better.&nbsp; Look at me: never a brief;
+literary contributions returned with thanks; balance at the bank, seventeen
+pounds ten shillings; balance in hand, none; debts, the Lord only knows!&nbsp;
+Look at me!&nbsp; I&rsquo;m happy enough.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, you&rsquo;re a lonely devil.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham looked at his friend with inquiry in his gay eyes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah! perhaps so.&nbsp; I live alone, if that is what you mean.&nbsp;
+But as for being lonely - no, hang it!&nbsp; I have plenty of friends,
+especially at dividend time.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have nobody depending on you,&rsquo; said Horner with
+the irritability of sorrow.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Because nobody is such a fool.&nbsp; On the other hand, I
+have nobody to care a twopenny curse what becomes of me.&nbsp; Same
+thing, you see, in the end.&nbsp; Come, man, cheer up.&nbsp; Tell me
+what is wrong.&nbsp; Seventeen pounds ten shillings is not exactly wealth,
+but if you want it you know it is there, eh?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do not want it, thanks,&rsquo; replied the other.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Seventeen hundred would be no good to me. &lsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused, biting his under lip and staring with hard eyes into the
+fire.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Read that,&rsquo; he said at length, and handed Conyngham
+a cutting from a daily newspaper.</p>
+<p>The younger man read, without apparent interest, an account of the
+Chester-le-Street meeting, and the subsequent attack on Sir John Pleydell&rsquo;s
+house.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; he commented, &lsquo;the usual thing.&nbsp; Brave
+words followed by a cowardly deed.&nbsp; What in the name of fortune
+you were doing in that <i>gal&egrave;re</i> you yourself know best.&nbsp;
+If these are politics, Horner, I say drop them.&nbsp; Politics are a
+stick, clean enough at the top, but you&rsquo;ve got hold of the wrong
+end.&nbsp; Young Pleydell was hurt, I see - &ldquo;seriously, it is
+feared.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said Horner significantly; and his companion,
+after a quick look of surprise, read the slip of paper carefully a second
+time.&nbsp; Then he looked up and met Horner&rsquo;s eyes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Gad!&rsquo; he exclaimed in a whisper.</p>
+<p>Horner said nothing.&nbsp; The dog moved restlessly, and for a moment
+the whole world - that sleepless world of the streets - seemed to hold
+its breath.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And if he dies,&rsquo; said Conyngham at length.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Exactly so,&rsquo; answered the other with a laugh - of scaffold
+mirth.</p>
+<p>Conyngham turned in his chair and sat with his elbows on his knees,
+his face resting on his closed fists, staring at the worn old hearthrug.&nbsp;
+Thus they remained for some minutes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What are you thinking about?&rsquo; asked Horner at length.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nothing - got nothing to think with.&nbsp; You know that,
+Geoffrey.&nbsp; Wish I had - never wanted it as I do at this moment.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;m no good, you know that.&nbsp; You must go to some one with
+brains - some clever devil.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>As he spoke he turned and took up the paper again, reading the paragraph
+slowly and carefully.&nbsp; Horner looked at him with a breathless hunger
+in his eyes.&nbsp; At some moments it is a crime to think, for we never
+know but that thought may be transmitted without so much as a whisper.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&ldquo;The miners were accompanied by a gentleman from London,&rdquo;&rsquo;
+Conyngham read aloud, &lsquo;&ldquo;a barrister, it is supposed, whose
+speech was a feature of the Chester le-Street meeting.&nbsp; This gentleman&rsquo;s
+name is quite unknown, nor has his whereabouts yet been discovered.&nbsp;
+His sudden disappearance lends likelihood to the report that this unknown
+agitator actually struck the blow which injured Mr. Alfred Pleydell.&nbsp;
+Every exertion is being put forth by the authorities to trace the man
+who is possibly a felon and certainly a coward.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham laid aside the paper and again looked at Horner, who did
+not meet his glance nor ask now of what he was thinking.&nbsp; Horner,
+indeed, had his own thoughts, perhaps of the fireside - modest enough,
+but happy as love and health could make it - upon which his own ambition
+had brought down the ruins of a hundred castles in the air - thoughts
+he scarce could face, no doubt, and yet had no power to drive away,
+of the young wife whose world was that same fireside; of the child,
+perhaps, whose coming had opened for a time the door of Paradise.</p>
+<p>Conyngham broke in upon these meditations with a laugh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have it!&rsquo; he cried.&nbsp; &lsquo;It&rsquo;s as simple
+as the alphabet.&nbsp; This paper says it was a barrister - a man from
+London - a malcontent, a felon, a coward.&nbsp; Dammy, Geoff - that&rsquo;s
+me!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He leapt to his feet.&nbsp; &lsquo;Get out of the way, Tim!&rsquo;
+he cried to the dog, pushing the animal aside and standing on the hearthrug.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Listen to this,&rsquo; he went on.&nbsp; &lsquo;This thing,
+like the others, will blow over.&nbsp; It will be forgotten in a week.&nbsp;
+Another meeting will be held - say in South Wales, more windows will
+be broken, another young man&rsquo;s head cracked, and Chester-le-Street
+(God-forsaken place, never heard of it!) will be forgotten.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Horner sat looking with hollow eyes at the young Irishman, his lips
+twitching, his fingers interlocked - there is nothing makes so complete
+a coward of a man as a woman&rsquo;s love.&nbsp; Conyngham laughed as
+the notion unfolded itself in his mind.&nbsp; He might, as he himself
+had said, be of no great brain power, but he was at all events a man
+and a brave one.&nbsp; He stood a full six foot, and looked down at
+his companion, who sat whitefaced and shrinking.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is quite easy,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;for me to disappear
+in such a manner as to arouse suspicion.&nbsp; I have nothing to keep
+me here; my briefs - well, the Solicitor-General can have &rsquo;em!&nbsp;
+I have no ties - nothing to keep me in any part of the world.&nbsp;
+When young Pleydell is on his feet again, and a few more windows have
+been broken, and nine days have elapsed, the wonder will give place
+to another, and I can return to my - practice.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I couldn&rsquo;t let you do it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh yes, you could,&rsquo; said Conyngham with the quickness
+of his race to spy out his neighbour&rsquo;s vulnerable point.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;For the sake of Edith and the little devil.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Horner sat silent, and after a moment Conyngham went on.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;All we want to do is to divert suspicion from you now - to
+put them on a false scent, for they must have one of some sort.&nbsp;
+When they find that they cannot catch me they will forget all about
+it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Horner shuffled in his seat.&nbsp; This was nothing but detection
+of the thoughts that had passed through his own mind.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is easily enough done,&rsquo; went on the Irishman.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;A paragraph here and there in some of the newspapers; a few incriminating
+papers left in these rooms, which are certain to be searched.&nbsp;
+I have a bad name - an Irish dog goes about the world with a rope round
+his neck.&nbsp; If I am caught it will not be for some time, and then
+I can get out of it somehow - an alibi or something.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll
+get a brief at all events.&nbsp; By that time the scent will be lost,
+and it will be all right.&nbsp; Come, Geoff, cheer up!&nbsp; A man of
+your sort ought not to be thrown by a mischance like this.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He stood with his legs apart, his hands thrust deep into his pockets,
+a gay laugh on his lips, and much discernment in his eyes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, d---n Edith!&rsquo; he added after a pause, seeing that
+his efforts met with no response.&nbsp; &lsquo;D---n that child!&nbsp;
+You used to have some pluck, Horner.&rsquo;&nbsp; Horner shook his head
+and made no answer, but his very silence was a point gained.&nbsp; He
+no longer protested nor raised any objection to his companion&rsquo;s
+hare-brained scheme.&nbsp; The thing was feasible, and he knew it.</p>
+<p>Conyngham went on to set forth his plans, which with characteristic
+rapidity of thought he evolved as he spoke.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Above all,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;we must be prompt.&nbsp;
+I must disappear to-night, the paragraphs must be in to-morrow&rsquo;s
+papers.&nbsp; I think I&rsquo;ll go to Spain.&nbsp; The Carlists seem
+to be making things lively there.&nbsp; You know, Horner, I was never
+meant for a wig and gown - there&rsquo;s no doubt about that.&nbsp;
+I shall have a splendid time of it out there - &rsquo;</p>
+<p>He stopped, meeting a queer look in Horner&rsquo;s eyes, who sat
+leaning forward and searching his face with jealous glance.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I was wondering,&rsquo; said the other, with a pale smile,
+&lsquo;if you were ever in love with Edith.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, my good soul, I was not,&rsquo; answered Conyngham, with
+perfect carelessness, &lsquo;though I knew her long before you did.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused, and a quick thought flashed through his mind that some
+men are seen at their worst in adversity.&nbsp; He was ready enough
+to find excuses for Horner, for men are strange in the gift of their
+friendship, often bestowing it where they know it is but ill deserved.</p>
+<p>He rattled on with unbroken gaiety, unfolding plans which in their
+perfection of detail suggested a previous experience in outrunning the
+constable.</p>
+<p>While they were still talking a mutual friend came in - a quick-spoken
+man already beginning to be known as a journalist of ability.&nbsp;
+They talked on indifferent topics for some time.&nbsp; Then the new-comer
+said jerkily:</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Heard the news?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; answered Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Alfred Pleydell - young fellow who resisted the Chartist rioters
+at Durham - died yesterday morning.&rsquo;&nbsp; Frederick Conyngham
+had placed himself in front of Horner, who was still seated in the low
+chair by the fire.&nbsp; He found Horner&rsquo;s toe with his heel.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is that so?&rsquo; he said gravely.&nbsp; &lsquo;Then I&rsquo;m
+off.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What do you mean?&rsquo; asked the journalist with a quick
+look - the man had the manner of a ferret.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nothing, only I&rsquo;m off, that&rsquo;s all, old man.&nbsp;
+And I cannot ask you to stay this evening, you understand, because I
+have to pack.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He turned slowly on Horner, who had recovered himself, but still
+had his hand over his face.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Got any money, Geoff?&rsquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, I have twenty pounds if you want it,&rsquo; answered
+the other in a hoarse voice.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do want it - badly.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The journalist had taken up his hat and stick.&nbsp; He moved slowly
+towards the door, and, there pausing, saw Horner pass the bank-notes
+to Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You had better go too,&rsquo; said the Irishman.&nbsp; &lsquo;You
+two are going in the same direction, I know.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Horner rose, and, half laughing, Conyngham pushed him towards the
+door.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;See him home, Blake,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;Horner has
+the blues to-night.&rsquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER III.&nbsp; LIKE SHIPS UPON THE SEA.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p><i>&lsquo;No one can be more wise than destiny.&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>&lsquo;What are we waiting for? why, two more passengers - grand
+ladies as they tell me - and the captain has gone ashore to fetch them,&rsquo;
+the first mate of the &lsquo;Granville&rsquo; barque, of London, made
+answer to Frederick Conyngham, and he breathed on his fingers as he
+spoke, for the north-west wind was blowing across the plains of the
+Medoc, and the sun had just set behind the smoke of Bordeaux.</p>
+<p>The &lsquo;Granville&rsquo; was lying at anchor in the middle of
+the Garonne river, having safely discharged her deck cargo of empty
+claret casks and landed a certain number of passengers.&nbsp; There
+are few colder spots on the Continent than the sunny town of Bordeaux
+when the west wind blows from Atlantic wastes in winter time.&nbsp;
+A fine powder of snow scudded across the flat land, which presented
+a bleak brown face, patched here and there with white.&nbsp; There were
+two more passengers on board the &lsquo;Granville,&rsquo; crouching
+in the cabin - two French gentlemen who had taken passage from London
+to Algeciras in Spain, on their way to Algiers.</p>
+<p>Conyngham, with characteristic good-nature, had made himself so entirely
+at home on board the Mediterranean trader that his presence was equally
+welcomed in the forecastle and the captain&rsquo;s cabin.&nbsp; Even
+the first mate, his present interlocutor, a grim man given to muttered
+abuse of his calling and a pious pessimism in respect to human nature,
+gradually thawed under the influence of so cheerful an acceptance of
+heavy weather and a clumsy deck cargo.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The ladies will be less trouble than the empty casks, at all
+events,&rsquo; said Conyngham, &lsquo;because they will keep below.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The sailor shook his head forebodingly and took an heroic pinch of
+snuff.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One&rsquo;s as capable of carrying mischief as the other,&rsquo;
+he muttered in the bigoted voice of a married teetotaller.</p>
+<p>The ship was ready for sea, and this mariner&rsquo;s spirit was ever
+uneasy and restless till the anchor was on deck and the hawser stowed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There&rsquo;s a boat leaving the quay now,&rsquo; he added.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Seems she&rsquo;s lumbered up forr&rsquo;ard wi&rsquo; women&rsquo;s
+hamper.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And indeed the black form of a skiff so laden could be seen approaching
+through the driving snow and gloom.&nbsp; The mate called to the steward
+to come on deck, and this bearded servitor of dames emerged from the
+galley with uprolled sleeves and a fine contempt for cold winds.&nbsp;
+A boy went forward with a coil of rope on his arm, for the tide was
+running hard and the Garonne is no ladies&rsquo; pleasure stream.&nbsp;
+It is not an easy matter to board a ship in mid-current when tide and
+wind are at variance, and the fingers so cold that a rope slips through
+them like a log-line.&nbsp; The &lsquo;Granville,&rsquo; having still
+on board her cargo of coals for Algeciras, lay low in the water with
+both her anchors out and the tide singing round her old-fashioned hempen
+hawsers.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Now see ye throw a clear rope,&rsquo; shouted the mate to
+the boy who had gone forward.&nbsp; The proximity of the land and the
+approach of women - a <i>b&ecirc;te noire</i> no less dreaded - seemed
+to flurry the brined spirit of the Granville&rsquo;s&rsquo; mate.</p>
+<p>Perhaps the knowledge that the end of a rope, not judged clear, would
+inevitably be applied to his own person, shook the nerve of the boy
+on the forecastle - perhaps his hands were cold and his faculties benumbed.&nbsp;
+He cast a line which seemed to promise well at first.&nbsp; Two coils
+of it unfolded themselves gracefully against the grey sky, and then
+Confusion took the others for herself.&nbsp; A British oath from the
+deck of the ship went out to meet a fine French explosion of profanity
+from the boat, both forestalling the splash of the tangled rope into
+the water under the bows of the ship, and a full ten yards out of the
+reach of the man who stood, boathook in hand, ready to catch it.&nbsp;
+There were two ladies in the stern of the boat, muffled up to the eyes,
+and betokening by their attitude the hopeless despair and misery which
+seize the southern fair the moment they embark in so much as a ferry
+boat.&nbsp; The fore part of the heavy craft was piled up with trunks
+and other impedimenta of a feminine incongruity.&nbsp; A single boatman
+had rowed the boat from the shore, guiding it into mid-stream, and there
+describing a circle calculated to insure a gentle approach on the lee
+side.&nbsp; This man, having laid aside his oars, now stood, boathook
+in hand, awaiting the inevitable crash.&nbsp; The offending boy in the
+bows was making frantic efforts to haul in his misguided rope, but the
+possibility of making a second cast was unworthy of consideration.&nbsp;
+The mate muttered such a string of foreboding expletives as augured
+ill for the delinquent.&nbsp; The boatman was preparing to hold on and
+fend off at the same moment - a sudden gust of wind gave the boat a
+sharp buffet just as the man grappled the mizzen-chains - he overbalanced
+himself, fell, and recovered himself, but only to be jerked backwards
+into the water by the boathook, which struck him in the chest.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;<i>&Agrave; moi</i>!&rsquo; cried the man, and disappeared
+in the muddy water.&nbsp; He rose to the surface under the ship&rsquo;s
+quarter, and the mate, quick as lightning, dumped the whole coil of
+the slack of the main sheet on to the top of him.&nbsp; In a moment
+he was at the level of the rail, the mate and the steward hauling steadily
+on the rope, to which he clung with the tenacity and somewhat the attitude
+of a monkey.&nbsp; At the same instant a splash made the rescuers turn
+in time to see Conyngham, whose coat lay thrown on the deck behind them,
+rise to the surface ten yards astern of the &lsquo;Granville&rsquo;
+and strike out towards the boat, now almost disappearing in the gloom
+of night.</p>
+<p>The water, which had flowed through the sunniest of the sunny plains
+of France, was surprisingly warm, and Conyngham, soon recovering from
+the shock of his dive, settled into a quick side-stroke.&nbsp; The boat
+was close in front of him, and in the semi-darkness he could see one
+of the women rise from her seat and make her way forward, while her
+companion crouched lower and gave voice to her dismay in a series of
+wails and groans.&nbsp; The more intrepid lady was engaged in lifting
+one of the heavy oars, when Conyngham called out in French:</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Courage, mesdames!&nbsp; I will be with you in a moment.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Both turned, and the pallor of their faces shone whitely through
+the gloom.&nbsp; Neither spoke, and in a few strokes Conyngham came
+alongside.&nbsp; He clutched the gunwale with his right hand, and drew
+himself breast high.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If these ladies,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;will kindly go to
+the opposite side of the boat, I shall be able to climb in without danger
+of upsetting.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If mama inclines that way I think it will be sufficient,&rsquo;
+answered the muffled form which had made its way forward.&nbsp; The
+voice was clear and low, remarkably self-possessed, and not without
+a suggestion that its possessor bore a grudge against some person present.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Perhaps mademoiselle is right,&rsquo; said Conyngham with
+becoming gravity, and the lady in the stern obeyed her daughter&rsquo;s
+suggestion, with the result anticipated.&nbsp; Indeed, the boat heeled
+over with so much goodwill that Conyngham was lifted right out of the
+water.&nbsp; He clambered on board and immediately began shivering,
+for the wind cut like a knife.</p>
+<p>The younger lady made her way cautiously back to the seat which she
+had recently quitted, and began at once to speak very severely to her
+mother.&nbsp; This stout and emotional person was swaying backwards
+and forwards, and, in the intervals of wailing and groaning, called
+in Spanish upon several selected saints to assist her.&nbsp; At times,
+and apparently by way of a change, she appealed to yet higher powers
+to receive her soul.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My mother,&rsquo; said the young lady to Conyngham, who had
+already got the oars out, &lsquo;has the heart of a rabbit, but - yes
+- of a very young rabbit.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Madame may rest assured that there is no danger,&rsquo; said
+Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Monsieur is an Englishman - &rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, and a very cold one at the moment.&nbsp; If madame could
+restrain her religious enthusiasm so much as to sit still, we should
+make better progress.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He spoke rather curtly, as if refusing to admit the advisability
+of manning the boat with a crew of black-letter saints.&nbsp; The manner
+in which the craft leapt forward under each stroke of the oars testified
+to the strength of his arms, and madame presently subsided into whispers
+of thankfulness, having reason, it would seem, to be content with mere
+earthly aid in lieu of that heavenly intervention which ladies of her
+species summon at every turn of life.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I wish I could help you,&rsquo; said the younger woman presently,
+in a voice and manner suggestive of an energy unusual to her countrywomen.&nbsp;
+She spoke in French, but with an accent somewhat round and full, like
+an English accent, and Conyngham divined that she was Spanish.&nbsp;
+He thought also that under their outer wraps the ladies wore the mantilla,
+and had that graceful carriage of the head which is only seen in the
+Peninsula.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thank you, mademoiselle, but I am making good progress now.&nbsp;
+Can you see the ship?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She rose and stood peering into the darkness ahead - a graceful,
+swaying figure.&nbsp; A faint scent as of some flower was wafted on
+the keen wind to Conyngham, who had already decided with characteristic
+haste that this young person was as beautiful as she was intrepid.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; she answered, &lsquo;it is quite close.&nbsp;
+They are also showing lights to guide us.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She stood looking apparently over his head towards the &lsquo;Granville,&rsquo;
+but when she spoke it would seem that her thoughts had not been fixed
+on that vessel.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is monsieur a sailor?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, but I fortunately have a little knowledge of such matters
+- fortunate, since I have been able to turn it to the use of these ladies.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But you are travelling in the &ldquo;Granville.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes; I am travelling in the &ldquo;Granville.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Over his oars Conyngham looked hard at his interlocutrice, but could
+discern nothing of her features.&nbsp; Her voice interested him, however,
+and he wondered whether there were ever calms on the coast of Spain
+at this time of the year.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Our sailors,&rsquo; said the young lady, &lsquo;in Spain are
+brave, but they are very cautious.&nbsp; I think none of them would
+have done such a thing as you have just done for us.&nbsp; We were in
+danger.&nbsp; I knew it.&nbsp; Was it not so?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The boat might have drifted against some ship at anchor and
+been upset.&nbsp; You might also have been driven out to sea.&nbsp;
+They had no boat on board the &ldquo;Granville&rdquo; ready to put out
+and follow you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes; and you saved us.&nbsp; But you English are of a great
+courage.&nbsp; And my mother, instead of thanking you, is offering her
+gratitude to James and John the sons of Zebedee, as if they had done
+it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am no relation to Zebedee,&rsquo; said Conyngham with a
+gay laugh.&nbsp; &lsquo;Madame may rest assured of that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Julia,&rsquo; said the elder lady severely, and in a voice
+that seemed to emanate from a chest as deep and hollow as an octave
+cask, &lsquo;I shall tell Father Concha, who will assuredly reprove
+you.&nbsp; The saints upon whom I called were fishermen, and therefore
+the more capable of understanding our great danger.&nbsp; As for monsieur,
+he knows that he shall always be in my prayers.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thank you, madame,&rsquo; said Conyngham gravely.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And at a fitter time I hope to be able to tender him my thanks.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>At this moment a voice from the &lsquo;Granville&rsquo; hailed the
+boat, asking whether all was well and Mr. Conyngham on board.&nbsp;
+Being reassured on this point, the mate apparently attended to another
+matter requiring his attention, the mingled cries and expostulations
+of the cabin boy sufficiently indicating its nature.</p>
+<p>The boat, under Conyngham&rsquo;s strong and steady strokes, now
+came slowly and without mishap alongside the great black hull of the
+vessel, and it soon became manifest that, although all danger was past,
+there yet remained difficulty ahead; for when the boat was made fast
+and the ladder lowered, the elder of the two ladies firmly and emphatically
+denied her ability to make the ascent.&nbsp; The French boatman, shivering
+in a borrowed great coat, and with a vociferation which flavoured the
+air with cognac, added his entreaties to those of the mate and steward.&nbsp;
+In the small boat Conyngham, in French, and the lady&rsquo;s daughter,
+in Spanish, represented that at least half of the heavenly host, having
+intervened to save her from so great a peril as that safely passed through,
+could surely accomplish this smaller feat with ease.&nbsp; But the lady
+still hesitated, and the mate, having clambered down into the boat,
+grabbed Conyngham&rsquo;s arm with a large and not unkindly hand, and
+pushed him forcibly towards the ladder.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You hadn&rsquo;t got no business, Mr. Conyngham,&rsquo; he
+said gruffly, &lsquo;to leave the ship like that, and like as not you&rsquo;ve
+got your death of cold.&nbsp; Just you get aboard and leave these women
+to me.&nbsp; You get to your bunk, mister, and stooard&rsquo;ll bring
+you something hot.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>There was nought but obedience in the matter, and Conyngham was soon
+between the blankets, alternately shivering and burning in the first
+stages of a severe chill.</p>
+<p>The captain having come on board, the &lsquo;Granville&rsquo; presently
+weighed anchor, and on the bosom of an ebbing tide turned her blunt
+prow towards the winter sea.&nbsp; The waves out there beat high, and
+before the lights of Pauillac, then a mere cluster of fishers&rsquo;
+huts, had passed away astern, the good ship was lifting her bow with
+a sense of anticipation, while her great wooden beams and knees began
+to strain and creak.</p>
+<p>During the following days, while the sense of spring and warmth slowly
+gave life to those who could breathe the air on deck, Conyngham lay
+in his little cabin and heeded nothing; for when the fever left him
+he was only conscious of a great lassitude, and scarce could raise himself
+to take such nourishment as the steward, with a rough but kindly skill,
+prepared for him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why the deuce I ever came - why the deuce I ever went overboard
+after a couple of se&ntilde;oras - I don&rsquo;t know,&rsquo; he repeated
+to himself during the hours of that long watch below.</p>
+<p>Why, indeed? except that youth must needs go forth into the world
+and play the only stake it owns there.&nbsp; Nor is Frederick Conyngham
+the first who, having no knowledge of the game of life, throws all upon
+the board to wait upon the hazard of a die.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER IV.&nbsp; LE PREMIER PAS.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p><i>&lsquo;Be as one that knoweth and yet holdeth his tongue.&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>The little town of Algeciras lies, as many know, within sight of
+Gibraltar, and separated from that stronghold by a broad bay.&nbsp;
+It is on the mainland of Spain, and in direct communication by road
+with the great port of Cadiz.&nbsp; Another road, little better than
+a bridle-path, runs northward to Ximena and through the corkwood forests
+of that plain towards the mountain ranges that rise between Ronda and
+the sea.</p>
+<p>By this bridle-path, it is whispered, a vast smuggled commerce has
+ever found passage to the mainland, and scarce a boatman or passenger
+lands at Algeciras from Gibraltar but carries somewhere on his person
+as much tobacco as he may hope to conceal with safety.&nbsp; Algeciras,
+with its fair white houses, its prim church, and sleepy quay, where
+the blue waters lap and sparkle in innocent sunlight, is, it is to be
+feared, a town of small virtue and the habitation of scoundrels.&nbsp;
+For this is the stronghold of those contrabandistas whom song and legend
+have praised as the boldest, the merriest, and most romantic of law-breakers.&nbsp;
+Indeed, in this country the man who can boast of a smuggling ancestry
+holds high his head and looks down on honest folk.</p>
+<p>The &lsquo;Granville&rsquo; having dropped anchor to the north of
+the rough stone pier, was soon disburdened of her passengers - the ladies
+going ashore with undisguised delight, and leaving behind them many
+gracious messages of thanks to the gentleman whose gallantry had resulted
+so disastrously; for Conyngham was still in bed, though now nearly recovered.&nbsp;
+Truth to tell, he did not hurry to make his appearance in the general
+cabin, and came on deck a few hours after the departure of the ladies,
+whose gratitude he desired to avoid.</p>
+<p>Two days of the peerless sunshine of these southern waters completely
+restored him to health, and he prepared to go ashore.&nbsp; It was afternoon
+when his boat touched the beach, and the idlers, without whom no Mediterranean
+seaboard is complete, having passed the heat of the day in a philosophic
+apathy amounting in many cases to a siesta, now roused themselves sufficiently
+to take a dignified and indifferent interest in the new arrival.&nbsp;
+A number of boys, an old soldier, several artillerymen from the pretty
+and absolutely useless fort, a priest and a female vendor of oranges
+put themselves out so much as to congregate in a little knot at the
+spot where Conyngham landed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Body of Bacchus!&rsquo; said the priest, with a pinch of snuff
+poised before his long nose, &lsquo;an Englishman - see his gold watch
+chain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>This remark called forth several monosyllabic sounds, and the onlookers
+watched the safe discharge of Conyngham&rsquo;s personal effects with
+a characteristic placidity of demeanour which was at once tolerant and
+gently surprised.&nbsp; That any one should have the energy to come
+ashore when he was comfortable on board, or leave the shore when amply
+provided there with sunshine, elbowroom, and other necessaries of life,
+presented itself to them as a fact worthy of note but not of emulation.&nbsp;
+The happiest man is he who has reduced the necessities of life to a
+minimum.</p>
+<p>No one offered to assist Conyngham.&nbsp; In Spain the onlooker keeps
+his hands in his pockets.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The English, see you, travel for pleasure,&rsquo; said the
+old soldier, nodding his head in the direction of Gibraltar, pink and
+shimmering across the bay.</p>
+<p>The priest brushed some stray grains of snuff from the front of his
+faded cassock - once black, but now of a greeny brown.&nbsp; He was
+a singularly tall man, gaunt and grey, with deep lines drawn downwards
+from eye to chin.&nbsp; His mouth was large and tender, with a humorous
+corner ever awaiting a jest.&nbsp; His eyes were sombre and deeply shaded
+by grey brows, but one of them had a twinkle lurking and waiting, as
+in the corner of his mouth.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Everyone stretches his legs according to the length of his
+coverlet,&rsquo; he said, and, turning, he courteously raised his hat
+to Conyngham, who passed at that moment on his way to the hotel.&nbsp;
+The little knot of onlookers broke up, and the boys wandered towards
+the fort, before the gate of which a game at bowls was in progress.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Padre has a hungry look,&rsquo; reflected Conyngham.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Think I&rsquo;ll invite him to dinner.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>For Geoffrey Horner had succeeded in conveying more money to the
+man who had taken his sins upon himself, and while Conyngham possessed
+money he usually had the desire to spend it.</p>
+<p>Conyngham went to the Fonda de la Marina, which stands to-day - a
+house of small comfort and no great outward cleanliness; but, as in
+most Spanish inns, the performance was better than the promise, and
+the bedroom offered to the traveller was nothing worse than bare and
+ill furnished.&nbsp; With what Spanish he at this time possessed the
+Englishman made known his wants, and inquired of the means of prosecuting
+his journey to Ronda.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You know the Captain-General Vincente of Ronda?&rsquo; he
+asked.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But. . . yes - by reputation.&nbsp; Who does not in Andalusia?&rsquo;
+replied the host, a stout man, who had once cooked for a military mess
+at Gibraltar, and professed himself acquainted with the requirements
+of English gentlemen.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have a letter to General Vincente, and must go to Ronda
+as soon as possible.&nbsp; These are stirring times in Spain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The man&rsquo;s bland face suddenly assumed an air of cunning, and
+he glanced over his shoulder to see that none overheard.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Your Excellency is right,&rsquo; he answered.&nbsp; &lsquo;But
+for such as myself one side is as good as another - is it not so?&nbsp;
+Carlist or Christino - the money is the same.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But here in the South there are no Carlists.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who knows?&rsquo; said the innkeeper with outspread hands.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Anything that his Excellency requires shall be forthcoming,&rsquo;
+he added grandiosely.&nbsp; &lsquo;This is the dining-room, and here
+at the side a little saloon where the ladies sit.&nbsp; But at present
+we have only gentlemen in the hotel - it being the winter time.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then you have other guests?&rsquo; inquired Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But. . . yes - always.&nbsp; In Algeciras there are always
+travellers.&nbsp; Noblemen - like his Excellency - for pleasure.&nbsp;
+Others - for commerce, the Government - the politics.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No flies enter a shut mouth, my friend,&rsquo; said a voice
+at the door, and both turned to see standing in the doorway the priest
+who had witnessed Conyngham&rsquo;s arrival.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Pardon, se&ntilde;or,&rsquo; said the old man, coming forward
+with his shabby hat in his hand.&nbsp; &lsquo;Pardon my interruption.&nbsp;
+I came at an opportune moment, for I heard the word politics.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He turned and shook a lean finger at the innkeeper, who was backing
+towards the door with many bows.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, bad Miguel,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;will you make it impossible
+for gentlemen to put up at your execrable inn?&nbsp; The man&rsquo;s
+cooking is superior to his discretion, se&ntilde;or.&nbsp; I, too, am
+a traveller, and for the moment a guest here.&nbsp; I have the honour.&nbsp;
+My name is Concha - the Padre Concha - a priest, as you see.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham nodded, and laughed frankly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Glad to meet you,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;I saw you as
+I came along.&nbsp; My name is Conyngham, and I am an Englishman, as
+you hear.&nbsp; I know very little Spanish.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That will come - that will come,&rsquo; said the priest, moving
+towards the window.&nbsp; &lsquo;Perhaps too soon, if you are going
+to stay any length of time in this country.&nbsp; Let me advise you
+- do not learn our language too quickly.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He shook his head and moved towards the open window.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;See to your girths before you mount, eh?&nbsp; Here is the
+verandah, where it is pleasant in the afternoon.&nbsp; Shall we be seated?&nbsp;
+That chair has but three legs - allow me! this one is better.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He spoke with the grave courtesy of his countrymen.&nbsp; For every
+Spaniard, even the lowest muleteer, esteems himself a gentleman, and
+knows how to act as such.&nbsp; The Padre Concha had a pleasant voice,
+and a habit of gesticulating slowly with one large and not too clean
+hand, that suggested the pulpit.&nbsp; He had led the way to a spacious
+verandah, where there were small tables and chairs, and at the outer
+corners orange trees in square green boxes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We will have a bottle of wine - is it not so? - yes,&rsquo;
+he said, and gravely clapped his hands together to summon the waiter
+- an Oriental custom still in use in the Peninsula.</p>
+<p>The wine was brought and duly uncorked, during which ceremony the
+priest waited and watched with the preoccupied air of a host careful
+for the entertainment of his guest.&nbsp; He tasted the wine critically.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It might be worse,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;I beg you
+to excuse it not being better.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>There was something simple in the old man&rsquo;s manner that won
+Conyngham&rsquo;s regard.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The wine is excellent,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;It is
+my welcome to Spain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&nbsp; Then this is your first visit to this country,&rsquo;
+the priest said indifferently, his eyes wandering to the open sea, where
+a few feluccas lay becalmed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham turned and looked towards the sea also.&nbsp; It was late
+in the afternoon, and a certain drowsiness of the atmosphere made conversation,
+even between comparative strangers, a slower, easier matter than with
+us in the brisk North.&nbsp; After a moment the Englishman turned with,
+perhaps, the intention of studying his companion&rsquo;s face, only
+to find the deep grey eyes fixed on his own.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Spain,&rsquo; said the Padre, &lsquo;is a wonderful country,
+rich, beautiful, with a climate like none in Europe; but God and the
+devil come to closer quarters here than elsewhere.&nbsp; Still for a
+traveller, for pleasure, I think this country is second to none.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am not exactly a traveller for pleasure, my father.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; and Concha drummed idly on the table with his fingers.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I left England in haste,&rsquo; added Conyngham lightly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And it will be inexpedient for me to return for some months
+to come.&nbsp; I thought of taking service in the army, and have a letter
+to General Vincente, who lives at Ronda, as I understand, sixty miles
+from here across the mountains.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the priest thoughtfully, &lsquo;Ronda is
+sixty miles from here - across the mountains.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He was watching a boat which approached the shore from the direction
+of Gibraltar.&nbsp; The wind having dropped, the boatmen had lowered
+the sail and were now rowing, giving voice to a song which floated across
+the smooth sea sleepily.&nbsp; It was an ordinary Algeciras wherry built
+to carry a little cargo, and perhaps a dozen passengers, a fishing boat
+that smelt strongly of tobacco.&nbsp; The shore was soon reached, and
+the passengers, numbering half a dozen, stepped over the gunwale on
+to a small landing stage.&nbsp; One of them was better dressed than
+his companions, a smart man with a bright flower in the buttonhole of
+his jacket, carrying the flowing cloak brightly lined with coloured
+velvet without which no Spaniard goes abroad at sunset.&nbsp; He looked
+towards the hotel, and was evidently speaking of it with a boatman whose
+attitude was full of promise and assurance.</p>
+<p>The priest rose and emptied his glass.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I must ask you to excuse me.&nbsp; Vespers wait for no man,
+and I hear the bell,&rsquo; he said with a grave bow, and went indoors.</p>
+<p>Left to himself, Conyngham lapsed into the easy reflections of a
+man whose habit it is to live for the present, leaving the future and
+the past to take care of themselves.&nbsp; Perhaps he thought, as some
+do, that the past dies - which is a mistake.&nbsp; The past only sleeps,
+and we carry it with us through life, slumbering.&nbsp; Those are wise
+who bear it gently so that it may never be aroused.</p>
+<p>The sun had set, and Gibraltar, a huge couchant lion across the bay,
+was fading into the twilight of the East when a footstep in the dining-room
+made Conyngham turn his head, half expecting the return of Father Concha.&nbsp;
+But in the doorway, and with the evident intention of coming towards
+himself, Conyngham perceived a handsome dark-faced man of medium height,
+with a smart moustache brushed upward, clever eyes, and the carriage
+of a soldier.&nbsp; This stranger unfolded his cloak, for in Spain it
+is considered ill-mannered to address a stranger and remain cloaked.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Se&ntilde;or,&rsquo; he said, with a gesture of the hat, courteous
+and yet manly enough to savour more of the camp than the court, &lsquo;se&ntilde;or,
+I understand you are journeying to Ronda.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I, too, intended to go across the mountains, and hoped to
+arrive here in time to accompany friends who I learn have already started
+on their journey.&nbsp; But I have received letters which necessitate
+my return to Malaga.&nbsp; You have already divined that I come to ask
+a favour.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He brought forward a chair and sat down, drawing from his pocket
+a silver cigarette case, which he offered to the Englishman.&nbsp; There
+was a certain picturesqueness in the man&rsquo;s attitude and manner.&nbsp;
+His face and movements possessed a suggestion of energy which seemed
+out of place here in the sleepy South, and stamped him as a native not
+of dreamy Andalusia, but of La Mancha perhaps, where the wit of Spain
+is concentrated, or of fiery Catalonia, where discontent and unrest
+are in the very atmosphere of the brown hills.&nbsp; This was a Spanish
+gentleman in the best sense of the word, as scrupulous in personal cleanliness
+as any Englishman, polished, accomplished, bright and fascinating, and
+yet carrying with him a subtle air of melancholy and romance which lingers
+still among the men and women of aristocratic Spain.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&rsquo;Tis but to carry a letter,&rsquo; he explained, &lsquo;and
+to deliver it into the hand of the person to whom it is addressed.&nbsp;
+Ah, I would give five years of life to touch that hand with my lips.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He sighed, gave a little laugh which was full of meaning, and yet
+quite free from self-consciousness, and lighted a fresh cigarette.&nbsp;
+Then, after a little pause, he produced the letter from an inner pocket
+and laid it on the table in front of Conyngham.&nbsp; It was addressed,
+&lsquo;To the Se&ntilde;orita J. B.,&rsquo; and had a subtle scent of
+mignonette.&nbsp; The envelope was of a delicate pink.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A love letter,&rsquo; said Conyngham bluntly.</p>
+<p>The Spaniard looked at him and shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah! you do not understand,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;in that
+cold country of the North.&nbsp; If you stay in Spain, perhaps some
+dark-eyed one will teach you.&nbsp; But,&rsquo; and his manner changed
+with theatrical rapidity, as he laid his slim hand on the letter, &lsquo;if,
+when you see her you love her, I will kill you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham laughed and held out his hand for the letter.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is insufficiently addressed,&rsquo; he said practically.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;How shall I find the lady?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Her name is Barenna, the Se&ntilde;orita Barenna; that is
+sufficient in Ronda.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham took up the letter and examined it.&nbsp; &lsquo;It is
+of importance?&rsquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of the utmost.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And of value?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of the greatest value in the world to me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The Spaniard rose and took up his cloak, which he had thrown over
+the back of the nearest chair, not forgetting to display a picturesque
+corner of its bright lining.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You swear you will deliver it, only with your own hand, only
+to the hand of the Se&ntilde;orita Barenna?&nbsp; And - you will observe
+the strictest secrecy?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, yes,&rsquo; answered Conyngham carelessly, &lsquo;if you
+like.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The Spaniard turned, and, leaning one hand on the table, looked almost
+fiercely into his companion&rsquo;s face.&nbsp; &lsquo;You are an Englishman,&rsquo;
+he said, &lsquo;and an Englishman&rsquo;s word - is it not known all
+the world over?&nbsp; In the North, in my country, where Wellington
+fought, the peasants still say &ldquo;word of an Englishman&rdquo; instead
+of an oath.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He threw his cloak over his shoulder, and stood looking down at his
+companion with a little smile as if he were proud of him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There!&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;Adios.&nbsp; My name is
+Larralde, but that is of no consequence.&nbsp; Adios!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>With a courteous bow he took his leave, and Conyngham presently saw
+him walking down to the landing stage.&nbsp; It seemed that this strange
+visitor was about to depart as abruptly as he had come.&nbsp; Conyngham
+rose and walked to the edge of the verandah, where he stood watching
+the departure of the boat in which his new friend had taken passage.</p>
+<p>While he was standing there, the old priest came quietly out of the
+open window of the dining room.&nbsp; He saw the letter lying on the
+table where Conyngham had left it.&nbsp; He approached, his shabby old
+shoes making no sound on the wooden flooring, and read the address written
+on the pink and scented envelope.&nbsp; When the Englishman at length
+turned, he was alone on the verandah, with the wine bottle, the empty
+glasses, and the letter.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER V.&nbsp; CONTRABAND.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p><i>&lsquo;What rights are his that dares not strike for them?&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>An hour before sunrise two horses stood shuffling their feet and
+chewing their bits before the hotel of the Marina at Algeciras, while
+their owner, a short and thick-set man of an exaggeratedly villanous
+appearance, attended to such straps and buckles as he suspected of latent
+flaws.&nbsp; The horses were lean and loose of ear, with a melancholy
+thoughtfulness of demeanour that seemed to suggest the deepest misgivings
+as to the future.&nbsp; Their saddles and other accoutrements were frankly
+theatrical, and would have been at once the delight of an artist and
+the despair of a saddler.&nbsp; Fringes and tassels of bright-coloured
+worsted depended from points where fringes and tassels were distinctly
+out of place.&nbsp; Where the various straps should have been strong
+they looked weak, and scarce a buckle could boast an innocence of knotted
+string.&nbsp; The saddles were of wood, and calculated to inflict serious
+internal injuries to the rider in case of a fall.&nbsp; They stood at
+least a foot above the horse&rsquo;s backbone, raised on a thick cushion
+upon the ribs of the animal, and leaving a space in the middle for the
+secretion of tobacco and other contraband merchandise.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I&rsquo;ll take the smallest cut-throat of the crew,&rsquo;
+Conyngham had said on the occasion of an informal parade of guides the
+previous evening.&nbsp; And the host of the Fonda, in whose kitchen
+the function had taken place, explained to Concep&ccedil;ion Vara that
+the English Excellency had selected him on his - the host&rsquo;s -
+assurance that Algeciras contained no other so honest.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Tell him,&rsquo; answered Concep&ccedil;ion with a cigarette
+between his lips and a pardonable pride in his eyes, &lsquo;that my
+grandfather was a smuggler and my father was shot by the Guardia Civil
+near Algatocin.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion, having repaired one girth and shaken his head
+dubiously over another, lighted a fresh cigarette and gave a little
+shiver, for the morning air was keen.&nbsp; He discreetly coughed.&nbsp;
+He had seen Conyngham breakfasting by the light of a dim oil lamp of
+a shape and make unaltered since the days of Nebuchadnezzar, and, without
+appearing impatient, wished to convey to one gentleman the fact that
+another awaited him.</p>
+<p>Before long Conyngham appeared, having paid an iniquitous bill with
+the recklessness that is only thoroughly understood by the poor.&nbsp;
+He appeared as usual to be at peace with all men, and returned his guide&rsquo;s
+grave salutation with an easy nod.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;These the horses?&rsquo; he inquired.</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion Vara spread out his hands.&nbsp; &lsquo;They have
+no equal in Andalusia,&rsquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then I am sorry for Andalusia,&rsquo; answered Conyngham with
+a pleasant laugh.</p>
+<p>They mounted and rode away in the dim cool light of the morning.&nbsp;
+The sea was of a deep blue, and rippled all over as in a picture.&nbsp;
+Gibraltar, five miles away, loomed up like a grey cloud against the
+pink of sunrise.&nbsp; The whole world wore a cleanly look as if the
+night had been passed over its face like a sponge, wiping away all that
+was unsightly or evil.&nbsp; The air was light and exhilarating, and
+scented by the breath of aromatic weeds growing at the roadside.</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion sang a song as he rode - a song almost as old as
+his trade - declaring that he was a smuggler bold.&nbsp; And he looked
+it, every inch.&nbsp; The road to Ronda lies through the cork woods
+of Ximena, leaving St. Roque on the right hand - such at least was the
+path selected by Conyngham&rsquo;s guide; for there are many ways over
+the mountains, and none of them to be recommended.&nbsp; Beguiling the
+journey with cigarette and song, calling at every venta on the road,
+exchanging chaff with every woman and a quick word with all men, Concep&ccedil;ion
+faithfully fulfilled his contract, and, as the moon rose over the distant
+snow-clad peaks of the Sierra Nevada, pointed forward to the lights
+of Gaucin, a mountain village with an evil reputation.</p>
+<p>The dawn of the next day saw the travellers in the saddle again,
+and the road was worse than ever.&nbsp; A sharp ascent led them up from
+Gaucin to regions where foliage grew scarcer at every step, and cultivation
+was unknown.&nbsp; At one spot they turned to look back, and saw Gibraltar
+like a tooth protruding from the sea.&nbsp; The straits had the appearance
+of a river, and the high land behind Ceuta formed the farther bank of
+it.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There is Africa,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion gravely, and
+after a moment turned his horse&rsquo;s head uphill again.&nbsp; The
+people of these mountain regions were as wild in appearance as their
+country.&nbsp; Once or twice the travellers passed a shepherd herding
+sheep or goats on the mountain side, himself clad in goatskin, with
+a great brown cloak floating from his shoulders - a living picture of
+Ishmael or those sons of his who dwelt in the tents of Kedar.&nbsp;
+A few muleteers drew aside to let the horses pass, and exchanged some
+words in an undertone with Conyngham&rsquo;s guide.&nbsp; Fine-looking
+brigands were these, with an armoury of knives peeping from their bright-coloured
+waistbands.&nbsp; The Andalusian peasant is for six days in the week
+calculated to inspire awe by his clothing and general appearance.&nbsp;
+Of a dark skin and hair, he usually submits his chin to the barber&rsquo;s
+office but once a week, and the timid traveller would do well to take
+the road on Sundays only.&nbsp; Towards the end of the week, and notably
+on a Saturday, every passer-by is an unshorn brigand capable of the
+darkest deeds of villany, while twenty-four hours later the land will
+be found to be peopled by as clean and honest and smart, and withal
+as handsome, a race of men as any on earth.</p>
+<p>Before long all habitations were left behind, and the horses climbed
+from rock to rock like cats.&nbsp; There was no suggestion of pathway
+or landmark, and Concep&ccedil;ion paused once or twice to take his
+bearings.&nbsp; It was about two in the afternoon when, after descending
+the bed of a stream long since dried up, Concep&ccedil;ion called a
+halt, and proposed to rest the horses while he dined.&nbsp; As on the
+previous day, the guide&rsquo;s manner was that of a gentleman, conferring
+a high honour with becoming modesty when he sat down beside Conyngham
+and untied his small sack of provisions.&nbsp; These consisted of dried
+figs and bread, which he offered to his companion before beginning to
+eat.&nbsp; Conyngham shared his own stock of food with his guide, and
+subsequently smoked a cigarette which that gentleman offered him.&nbsp;
+They were thus pleasantly engaged when a man appeared on the rocks above
+them in a manner and with a haste that spoke but ill of his honesty.&nbsp;
+The guide looked up knife in hand, and made answer to a gesture of the
+arm with his own hand upraised.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who is this?&rsquo; said Conyngham.&nbsp; &lsquo;Some friend
+of yours?&nbsp; Tell him to keep his distance, for I don&rsquo;t care
+for his appearance.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He is no friend of mine, Excellency.&nbsp; But the man is,
+I dare say, honest enough.&nbsp; In these mountains it is only of the
+Guardia Civil that one must beware.&nbsp; They have ever the finger
+on the trigger and shoot without warning.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nevertheless,&rsquo; said the Englishman, now thoroughly on
+the alert, &lsquo;let him state his business at a respectable distance.&nbsp;
+Ah! he has a comrade and two mules.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And indeed a second man of equally unprepossessing exterior now appeared
+from behind a great rock leading a couple of heavily laden mules.</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion and the first traveller, who was now within a dozen
+yards, were already exchanging words in a patois not unlike the Limousin
+dialect, of which Conyngham understood nothing.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Stop where you are,&rsquo; shouted the Englishman in Spanish,
+&lsquo;or else I shoot you!&nbsp; If there is anything wrong, Se&ntilde;or
+Vara,&rsquo; he added to the guide, &lsquo;I shoot you first, understand
+that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He says,&rsquo; answered Concep&ccedil;ion with dignity, &lsquo;that
+they are honest traders on the road to Ronda, and would be glad of our
+company.&nbsp; His Excellency is at liberty to shoot if he is so disposed.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham laughed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; he answered, &lsquo;I am not anxious to kill any
+man, but each must take care of himself in these times.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not against an honest smuggler.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are these smugglers?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They speak as such.&nbsp; I know them no more than does his
+Excellency.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The second new-comer was now within hail, and began at once to speak
+in Spanish.&nbsp; The tale he told was similar in every way to that
+translated by Concep&ccedil;ion from the Limousin dialect.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why should we not travel together to Ronda?&rsquo; he said,
+coming forward with an easy air of confidence, which was of better effect
+than any protestation of honesty.&nbsp; He had a quiet eye, and the
+demeanour of one educated to loftier things than smuggling tobacco across
+the Sierra, though indeed, he was no better clad than his companion.&nbsp;
+The two guides instinctively took the road together, Concep&ccedil;ion
+leading his horse, for the way was such that none could ride over it.&nbsp;
+Conyngham did the same, and his companion led the mule by a rope, as
+is the custom in Andalusia.</p>
+<p>The full glare of the day shone down on them, the bare rock giving
+back a puff of heat that dried the throat.&nbsp; Conyngham was tired
+and not too trustful of his companion, who, indeed, seemed to be fully
+occupied with his own thoughts.&nbsp; They had thus progressed a full
+half-hour when a shout from the rocks above caused them to halt suddenly.&nbsp;
+The white linen head coverings of the Guardia Civil and the glint of
+the sun on their accoutrements showed at a glance that this was not
+a summons to be disregarded.</p>
+<p>In an instant Concep&ccedil;ion&rsquo;s companion was leaping from
+rock to rock with an agility only to be acquired in the hot fear of
+death.&nbsp; A report rang out and echoed among the hills.&nbsp; A bullet
+went &lsquo;splat&rsquo; against a rock near at hand, making a frayed
+blue mark upon the grey stone.&nbsp; The man dodged from side to side
+in the panic-stricken irresponsibility of a rabbit seeking covert where
+none exists.&nbsp; There was not so much as to hide his head.&nbsp;
+Conyngham looked up towards the foe in time to see a puff of white smoke
+thrown up against the steely sky.&nbsp; A second report, and the fugitive
+seemed to trip over a stone.&nbsp; He recovered himself, stood upright
+for a moment, gave a queer spluttering cough, and sat slowly down against
+a boulder.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He is killed!&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion, throwing down
+his cigarette.&nbsp; &lsquo;Mother of God! these Guardias Civiles!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The two guards came clambering down the face of the rock.&nbsp; Concep&ccedil;ion
+glanced at his late companion writhing in the sharpness of death.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Here or at Ronda, to-day, or to-morrow, what matters it?&rsquo;
+muttered the quiet-eyed man at Conyngham&rsquo;s side.&nbsp; The Englishman
+turned and looked at him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They will shoot me too, but not now.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion sullenly awaited the arrival of the guards.&nbsp;
+These men ever hunt in couples of a widely different age, for the law
+has found that an old head and a young arm form the strongest combination.&nbsp;
+The elder of the two had the face of an old grey wolf.&nbsp; He muttered
+some order to his companion, and went towards the mule.&nbsp; He cut
+away the outer covering of the burden suspended from the saddle, and
+nodded his head wisely.&nbsp; These were boxes of cartridges to carry
+one thousand each.&nbsp; The grey old man turned and looked at him who
+lay on the ground.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A la longa,&rsquo; he said with a grim smile.&nbsp; &lsquo;In
+the long run, Antonio.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The man gave a sickly grin and opened his mouth to speak, but his
+jaw dropped instead, and he passed across that frontier which is watched
+by no earthly sentinel.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;This gentleman,&rsquo; said the quiet-eyed man, whose guide
+had thus paid for his little mistake in refusing to halt at the word
+of command, &lsquo;is a stranger to me - an Englishman, I think.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; answered Conyngham.</p>
+<p>The old soldier looked from one to the other.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That may be,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;but he sleeps in Ronda
+prison to-night.&nbsp; To-morrow the Captain-General will see to it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have a letter to the Captain-General,&rsquo; said Conyngham,
+who drew from his pocket a packet of papers.&nbsp; Among these was the
+pink scented envelope given to him by the man called Larralde at Algeciras.&nbsp;
+He had forgotten its existence, and put it back in his pocket with a
+smile.&nbsp; Having found that for which he sought, he gave it to the
+soldier, who read the address in silence and returned the letter.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You I know,&rsquo; he said, turning to the man at Conyngham&rsquo;s
+side, who merely shrugged his shoulders.&nbsp; &lsquo;And Concep&ccedil;ion
+Vara, we all know him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion had lighted a cigarette, and was murmuring a popular
+air with the indifferent patience and the wandering eye of perfect innocence.&nbsp;
+The old soldier turned and spoke in an undertone to his comrade, who
+went towards the dead man and quietly covered his face with the folds
+of his own faja or waistcloth.&nbsp; This he weighted at the corners
+with stones, carrying out this simple office to the dead with a suggestive
+indifference.&nbsp; To this day the Guardias Civiles have plenary power
+to shoot whomsoever they think fit - flight and resistance being equally
+fatal.</p>
+<p>No more heeding the dead body of the man whom he had shot than he
+would have heeded the carcase of a rat, the elder of the two soldiers
+now gave the order to march, commanding Concep&ccedil;ion to lead the
+way.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It will not be worth your while to risk a bullet by running
+away,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;This time it is probably a matter
+of a few pounds of tobacco only.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The evening had fallen ere the silent party caught sight of the town
+of Ronda, perched, as the Moorish strongholds usually are, on a height.&nbsp;
+Ronda, as history tells, was the last possession of the brave and gifted
+Moslems in Spain.&nbsp; The people are half Moorish still, and from
+the barred windows look out deep almond eyes and patient faces that
+have no European feature.&nbsp; The narrow streets were empty as the
+travellers entered the town, and the clatter of the mules slipping and
+stumbling on the cobble stones brought but few to the doors of the low-built
+houses.&nbsp; To enter Ronda from the south the traveller must traverse
+the Moorish town, which is divided from the Spanish quarter by a cleft
+in the great rock that renders the town impregnable to all attack.&nbsp;
+Having crossed the bridge spanning the great gorge into which the sun
+never penetrates even at midday, the party emerged into the broader
+streets of the more modern town, and, turning to the right through a
+high gateway, found themselves in a barrack yard of the Guardias Civiles.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER VI.&nbsp; AT RONDA.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p><i>&lsquo;Le plus grand art d&rsquo;un habile homme est celui de
+savoir cacher son habilet&eacute;.&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>When Conyngham awoke after a night conscientiously spent in that
+profound slumber which waits on an excellent digestion and a careless
+heart, he found the prison attendant at his bedside.&nbsp; A less easy-going
+mind would perhaps have leapt to some nervous conclusion at the sight
+of this fierce-visaged janitor, who, however, carried nothing more deadly
+in his hand than a card.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is the Captain-General,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;who calls
+at this early hour.&nbsp; His Excellency&rsquo;s letter has been delivered,
+and the Captain-General scarce waited to swallow his morning chocolate.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Very much to the Captain-General&rsquo;s credit,&rsquo; returned
+Conyngham rising.&nbsp; &lsquo;Cold water,&rsquo; he went on, &lsquo;soap,
+a towel, and my luggage - and then the Captain-General.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The attendant, with an odd smile, procured the necessary articles,
+and when the Englishman was ready led the way downstairs.&nbsp; He was
+a solemn man from Galicia, this, where they do not smile.</p>
+<p>In the patio of the great house, once a monastery, now converted
+into a barrack for the Guardias Civiles, a small man of fifty years
+or more stood smoking a cigarette.&nbsp; On perceiving Conyngham he
+came forward with outstretched hand and a smile which can only be described
+as angelic.&nbsp; It was a smile at once sympathetic and humorous, veiling
+his dark eyes between lashes almost closed, parting moustached lips
+to disclose a row of pearly teeth.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My dear sir,&rsquo; said General Vincente in very tolerable
+English, &lsquo;I am at your feet.&nbsp; That such a mistake should
+have been made in respect to the bearer of a letter of introduction
+from my old friend General Watterson - we fought together in Wellington&rsquo;s
+day - that such a mistake should have occurred overwhelms me with shame.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He pressed Conyngham&rsquo;s hand in both of his, which were small
+and white - looked up into his face, stepped back and broke into a soft
+laugh.&nbsp; Indeed his voice was admirably suited to a lady&rsquo;s
+drawing-room, and suggested nought of the camp or battle field.&nbsp;
+From the handkerchief which he drew from his sleeve and passed across
+his white moustache a faint scent floated on the morning air.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are you General Vincente?&rsquo; asked Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes - why not?&rsquo;&nbsp; And in truth the tone of the Englishman&rsquo;s
+voice had betrayed a scepticism which warranted the question.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is very kind of you to come so early.&nbsp; I have been
+quite comfortable, and they gave me a good supper last night,&rsquo;
+said Conyngham.&nbsp; &lsquo;Moreover, the Guardias Civiles are in no
+way to blame for my arrest.&nbsp; I was in bad company, it seems.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes; your companions were engaged in conveying ammunition
+to the Carlists; we have wanted to lay our hands upon them for some
+weeks.&nbsp; They have carried former journeys to a successful termination.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He laughed and shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The guide, Antonio something-or-other, died, as I understand.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, yes; if you choose to put it that way,&rsquo; admitted
+Conyngham.</p>
+<p>The General raised his eyebrows in a gentle grimace expressive of
+deprecation, with, as it were, a small solution of sympathy, indicated
+by a moisture of the eye, for the family of Antonio something-or-other
+in their bereavement.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And the other man?&nbsp; Seemed a nice enough fellow. . .&rsquo;
+inquired Conyngham.</p>
+<p>The General raised one gloved hand as if to fend off some approaching
+calamity.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He died this morning - at six o&rsquo;clock.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham looked down at this gentle soldier with a dawning light
+of comprehension.&nbsp; This might after all be the General Vincente
+whom he had been led to look upon as the fiercest of the Spanish Queen&rsquo;s
+adherents.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of the same complaint?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of the same complaint,&rsquo; answered the General softly.&nbsp;
+He slipped his hand within Conyngham&rsquo;s arm, and thus affectionately
+led him across the patio towards the doorway where sentinels stood at
+attention.&nbsp; He acknowledged the attitude of his subordinates by
+a friendly nod; indeed, this rosy-faced warrior seemed to brim over
+with the milk of human kindness.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The English,&rsquo; he said, pressing his companion&rsquo;s
+arm, &lsquo;have been too useful to us for me to allow one of them to
+remain a moment longer in confinement.&nbsp; You say you were comfortable.&nbsp;
+I hope they gave you a clean towel and all that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, thanks,&rsquo; answered Conyngham, suppressing a desire
+to laugh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That is well.&nbsp; Ronda is a pleasant place, as you will
+find.&nbsp; Most interesting - Moorish remains, you understand.&nbsp;
+I will send my servant for your baggage, and of course my poor house
+is at your disposal.&nbsp; You will stay with me until we can find some
+work for you to do.&nbsp; You wish to take service with us, of course?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; answered Conynghamn.&nbsp; &lsquo;Rather thought
+of it - if you will have me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General glanced up at his stalwart companion with a measuring
+eye.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My house,&rsquo; he said, in a conversational way, as if only
+desirous of making matters as pleasant as possible in a life which nature
+had intended to be peaceful and sunny, and perhaps trifling, but which
+the wickedness of men had rendered otherwise, &lsquo;my house is, as
+you would divine, only an official residence, but pleasant enough -
+pleasant enough.&nbsp; The garden is distinctly tolerable; there are
+orange trees now in bloom - so sweet of scent.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The street into which they had now emerged was no less martial in
+appearance than the barrack yard, and while he spoke the General never
+ceased to dispense his kindly little nod on one side or the other in
+response to military salutations.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We have quite a number of soldiers in Ronda at present,&rsquo;
+he said, with an affectionate little pressure of Conyngham&rsquo;s arm,
+as if to indicate his appreciation of such protection amid these rough
+men.&nbsp; &lsquo;There is a great talk of some rising in the South
+- in Andalusia - to support Se&ntilde;or Cabrera, who continually threatens
+Madrid.&nbsp; A great soldier, they tell me, this Cabrera, but not -
+well, not perhaps quite, eh? - a caballero, a gentleman.&nbsp; A pity,
+is it not?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A great pity,&rsquo; answered Conyngham, taking the opportunity
+at last afforded him of getting a word in.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One must be prepared,&rsquo; went on the General with a good-natured
+little sigh, &lsquo;for such measures.&nbsp; There are so many mistaken
+enthusiasts - is it not so?&nbsp; Such men as your countryman, Se&ntilde;or
+Flinter.&nbsp; There are so many who are stronger Carlists than Don
+Carlos himself, eh?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The secret of conversational success is to defer to one&rsquo;s listener.&nbsp;
+A clever man imparts information by asking questions, and obtains it
+without doing so.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;This is my poor house,&rsquo; continued the soldier, and as
+he spoke he beamed on the sentries at the door.&nbsp; &lsquo;I am a
+widower, but God has given me a daughter who is now of an age to rule
+my household.&nbsp; Estella will endeavour to make you comfortable,
+and an Englishman - a soldier - will surely overlook some small defects.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He finished with a good-natured laugh.&nbsp; There was no resisting
+the sunny good-humour of this little officer, or the gladness of his
+face.&nbsp; His attitude towards the world was one of constant endeavour
+to make things pleasant, and acquit himself to his best in circumstances
+far beyond his merits or capabilities.&nbsp; He was one who had had
+good fortune all his days.&nbsp; Those who have greatness thrust upon
+them are never much impressed by their burden.&nbsp; And General Vincente
+had the air of constantly assuring his subordinates that they need not
+mind him.</p>
+<p>The house to which he conducted Conyngham stood on the broad main
+street, immediately opposite a cluster of shops where leather bottles
+were manufactured and sold.&nbsp; It was a large gloomy house with a
+patio devoid of fountain and even of the usual orange trees in green
+boxes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Through there is the garden - most pleasant and shady,&rsquo;
+said the General, indicating a doorway with the riding-whip he carried.</p>
+<p>A troop of servants awaited them at the foot of the broad Moorish
+staircase open on one side to the patio and heavily carved in balustrade
+and cornice.&nbsp; These gentlemen bowed gravely - indeed, they were
+so numerous that the majority of them must have had nothing to do but
+cultivate this dignified salutation.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The se&ntilde;orita?&rsquo; inquired the General.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The se&ntilde;orita is in the garden, Excellency,&rsquo; answered
+one with the air of a courtier.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then let us go there at once,&rsquo; said General Vincente,
+turning to Conyngham, and gripping his arm affectionately.</p>
+<p>They passed through a doorway whither two men had hurried to open
+the heavy doors, and the scent of violets and mignonette, of orange
+in bloom, and of a hundred opening buds swept across their faces.&nbsp;
+The brilliant sunlight almost dazzled eyes that had grown accustomed
+to the cool shade of the patio, for Ronda is one of the sunniest spots
+on earth, and here the warmth is rarely oppressive.&nbsp; The garden
+was Moorish, and running water in aqueducts of marble, yellow with stupendous
+age, murmured in the shade of tropical plants.&nbsp; A fountain plashed
+and chattered softly, like the whispering of children.&nbsp; The pathways
+were paved with a fine white gravel of broken marble.&nbsp; There was
+no weed amid the flowers.&nbsp; It seemed a paradise to Conyngham, fresh
+from the grey and mournful northern winter, and no part of this weary,
+busy world.&nbsp; For here were rest and silence, and that sense of
+eternity which is only conveyed by the continuous voice of running or
+falling water.&nbsp; It was hard to believe that this was real and earthly.&nbsp;
+Conyngham rubbed his eyes and instinctively turned to look at his companion,
+who was as unreal as his surroundings - a round-faced, chubby little
+man, with a tender mouth and moist dark eyes looking kindly out upon
+the world, who called himself General Vincente; and the name was synonymous
+in all Spain with bloodthirstiness and cruelty, with daring and an unsparing
+generalship.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;let us look for Estella.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He led the way along a path winding among almond and peach trees
+in full bloom, in the shadow of the weird eucalyptus and the feathery
+pepper tree.&nbsp; Then with a little word of pleasure he hurried forward.&nbsp;
+Conyngham caught sight of a black dress and a black mantilla, of fair
+golden hair, and a fan upraised against the rays of the sun.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Estella, here is a guest: Mr. Conyngham, one of the brave
+Englishmen who remember Spain in her time of trouble.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham bowed with a greater ceremony than we observe to-day, and
+stood upright to look upon that which was for him from that moment the
+fairest face in the world.&nbsp; As, to some men, success or failure
+seems to come early and in one bound, so, for some, Love lies long in
+ambush, to shoot at length a single and certain shaft.&nbsp; Conyngham
+looked at Estella Vincente, his gay blue eyes meeting her dark glance
+with a frankness which was characteristic, and knew from that instant
+that his world held no other woman.&nbsp; It came to him as a flash
+of lightning that left his former life grey and neutral, and yet he
+was conscious of no surprise, but rather of a feeling of having found
+something which he had long sought.</p>
+<p>The girl acknowledged his salutation with a little inclination of
+the head and a smile which was only of the lips, for her eyes remained
+grave and deep.&nbsp; She had all the dignity of carriage famous in
+Castilian women, though her figure was youthful still, and slight.&nbsp;
+Her face was a clean-cut oval, with lips that were still and proud,
+and a delicately aquiline nose.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My daughter speaks English better than I do,&rsquo; went on
+the General in the garrulous voice of an exceedingly domesticated man.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;She has been at school in England - at the suggestion of my dear
+friend Watterson - with his daughters, in fact.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And must have found it dull and grey enough compared with
+Spain,&rsquo; said Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&nbsp; Then you like Spain?&rsquo; said the General eagerly.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;It is so with all the English.&nbsp; We have something in common,
+despite the Armada, eh?&nbsp; Something in manner and in appearance,
+too; is it not so?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He left Conyngham, and walked slowly on with one hand at his daughter&rsquo;s
+waist.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I was very happy in England,&rsquo; said Estella to Conyngham,
+who walked at her other side; &lsquo;but happier still to get home to
+Spain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Her voice was rather low, and Conyngham had an odd sensation of having
+heard it before.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why did you leave your home?&rsquo; she continued in a leisurely
+conversational way which seemed natural to the environments.</p>
+<p>The question rather startled the Englishman, for the only answer
+seemed to be that he had quitted England in order to come to Ronda and
+to her, following the path in life that fate had assigned to him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We have troubles in England also - political troubles,&rsquo;
+he said, after a pause.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Chartists,&rsquo; said the General cheerfully.&nbsp; &lsquo;We
+know all about them, for we have the English newspapers.&nbsp; I procure
+them in order to have reliable news of Spain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He broke off with a little laugh, and looked towards his daughter.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In the evening Estella reads them to me.&nbsp; And it was
+on account of the Chartists that you left England?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, you are a Chartist, Mr. Conyngham.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; admitted the Englishman after a pause, and he
+glanced at Estella.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER VII.&nbsp; IN A MOORISH GARDEN.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p><i>&lsquo;When love is not a blasphemy, it is a religion.&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>There is perhaps a subtle significance in the fact that the greatest,
+the cruellest, the most barbarous civil war of modern days, if not of
+all time, owed its outbreak and its long continuance to the influence
+of a woman.&nbsp; When Ferdinand VII. of Spain died, in 1833, after
+a reign broken and disturbed by the passage of that human cyclone, Napoleon
+the Great, he bequeathed his kingdom, in defiance of the Salic law,
+to his daughter Isabella.&nbsp; Ferdinand&rsquo;s brother Charles, however,
+claimed the throne under the very just contention that the Salic law,
+by which women were excluded from the heritage of the crown, had never
+been legally abrogated.</p>
+<p>This was the spark that kindled in many minds ambition, cruelty,
+bloodthirstiness, self-seeking and jealousy - producing the <i>morale</i>,
+in a word, of the Spain of sixty years ago.&nbsp; Some sided with the
+Queen Regent Christina, and rallied round the child-queen because they
+saw that that way lay glory and promotion.&nbsp; Others flocked to the
+standard of Don Carlos because they were poor and of no influence at
+Court.&nbsp; The Church as a whole raised its whispering voice for the
+Pretender.&nbsp; For the rest, patriotism was nowhere, and ambition
+on every side.&nbsp; &lsquo;For five years we have fought the Carlists,
+hunger, privation, and the politicians at Madrid!&nbsp; And the holy
+saints only know which has been the worst enemy,&rsquo; said General
+Vincente to Conyngham when explaining the above related details.</p>
+<p>And indeed the story of this war reads like a romance, for there
+came from neutral countries foreign legions as in the olden days.&nbsp;
+From England an army of ten thousand mercenaries landed in Spain, prepared
+to fight for the cause of Queen Christina, and very modestly estimating
+the worth of their services at the sum of thirteenpence per diem.&nbsp;
+After all, the value of a man&rsquo;s life is but the price of his daily
+hire.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We did not pay them much,&rsquo; said General Vincente with
+a deprecating little smile, &lsquo;but they did not fight much.&nbsp;
+Their pay was generally in arrear, and they were usually in the rear
+as well.&nbsp; What will you, my dear Conyngham?&nbsp; You are a commercial
+people - you keep good soldiers in the shop window, and when a buyer
+comes you serve him with second-class goods from behind the counter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He beamed on Conyngham with a pleasant air of benign connivance in
+a very legitimate commercial transaction.</p>
+<p>This is no time or place to go into the history of the English Legion
+in Spain, which, indeed, had quitted that country before Conyngham landed
+there, horrified by the barbarities of a cruel war where prisoners received
+no quarter and the soldiers on either side were left without pay or
+rations.&nbsp; In a half-hearted manner England went to the assistance
+of the Queen Regent of Spain, and one error in statesmanship led to
+many.&nbsp; It is always a mistake to strike gently.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;This country,&rsquo; said General Vincente in his suavest
+manner, &lsquo;owes much to yours, my dear Conyngham; but it would have
+been better for us both had we owed you a little more.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>During the five years prior to Conyngham&rsquo;s arrival at Ronda
+the war had raged with unabated fury, swaying from the west to the east
+coast as fortune smiled or frowned on the Carlist cause.&nbsp; At one
+time it almost appeared certain that the Christino forces were unable
+to stem the rising tide which bade fair to spread over all Spain - so
+unfortunate were their generals, so futile the best endeavours of the
+bravest and most patient soldiers.&nbsp; General Vincente was not alone
+in his conviction that had the gallant Carlist leader Zumalacarreguy
+lived he might have carried all before him.&nbsp; But this great leader
+at the height of his fame - beloved of all his soldiers, worshipped
+by his subordinate officers - died suddenly, by poison, as it was whispered,
+the victim of jealousy and ambition.&nbsp; Almost at once there arose
+in the East of Spain one, obscure in birth and unknown to fame, who
+flashed suddenly to the zenith of military glory - the ruthless, the
+wonderful Cabrera.&nbsp; The name is to this day a household word in
+Catalonia, while the eyes of a few old men still living, who fought
+with or against him, flash in the light of other days at the mere mention
+of it.</p>
+<p>Among the many leaders who had attempted in vain to overcome by skill
+and patriotism the thousand difficulties placed in their way by successive
+unstable, insincere Ministers of War, General Vincente occupied an honoured
+place.&nbsp; This mild-mannered tactician enjoyed the enviable reputation
+of being alike unconquerable and incorruptible.&nbsp; His smiling presence
+on the battlefield was in itself worth half a dozen battalions, while
+at Madrid the dishonest politicians, who through those years of Spain&rsquo;s
+great trial systematically bartered their honour for immediate gain,
+dreaded and respected him.</p>
+<p>During the days that followed his arrival at Ronda and release from
+the prison there, Frederick Conyngham learnt much from his host and
+little of the man himself, for General Vincente had that in him with
+which no great leader in any walk of life can well dispense - an unsoundable
+depth.</p>
+<p>Conyngham learnt also that the human heart is capable of rising at
+one bound above differences of race or custom, creed and spoken language.&nbsp;
+He walked with Estella in that quiet garden between high walls on the
+trim Moorish paths, and often the murmur of the running water which
+ever graced the Moslem palaces was the only sound that broke the silence.&nbsp;
+For this thing had come into the Englishman&rsquo;s life suddenly, leaving
+him dazed and uncertain.&nbsp; Estella, on the other hand, had a quiet
+<i>savoir-faire</i> that sat strangely on her young face.&nbsp; She
+was only nineteen, and yet had a certain air of authority, handed down
+to her from two great races of noble men and women.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do all your countrymen take life thus gaily?&rsquo; she asked
+Conyngham one day; &lsquo;surely it is a more serious affair than you
+think it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have never found it very serious, se&ntilde;orita,&rsquo;
+he answered.&nbsp; &lsquo;There is usually a smile in human affairs
+if one takes the trouble to look for it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Have you always found it so?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He did not answer at once, pausing to lift the branch of a mimosa
+tree that hung in yellow profusion across the pathway.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, se&ntilde;orita, I think so,&rsquo; he answered at length,
+slowly.&nbsp; There was a sense of eternal restfulness in this old Moorish
+garden which acted as a brake on the thoughts, and made conversation
+halt and drag in an Oriental way that Europeans rarely understand.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And yet you say you remember your father&rsquo;s death?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He made a joke to the doctor, se&ntilde;orita, and was not
+afraid.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella smiled in a queer way, and then looked grave again.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And you have always been poor, you say, sometimes almost starving?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes - always poor, deadly poor, se&ntilde;orita,&rsquo; answered
+Conyngham with a gay laugh; &lsquo;and since I have been on my own resources
+frequently - well, very hungry.&nbsp; The appetite has been large and
+the resources have been small.&nbsp; But when I get into the Spanish
+army they will no doubt make me a general, and all will be well.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He laughed again, and slipped his hand into his jacket pocket.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;See here,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;your father&rsquo;s recommendation
+to General Espartero in a confidential letter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>But the envelope he produced was that pink one which the man called
+Larralde had given him at Algeciras.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No - it is not that,&rsquo; he said, searching in another
+pocket.&nbsp; &lsquo;Ah! here it is - addressed to General Espartero,
+Duke of Vittoria.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He showed her the superscription, which she read with a little inclination
+of the head, as if in salutation of the great name written there.&nbsp;
+The greatest names are those that men have made for themselves.&nbsp;
+Conyngham replaced the two letters in his pocket and almost immediately
+asked:</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you know anyone called Barenna in Ronda, se&ntilde;orita?&rsquo;
+thereby proving that General Espartero would do ill to give him an appointment
+requiring even the earliest rudiments of diplomacy.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Julia Barenna is my cousin.&nbsp; Her mother was my mother&rsquo;s
+sister.&nbsp; Do you know them, Se&ntilde;or Conyngham?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh no,&rsquo; answered Conyngham, truthfully enough.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I met a man who knows them.&nbsp; Do they live in Ronda?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No; their house is on the Cordova road, about half a league
+from the Customs station.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella was not by nature curious, and asked no questions.&nbsp;
+Some who knew the Barennas would have been glad to claim acquaintance
+with General Vincente and his daughter, but could not do so.&nbsp; For
+the Captain-General moved in a circle not far removed from the Queen
+Regent herself, and mixed but little in the society of Ronda, where,
+for the time being, he held a command.</p>
+<p>Conyngham required no further information, and in a few moments dismissed
+the letter from his mind.&nbsp; Events seemed for him to have moved
+rapidly within the last few days, and the world of roadside inns and
+casual acquaintance into which he had stepped on his arrival in Spain
+was quite another from that in which Estella moved at Ronda.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I must set out for Madrid in a few days at the latest,&rsquo;
+he said a few moments afterwards; &lsquo;but I shall go against my will,
+because you tell me that you and your father will not be coming North
+until the spring.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella shook her head with a little laugh.&nbsp; This man was different
+from the punctilious aides-de-camp and others who had hitherto begged
+most respectfully to notify their admiration.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And three days ago you did not know of our existence,&rsquo;
+she said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In three days a man may be dead of an illness of which he
+ignored the existence, se&ntilde;orita.&nbsp; In three days a man&rsquo;s
+life may be made miserable or happy - perhaps in three minutes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And she looked straight in front of her in order to avoid his eyes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yours will always be happy, I think,&rsquo; she said, &lsquo;because
+you never seem to go below the surface, and on the surface life is happy
+enough.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He made some light answer, and they walked on beneath the orange
+trees, talking of these and other matters - indulging in those dangerous
+generalities which sound so safe, and in reality narrow down to a little
+world of two.</p>
+<p>They were thus engaged when the servant came to announce that the
+horse which the General had placed at Conyngham&rsquo;s disposal was
+at the door in accordance with the Englishman&rsquo;s own order.&nbsp;
+He went away sorrowfully enough, only half consoled by the information
+that Estella was about to attend a service at the Church of Santa Maria,
+and could not have stayed longer in the garden.</p>
+<p>The hour of the siesta was scarce over, and as Conyngham rode through
+the cleanly streets of the ancient town more than one idler roused himself
+from the shadow of a doorway to see him pass.&nbsp; There are few older
+towns in Andalusia than Ronda, and scarce anywhere the habits of the
+Moors are so closely followed.&nbsp; The streets are clean, the houses
+whitewashed within and without.&nbsp; The trappings of the mules and
+much of the costume of the people are Oriental in texture and brilliancy.</p>
+<p>Conyngham asked a passer-by to indicate the way to the Cordova road,
+and the polite Spaniard turned and walked by his stirrup until a mistake
+was no longer possible.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is not the most beautiful approach to Ronda,&rsquo; said
+this garrulous person, &lsquo;but well enough in the summer, when the
+flowers are in bloom and the vineyards green.&nbsp; The road is straight
+and dusty until one arrives at the possession of the Se&ntilde;ora Barenna
+- a narrow road to the right leading up into the mountain.&nbsp; One
+can perceive the house - oh, yes - upon the hillside, once beautiful,
+but now old and decayed.&nbsp; Mistake is now impossible.&nbsp; It is
+a straight way.&nbsp; I wish you a good journey.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham rode on, vaguely turning over in his mind a half-matured
+plan of effecting a seemingly accidental entry to the house of Se&ntilde;ora
+Barenna, in the hope of meeting that lady&rsquo;s daughter in the garden
+or grounds.&nbsp; Once outside the walls of the town he found the country
+open and bare, consisting of brown hills, of which the lower slopes
+were dotted with evergreen oaks.&nbsp; The road soon traversed a village
+which seemed to be half deserted, for men and women alike were working
+in the fields.&nbsp; On the balcony of the best house a branch of palm
+bound against the ironwork balustrade indicated the dwelling of the
+priest, and the form of that village despot was dimly discernible in
+the darkened room behind.&nbsp; Beyond the village Conyngham turned
+his horse&rsquo;s head towards the mountain, his mind preoccupied with
+a Macchiavellian scheme of losing his way in this neighbourhood.&nbsp;
+Through the evergreen oak and olive groves he could perceive the roof
+of an old grey house which had once been a mere hacienda or semi-fortified
+farm.</p>
+<p>Conyngham did not propose to go direct to Se&ntilde;ora Barenna&rsquo;s
+house, but described a semicircle, mounting from terrace to terrace
+on his sure-footed horse.</p>
+<p>When at length he came in sight of the high gateway where the ten-foot
+oaken gates still swung, he perceived someone approaching the exit.&nbsp;
+On closer inspection he saw that this was a priest, and on nearing him
+recognised the Padre Concha, whose acquaintance he had made at the Hotel
+of the Marina at Algeciras.</p>
+<p>The recognition was mutual, for the priest raised his shabby old
+hat with a tender care for the insecurity of its brim.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A lucky meeting, Se&ntilde;or Englishman,&rsquo; he said;
+&lsquo;who would have expected to see you here?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have lost my way.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo;&nbsp; And the grim face relaxed into a smile.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Lost your way?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then it is lucky that I have met you.&nbsp; It is so easy
+to lose one&rsquo;s way - when one is young.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He raised his hand to the horse&rsquo;s bridle.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are most certainly going in the wrong direction,&rsquo;
+he said; &lsquo;I will lead you right.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>It was said and done so quietly that Conyngham had found no word
+to say before his horse was moving in the opposite direction.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;This is surely one of General Vincente&rsquo;s horses,&rsquo;
+said the priest; &lsquo;we have few such barbs in Ronda.&nbsp; He always
+rides a good horse, that Miguel Vincente.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, it is one of his horses.&nbsp; Then you know the General?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We were boys together,&rsquo; answered the Padre; &lsquo;and
+there were some who said that he should have been the priest and I the
+soldier.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The old man gave a little laugh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He has prospered, however, if I have not.&nbsp; A great man,
+my dear Miguel, and they say that his pay is duly handed to him.&nbsp;
+My own - my princely twenty pounds a year - is overdue.&nbsp; I am happy
+enough, however, and have a good house.&nbsp; You noticed it, perhaps,
+as you passed through the village, a branch of palm against the rail
+of the balcony - my sign, you understand.&nbsp; The innkeeper next door
+displays a branch of pine, which, I notice, is more attractive.&nbsp;
+Every man his day.&nbsp; One does not catch rabbits with a dead ferret.&nbsp;
+That is the church - will you see it?&nbsp; No?&nbsp; Well, some other
+day.&nbsp; I will guide you through the village.&nbsp; The walk will
+give me appetite, which I sometimes require, for my cook is one whose
+husband has left her.&rsquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER VIII.&nbsp; THE LOVE LETTER.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p><i>&lsquo;I must mix myself with action lest I wither by despair.&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>&lsquo;No one,&rsquo; Conyngham heard a voice exclaiming as he went
+into the garden on returning from his fruitless ride, &lsquo;no one
+knows what I have suffered.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused in the dark doorway, not wishing to intrude upon Estella
+and her visitors; for he perceived the forms of three ladies seated
+within a miniature jungle of bamboo, which grew in feathery luxuriance
+around a fountain.&nbsp; It was not difficult to identify the voice
+as that of the eldest lady, who was stout, and spoke in deep, almost
+manly tones.&nbsp; So far as he was able to judge, the suffering mentioned
+had left but small record on its victim&rsquo;s outward appearance.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Old lady seems to have stood it well,&rsquo; commented the
+Englishman in his mind.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Never again, my dear Estella, do I leave Ronda, except indeed
+for Toledo, where, of course, we shall go in the summer if this terrible
+Don Carlos is really driven from the country.&nbsp; Ah! but what suffering!&nbsp;
+My mind is never at ease.&nbsp; I expect to wake up at night and hear
+that Julia is being murdered in her bed.&nbsp; For me it does not matter;
+my life is not so gay that it will cost me much to part from it.&nbsp;
+No one would molest an old woman, you think?&nbsp; Well, that may be
+so; but I know all the anxiety, for I was once beautiful - ah! more
+beautiful than you or Julia; and my hands and feet - have you ever noticed
+my foot, Estella? - even now - !&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And a sonorous sigh completed the sentence.&nbsp; Conyngham stepped
+out of the doorway, the clank of his spurred heel on the marble pavement
+causing the sigh to break off in a little scream.&nbsp; He had caught
+the name of Julia, and hastily concluded that these ladies must be no
+other than Madame Barenna and her daughter.&nbsp; In the little bamboo
+grove he found the elder lady lying back in her chair, which creaked
+ominously, and asking in a faint voice whether he were Don Carlos.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; answered Estella, with a momentary twinkle in her
+grave, dark eyes; &lsquo;this is Mr. Conyngham - my aunt, Se&ntilde;ora
+Barenna, and my cousin Julia.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The ladies bowed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You must excuse me,&rsquo; said Madame Barenna volubly, &lsquo;but
+your approach was so sudden.&nbsp; I am a great sufferer - my nerves,
+you know.&nbsp; But young people do not understand.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And she sighed heavily, with a side glance at her daughter, who did
+not even appear to be trying to do so.&nbsp; Julia Barenna was darker
+than her cousin, quicker in manner, with an air of worldly capability
+which Estella lacked.&nbsp; Her eyes were quick and restless, her face
+less beautiful, but expressive of a great intelligence, which, if brought
+to bear upon men in the form of coquetry, was likely to be infinitely
+dangerous.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is always best to approach my mother with caution,&rsquo;
+she said with a restless movement of her hands.&nbsp; This was not a
+woman at her ease in the world or at peace with it.&nbsp; She laughed
+as she spoke, but her eyes were grave, even while her lips smiled, and
+watched the Englishman&rsquo;s face with an air almost of anxiety.&nbsp;
+There are some faces that seem to be watching and waiting.&nbsp; Julia
+Barenna&rsquo;s had such a look.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Conyngham,&rsquo; said Madame Barenna reflectively.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Surely I have heard that name before.&nbsp; You are not the Englishman
+with whom Father Concha is so angry - who sells forbidden books - the
+Bible, it is said?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, se&ntilde;ora,&rsquo; answered Conyngham with perfect
+gravity; &lsquo;I have nothing to sell.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He laughed suddenly, and looked at the elder lady with that air of
+good humour which won for him more friends than he ever wanted; for
+this Irishman had a ray of sunshine in his heart which shone upon his
+path through life, and made that uneven way easier for his feet.&nbsp;
+He glanced at Julia, and saw in her eyes the look of expectancy which
+was, in reality, always there.&nbsp; The thought flashed through his
+mind that by some means, or perhaps feminine intuition beyond his comprehension,
+she knew that he possessed the letter addressed to her, and was eagerly
+awaiting it.&nbsp; This letter seemed to have been gaining in importance
+the longer he carried it, and this opportunity of giving it to her came
+at the right moment.&nbsp; He remembered Larralde&rsquo;s words concerning
+the person to whom the missive was addressed, and the high-flown sentiments
+of that somewhat theatrical gentleman became in some degree justified.&nbsp;
+Julia Barenna was a woman who might well awaken a passionate love.&nbsp;
+Conyngham realised this, as from a distance, while Julia&rsquo;s mother
+spoke of some trivial matter of the moment to unheeding ears.&nbsp;
+That distance seemed now to exist between him and all women.&nbsp; It
+had come suddenly, and one glance of Estella&rsquo;s eyes had called
+it into existence.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; Se&ntilde;ora Barenna was saying, &lsquo;Father
+Concha is very angry with the English.&nbsp; What a terrible man!&nbsp;
+You do not know him, Se&ntilde;or Conyngham?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I think I have met him, se&ntilde;ora.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, but you have never seen him angry.&nbsp; You have never
+confessed to him!&nbsp; A little, little sin - no larger than the eye
+of a fly - a little bite of a calf&rsquo;s sweetbread on Friday in mere
+forgetfulness, and Sancta Maria! what a penance is required!&nbsp; What
+suffering!&nbsp; It is a purgatory to have such a confessor.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Surely madame can have no sins,&rsquo; said Conyngham pleasantly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not now,&rsquo; said Se&ntilde;ora Barenna with a deep sigh.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;When I was young it was different.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And the memory of her sinful days almost moved her to tears.&nbsp;
+She glanced at Conyngham with a tragic air of mutual understanding,
+as if drawing a veil over that blissful past in the presence of Julia
+and Estella.&nbsp; &lsquo;Ask me another time,&rsquo; that glance seemed
+to say.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; the lady continued, &lsquo;Father Concha is very
+angry with the English.&nbsp; Firstly, because of these bibles.&nbsp;
+Blessed Heaven! what does it matter?&nbsp; No one can read them except
+the priests, and they do not want to do so.&nbsp; Secondly, because
+the English have helped to overthrow Don Carlos - &rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You will have a penance,&rsquo; interrupted Miss Julia Barenna
+quietly, &lsquo;from Father Concha for talking politics.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But how will he know?&rsquo; asked Se&ntilde;ora Barenna sharply;
+and the two young ladies laughed.</p>
+<p>Se&ntilde;ora Barenna looked from one to the other, and shrugged
+her shoulders.&nbsp; Like many women she was a strange mixture of foolishness
+and worldly wisdom.&nbsp; She adjusted her mantilla and mutely appealed
+to Heaven with a glance of her upturned eyes.&nbsp; Conyngham, who was
+no diplomatist, nor possessed any skill in concealing his thoughts,
+looked with some interest at Julia Barenna, and Estella watched him.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Julia is right,&rsquo; Se&ntilde;ora Barenna was saying, though
+nobody heeded her; &lsquo;one must not talk nor even think politics
+in this country.&nbsp; You are no politician, I trust, Se&ntilde;or
+Conyngham - Se&ntilde;or Conyngham, I ask you, you are no politician?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, se&ntilde;ora,&rsquo; replied Conyngham hastily; &lsquo;no;
+and if I were, I should never understand Spanish politics.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Father Concha says that Spanish politics are the same as those
+of any other country - each man for himself,&rsquo; said Julia with
+a bitter laugh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And he is, no doubt, right.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you really think so?&rsquo; asked Julia Barenna, with more
+earnestness than the question would seem to require; &lsquo;are there
+not true patriots who sacrifice all - not only their friends, but themselves
+- to the cause of their country?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Without the hope of reward?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There may be, se&ntilde;orita - a few,&rsquo; answered Conyngham
+with a laugh, &lsquo;but not in my country.&nbsp; They must all be in
+Spain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She smiled and shook her head in doubt.&nbsp; But it was a worn smile.</p>
+<p>The Englishman turned away and looked through the trees.&nbsp; He
+was wondering how he could get speech with Julia alone for a moment.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are admiring the garden,&rsquo; said that young lady;
+and this time he knew that there had in reality been that meaning in
+her eyes which he had imagined to be there.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, se&ntilde;orita, I think it must be the most beautiful
+garden in the world.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He turned as he spoke, and looked at Estella, who met his glance
+quietly.&nbsp; Her repose of manner struck him afresh.&nbsp; Here was
+a woman having that air of decision which exacts respect alike from
+men and women.&nbsp; Seen thus, with the more vivacious Julia at her
+side, Estella gained suddenly in moral strength and depth - suggesting
+a steady fire in contrast with a flickering will-o&rsquo;-the-wisp blown
+hither and thither on every zephyr.&nbsp; Yet Julia Barenna would pass
+anywhere as a woman of will and purpose.</p>
+<p>Julia had risen, and was moving towards the exit of the little grove
+in which they found themselves.&nbsp; Conyngham had never been seated.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are the violets in bloom, Estella?&nbsp; I must see them,&rsquo;
+said the visitor.&nbsp; &lsquo;We have none at home, where all is dry
+and parched.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So bad for the nerves - what suffering! - such a dry soil
+that one cannot sleep at night,&rsquo; murmured Madame Barenna, preparing
+to rise from her seat.</p>
+<p>Julia and Conyngham naturally led the way.&nbsp; The paths winding
+in and out among the palms and pepper trees were of a width that allowed
+two to walk abreast.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Se&ntilde;orita, I have a letter for you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not yet - wait!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Se&ntilde;ora Barenna was chattering in her deep husky tones immediately
+behind them.&nbsp; Julia turned and looked up at the windows of the
+house, which commanded a full view of the garden.&nbsp; The dwelling
+rooms were as usual upon the first floor, and the windows were lightly
+barred with curiously wrought iron.&nbsp; Each window was curtained
+within with lace and muslin.</p>
+<p>The paths wound in and out among the trees, but none of these were
+large enough to afford a secure screen from the eye of any watcher within
+the house.&nbsp; There was neither olive nor ilex in the garden to afford
+shelter with their heavy leaves.&nbsp; Julia and Conyngham walked on,
+out-distancing the elder lady and Estella.&nbsp; From these many a turn
+in the path hid them from time to time, but Julia was distrustful of
+the windows and hesitated, in an agony of nervousness.&nbsp; Conyngham
+saw that her face was quite colourless, and her teeth closed convulsively
+over her lower lip.&nbsp; He continued to talk of indifferent topics,
+but the answers she made were incoherent and broken.&nbsp; The course
+of true love did not seem to run smooth here.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Shall I give you the letter?&nbsp; No one can see us, se&ntilde;orita.&nbsp;
+Besides, I was informed that it was of no importance except to yourself.&nbsp;
+You have doubtless had many such before, unless the Spanish gentlemen
+are blind.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He laughed and felt in his pocket.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes!&rsquo; she whispered.&nbsp; &lsquo;Quickly - now.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He gave her the letter in its romantic pink, scented envelope with
+a half-suppressed smile at her eagerness.&nbsp; Would anybody - would
+Estella - ever be thus agitated at the receipt of a letter from himself?&nbsp;
+They were at the lower end of the inclosure, which was divided almost
+in two by a broader pathway leading from the house to the centre of
+the garden, where a fountain of Moorish marble formed a sort of carrefour,
+from which the narrower pathways diverged in all directions.</p>
+<p>Descending the steps into the garden from the house were two men,
+one talking violently, the other seeking to calm him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My uncle and the Alcalde - they have seen us from the windows,&rsquo;
+said Julia quickly.&nbsp; All her nervousness of manner seemed to have
+vanished, leaving her concentrated and alert.&nbsp; Some men are thus
+in warfare - nervous until the rifle opens fire, and then cool and ready.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Quick!&rsquo; whispered Julia.&nbsp; &lsquo;Let us turn back.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She wheeled round, and Conyngham did the same.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Julia!&rsquo; they heard General Vincente call in his gentle
+voice.</p>
+<p>Julia, who was tearing the pink envelope, took no heed.&nbsp; Within
+the first covering a second envelope appeared, bearing a longer address.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Give that to the man whose address it bears, and save me from
+ruin,&rsquo; said the girl, thrusting the letter into Conyngham&rsquo;s
+hand.&nbsp; She kept the pink envelope.</p>
+<p>When, a minute later, they came face to face with General Vincente
+and his companion, a white-faced, fluttering man of sixty years, Julia
+Barenna received them with a smile.&nbsp; There are some men who, conscious
+of their own quickness of resource, are careless of danger, and run
+into it from mere heedlessness, trusting to good fortune to aid them
+should peril arise.&nbsp; Frederick Conyngham was one of these.&nbsp;
+He now suspected that this was no love letter which the man called Larralde
+had given him in Algeciras.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Julia,&rsquo; said the General, &lsquo;the Alcalde desires
+to speak with you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Julia bowed with that touch of hauteur which in Spain the nobles
+ever observe in their manner towards the municipal authorities.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Mr. Conyngham,&rsquo; continued the General, &lsquo;this is
+our brave Mayor, in whose hands rests the well-being of the people of
+Ronda.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Honoured to meet you,&rsquo; said Conyngham, holding out his
+hand with that frankness of manner which he accorded to great and small
+alike.&nbsp; The Alcalde, a man of immense importance in his own estimation,
+hesitated before accepting it.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;General,&rsquo; he said, turning and bowing very low to Se&ntilde;ora
+Barenna and Estella, who now joined them, &lsquo;General, I leave you
+to explain to your niece the painful duties of my office.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General smiled and raised a deprecating shoulder.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, my dear,&rsquo; he said kindly to Julia, &lsquo;it appears
+that our good Alcalde has news of a letter which is at present passing
+from hand to hand in Andalusia.&nbsp; It is a letter of some importance.&nbsp;
+Our good Mayor, who was at the window a minute ago, saw Mr. Conyngham
+hand you a letter.&nbsp; Between persons who only met in this garden
+five minutes ago such a transaction had a strange air.&nbsp; Our good
+friend, who is all zeal for Spain and the people of Ronda, merely asks
+you if his eyes deceived him.&nbsp; It is a matter at which we shall
+all laugh presently over a lemonade - is it not so?&nbsp; A trifle,
+eh?&rsquo;&nbsp; He passed his handkerchief across his moustache, and
+looked affectionately at his niece.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A letter!&rsquo; exclaimed Julia.&nbsp; &lsquo;Surely the
+Alcalde presumes.&nbsp; He takes too much upon himself.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+The official stepped forward.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Se&ntilde;orita,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;I must be allowed
+to take that risk.&nbsp; Did this gentleman give you a letter three
+minutes ago?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Julia laughed and shrugged her shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;May I ask the nature of the letter?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It was a love letter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham bit his lip and looked at Estella.</p>
+<p>The Alcalde looked doubtful, with the cunning lips of a cheap country
+lawyer.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A love letter from a gentleman you have never seen before?&rsquo;
+he said with a forced laugh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Pardon me, Se&ntilde;or Alcalde, this gentleman travelled
+in the same ship with my mother and myself from Bordeaux to Algeciras,
+and he saved my life.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She cast a momentary glance at Conyngham; which would have sealed
+his fate had the fiery Mr. Larralde been there to see it.&nbsp; The
+Prefect paused, somewhat taken aback.&nbsp; There was a momentary silence,
+and every moment gave Julia and Conyngham time to think.&nbsp; Then
+the Alcalde turned to Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It will give me the greatest pleasure,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;to
+learn that I have been mistaken.&nbsp; I have only to ask this gentleman&rsquo;s
+confirmation of what the se&ntilde;orita has said.&nbsp; It is true,
+se&ntilde;or, that you surreptitiously handed to the Se&ntilde;orita
+Barenna a letter expressing your love?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Since the se&ntilde;orita has done me the honour of confessing
+it, I must ask you to believe it,&rsquo; answered Conyngham steadily
+and coldly.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER IX.&nbsp; A WAR OF WIT.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p><i>&lsquo;La discr&eacute;tion est l&rsquo;art du mensonge.&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>The Alcalde blew out his cheeks and looked at General Vincente.&nbsp;
+Se&ntilde;ora Barenna would with small encouragement have thrown herself
+into Conyngham&rsquo;s arms; but she received none whatever, and instead
+frowned at Julia.&nbsp; Estella was looking haughtily at her father,
+and would not meet Conyngham&rsquo;s glance.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I feel sure,&rsquo; said General Vincente in his most conciliating
+manner, &lsquo;that my dear Julia will see the necessity of satisfying
+the good Alcalde by showing him the letter - with, of course, the consent
+of my friend Conyngham.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He laughed, and slipped his hand within Conyngham&rsquo;s arm.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You see, my dear friend,&rsquo; he said in English, &lsquo;these
+local magnates are a trifle inflated; local magnitude is a little inclined
+to inflate, eh?&nbsp; Ha! ha!&nbsp; And it is so easy to conciliate
+them.&nbsp; I always try to do so myself.&nbsp; Peace at any price -
+that is my motto.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And he turned aside to arrange his sword, which dragged on the ground.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Tell her, my dear Conyngham, to let the old gentleman read
+the letter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But it is nothing to do with me, General.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know that, my friend, as well as you do,&rsquo; said Vincente
+with a sudden change of manner, which gave the Englishman an uncomfortable
+desire to know what he meant.&nbsp; But General Vincente, in pursuit
+of that peace which had earned him such a terrible reputation in war,
+turned to Se&ntilde;ora Barenna with his most reassuring smile.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is nothing, my dear I&ntilde;ez,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;In these times of trouble the officials are so suspicious, and
+our dear Alcalde knows too much.&nbsp; He remembers dear Julia&rsquo;s
+little affair with Esteban Larralde, now long since lived down and forgotten.&nbsp;
+Larralde is, it appears, a malcontent, and on the wrong side of the
+wall.&nbsp; You need have no uneasiness.&nbsp; Ah! your nerves - yes,
+I know!&nbsp; A great sufferer - yes, I remember.&nbsp; Patience, dear
+I&ntilde;ez, patience!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And he patted her stout white hand affectionately.</p>
+<p>The Alcalde was taking snuff with a stubborn air of disbelief, glancing
+the while suspiciously at Conyngham, who had eyes for none but Estella.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Alcalde,&rsquo; said General Vincente, &lsquo;the incident
+is past, as we say in the diplomatic service; a lemonade now?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, General, the incident is not past, and I will not have
+a lemonade.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh!&rsquo; exclaimed General Vincente in gentle horror.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, this young lady must give me the letter, or I call in
+my men.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But your men could not touch a lady, my dear Alcalde.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You may be the Alcalde of Ronda,&rsquo; said Conyngham cheerfully,
+in continuation of the General&rsquo;s argument; &lsquo;but if you offer
+such an insult to Se&ntilde;orita Barenna, I throw you into the fountain,
+in the deepest part, where it is wettest, just there by the marble dolphin.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And Conyngham indicated the exact spot with his riding-whip.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who is this gentleman?&rsquo; asked the Alcalde.&nbsp; The
+question was in the first place addressed to space and the gods - after
+a moment the speaker turned to General Vincente.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A prospective aide-de-camp of General Espartero.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>At the mention of the great name the Mayor of Ronda became beautifully
+less and half bowed to Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I must do my duty,&rsquo; he said with the stubbornness of
+a small mind.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what do you conceive that to be, my dear Alcalde?&rsquo;
+inquired the General.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To place the Se&ntilde;orita Barenna under arrest unless she
+will hand to me the letter she has in her possession.&rsquo;&nbsp; Julia
+looked at him with a smile.&nbsp; She was a brave woman, playing a dangerous
+game with consummate courage, and never glanced at Conyngham, who with
+an effort kept his hand away from the pocket where the letter lay concealed.&nbsp;
+The manner in which she trusted him unreservedly and entirely was in
+itself cunning enough, for it appealed to that sense of chivalry which
+is not yet dead in men.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Place me under arrest, Se&ntilde;or Alcalde,&rsquo; she said
+indifferently, &lsquo;and when you have satisfied me that you have a
+right to inspect a lady&rsquo;s private correspondence I will submit
+to be searched - but not before.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She made a little signal to Conyngham not to interfere.</p>
+<p>Se&ntilde;ora Barenna took this opportunity of asserting herself
+and her nerves.&nbsp; She sat heavily down on a stone seat and wept.&nbsp;
+She could hardly have done better, for she was a countess in her own
+right, and the sight of high-born tears distinctly unnerved the Alcalde.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;the se&ntilde;orita has made
+her own choice.&nbsp; In these times&rsquo; (he glanced nervously at
+the weeping lady) &lsquo;one must do one&rsquo;s duty.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My dear Julia,&rsquo; protested the General, &lsquo;you who
+are so sensible - &rsquo;</p>
+<p>Julia shrugged her shoulders and laughed.&nbsp; She not only trusted
+Conyngham but relied upon his intelligence.&nbsp; It is as a rule safer
+to confide in the honesty of one&rsquo;s neighbour than in his wit;
+better still, trust in neither.&nbsp; Conyngham, who was quick enough
+when the moment required it, knew that she was fostering the belief
+that the letter at that moment in his pocket was in her possession.&nbsp;
+He suspected also that he and Julia Barenna were playing with life and
+death.&nbsp; Further, he recognised her and her voice.&nbsp; This was
+the woman who had showed discrimination and calmness in face of a great
+danger on the Garonne.&nbsp; Had this Englishman, owning as he did to
+a strain of Irish blood, turned his back on her and danger at such a
+moment he would assuredly have proved himself untrue to the annals of
+that race which has made a mark upon the world that will never be wiped
+out.&nbsp; He looked at the Alcalde and smiled, whereupon that official
+turned and made a signal with his hand to a man who, dressed in a quiet
+uniform, had appeared in the doorway of the house.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What the deuce we are all trying to do I don&rsquo;t know,&rsquo;
+reflected Conyngham, who indeed was sufficiently at sea to awake the
+most dormant suspicions.</p>
+<p>The Alcalde, now thoroughly aroused, protested his inability to neglect
+a particle of his duty at this troubled period of Spain&rsquo;s history,
+and announced his intention of placing Julia Barenna under surveillance
+until she handed him the letter she had received from Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am quite prepared,&rsquo; he added, &lsquo;to give this
+caballero the benefit of the doubt, and assume that he has been in this
+matter the tool of unscrupulous persons.&nbsp; Seeing that he is a friend
+of General Vincente&rsquo;s, and has an introduction to his Excellency
+the Duke of Vittoria, he is without the pale of my jurisdiction.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The Alcalde made Conyngham a profound bow and proceeded to conduct
+Julia and her indignant mother to their carriage.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There goes,&rsquo; said General Vincente with his most optimistic
+little chuckle, &lsquo;a young woman whose head will always be endangered
+by her heart.&rsquo;&nbsp; And he nodded towards Julia&rsquo;s retreating
+form.</p>
+<p>Estella turned and walked away by herself.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come,&rsquo; said the General to Conyngham, &lsquo;let us
+sit down.&nbsp; I have news for you.&nbsp; But what a susceptible heart
+- my dear young friend - what a susceptible heart!&nbsp; Julia is, I
+admit, a very pretty girl - <i>la beaut&eacute; du diable</i>, eh!&nbsp;
+But on so short an acquaintance - rather rapid, rather rapid!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>As he spoke he was searching among some letters which he had produced
+from his pocket, and at length found an official envelope that had already
+been opened.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have here,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;a letter from Madrid.&nbsp;
+You have only to proceed to the capital, and there I hope a post awaits
+you.&nbsp; Your duties will at present be of a semi-military character,
+but later I hope we can show you some fighting.&nbsp; This pestilential
+Cabrera is not yet quelled, and Morella still holds out.&nbsp; Yes,
+there will be fighting.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He closed the letter and looked at Conyngham.&nbsp; &lsquo;If that
+is what you want,&rsquo; he added.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, that is what I want.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General nodded and rose, pausing to brush a few grains of dust
+from his dapper riding-breeches.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;I have seen a horse which will
+suit you at the cavalry quarters in the Calle de Bobadilla.&nbsp; Shall
+we go and look at him?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham expressed his readiness to do as the General proposed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;When shall I start for Madrid?&rsquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, to-morrow morning will be time enough,&rsquo; was the
+reply, uttered in an easy-going, indolent tone, &lsquo;if you are early
+astir.&nbsp; You see, it is now nearly five o&rsquo;clock, and you could
+scarcely be in saddle before sunset.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; laughed Conyngham, &lsquo;scarcely, considering
+that I have not yet bought the saddle or the horse.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General led the way into the house, and Conyngham thought of
+the letter in his pocket.&nbsp; He had not yet read the address.&nbsp;
+Julia relied upon him to deliver it, and her conduct towards the Alcalde
+had the evident object of gaining time for him to do so.&nbsp; She had
+unhesitatingly thrust herself into a position of danger to screen him
+and further her own indomitable purpose.&nbsp; He thought of her - still
+as from a distance at which Estella had placed him - and knew that she
+not only had a disquieting beauty, but cleverness and courage, which
+are qualities that outlast beauty and make a woman powerful for ever.</p>
+<p>When he and his companion emerged from the great doorway of the house
+into the sunlight of the Calle Mayor, a man came forward from the shade
+of a neighbouring porch.&nbsp; It was Concep&ccedil;ion Vara, leisurely
+and dignified, twirling a cigarette between his brown fingers.&nbsp;
+He saluted the General with one finger to the brim of his shabby felt
+hat as one great man might salute another.&nbsp; He nodded to Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;When does his Excellency take the road again?&rsquo; he said.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I am ready.&nbsp; The Guardia Civil was mistaken this time -
+the judge said there was no stain on my name.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He shrugged his shoulders and waved away the slight with the magnanimity
+of one who can forgive and forget.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I take the road to-morrow; but our contract ceased at Ronda.&nbsp;
+I had no intention of taking you on.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are not satisfied with me?&rsquo; inquired Concep&ccedil;ion,
+offering his interlocutor the cigarette he had just made.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Buen!&nbsp; We take the road together.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then there is nothing more to be said?&rsquo; inquired Conyngham
+with a good-natured laugh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nothing, except the hour at which your Excellency starts.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Six o&rsquo;clock,&rsquo; put in General Vincente quietly.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Let me see, your name is Concep&ccedil;ion Vara.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, Excellency - of Algeciras.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is well.&nbsp; Then serve this gentleman well, or else
+- &rsquo;&nbsp; The General paused, and laughed in his most deprecating
+manner.</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion seemed to understand, for he took off his hat and
+turned gravely away.&nbsp; The General and Conyngham walked rapidly
+through the streets of Ronda, than which there are none cleaner in the
+whole world, and duly bought a great black horse at a price which seemed
+moderate enough to the Englishman, though the vendor explained that
+the long war had made horseflesh rise in value.&nbsp; Conyngham, at
+no time a keen bargainer, hurried the matter to an end, and scarce examined
+the saddle.&nbsp; He was anxious to get back to the garden of the great
+house in the Calle Mayor before the cool of evening came to drive Estella
+indoors.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You will doubtless wish to pack your portmanteau,&rsquo; said
+the General rather breathlessly, as he hurried along with small steps
+beside Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; answered the Englishman ingenuously, &lsquo;yes,
+of course.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then I will not detain you,&rsquo; said General Vincente.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I have affairs at headquarters.&nbsp; We meet at dinner, of course.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He waved a little salutation with his whip and took a side turning.</p>
+<p>The sun had not set when Conyngham with a beating heart made his
+way through the house into the garden.&nbsp; He had never been so serious
+about anything in his life.&nbsp; Indeed, his life seemed only to have
+begun in that garden.&nbsp; Estella was there.&nbsp; He saw her black
+dress and mantilla through the trees, and the gleam of her golden hair
+made his eyes almost fierce for the moment.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am going to-morrow morning,&rsquo; he said bluntly when
+he reached her where she sat in the shade of a mimosa.</p>
+<p>She raised her eyes for a moment - deep velvet eyes with something
+in them that made his heart leap within his breast.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And I love you, Estella,&rsquo; he added.&nbsp; &lsquo;You
+may be offended - you may despise me - you may distrust me.&nbsp; But
+nothing can alter me.&nbsp; I love you - now and ever.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She drew a deep breath and sat motionless.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How many women does an Englishman love at once?&rsquo; she
+asked coldly at length.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Only one, se&ntilde;orita.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He stood looking at her for a moment.&nbsp; Then she rose and walked
+past him into the house.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER X.&nbsp; THE CITY OF DISCONTENT.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p><i>&lsquo;En paroles ou en actions, &ecirc;tre discret, c&rsquo;est
+s&rsquo;abstenir.&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>&lsquo;There is,&rsquo; observed Frederick Conyngham to himself as
+he climbed into the saddle in the grey dawn of the following morning,
+&lsquo;there is a certain picturesqueness about these proceedings which
+pleases me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion Vara indeed supplied a portion of this romantic
+atmosphere, for he was dressed in the height of contrabandista fashion,
+with a bright-coloured handkerchief folded round his head underneath
+his black hat, a scarlet waistcloth, a spotless shirt, and a flower
+in the ribbon of his hat.</p>
+<p>He was dignified and leisurely, but so far forgot himself as to sing
+as he threw his leg across his horse.&nbsp; A dark-eyed maiden had come
+to the corner of the Calle Vieja, and stood there watching him with
+mournful eyes.&nbsp; He waved her a salutation as he passed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is the waiting-maid at the venta where I stay in Ronda
+- what will you?&rsquo; he explained to Conyngham with a modest air
+as he cocked his hat farther on one side.</p>
+<p>The sun rose as they emerged from the narrow streets into the open
+country that borders the road to Bobadilla.&nbsp; A pastoral country
+this, where the land needs little care to make it give more than man
+requires for his daily food.&nbsp; The evergreen oak studded over the
+whole plain supplies food for countless pigs and shade where the herdsmen
+may dream away the sunny days.&nbsp; The rich soil would yield two or
+even three crops in the year, were the necessary seed and labour forthcoming.&nbsp;
+Underground, the mineral wealth outvies the richness of the surface,
+but national indolence leaves it unexplored.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Before General Vincente one could not explain oneself,&rsquo;
+said Concep&ccedil;ion, urging his horse to keep pace with the trot
+of Conyngham&rsquo;s huge mount.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; pursued Concep&ccedil;ion.&nbsp; &lsquo;And yet
+it is simple.&nbsp; In Algeciras I have a wife.&nbsp; It is well that
+a man should travel at times.&nbsp; So,&rsquo; he paused and bowed towards
+his companion with a gesture of infinite condescension, &lsquo;so -
+we take the road together.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As long as you are pleased, Se&ntilde;or Vara,&rsquo; said
+Conyngham, &lsquo;I am sure I can but feel honoured.&nbsp; You know
+I have no money.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The Spaniard shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What matter?&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;What matter?&nbsp;
+We can keep an account - a mere piece of paper - so: &ldquo;Concep&ccedil;ion
+Vara, of Algeciras, in account current with F. Conyngham; Englishman.&nbsp;
+One month&rsquo;s wages at one hundred pesetas.&rdquo; It is simple.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Very,&rsquo; acquiesced Conyngham.&nbsp; &lsquo;It is only
+when pay-day comes that things will get complicated.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion laughed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are a caballero after my own heart,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;We shall enjoy ourselves in Madrid.&nbsp; I see that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham did not answer.&nbsp; He had remembered the letter and
+Julia Barenna&rsquo;s danger.&nbsp; He rose in his stirrups and looked
+behind him.&nbsp; Ronda was already hidden by intervening hills, and
+the bare line of the roadway was unbroken by the form of any other traveller.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We are not going to Madrid yet,&rsquo; said Conyngham.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;We are going to Xeres, where I have business.&nbsp; Do you know
+the road to Xeres?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As well that as any other, Excellency.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What do you mean?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know no roads north of Ronda.&nbsp; I am of Andalusia, I,&rsquo;
+replied Concep&ccedil;ion easily, and he looked round about him with
+an air of interest which was more to the credit of his intelligence
+as a traveller than his reliability as a guide.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But you engaged to guide me to Madrid.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, Excellency - by asking the way,&rsquo; replied Concep&ccedil;ion
+with a light laugh, and he struck a sulphur match on the neck of his
+horse to light a fresh cigarette.</p>
+<p>Thus with an easy heart Frederick Conyngham set out on his journey,
+having for companion one as irresponsible as himself.&nbsp; He had determined
+to go to Xeres, though that town of ill repute lay far to the westward
+of his road towards the capital.&nbsp; It would have been simple enough
+to destroy the letter entrusted to him by Julia Barenna, a stranger
+whom he was likely never to see again - simple enough and infinitely
+safer as he suspected, for the billet-doux of Mr. Larralde smelt of
+grimmer things than love.&nbsp; But Julia Barenna wittingly, or in all
+innocence, appealed to that sense of chivalry which is essentially the
+quality of lonely men who have never had sisters, and Conyngham was
+ready to help Julia where he would have refused his assistance to a
+man, however hard pressed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Cannot leave the girl in a hole,&rsquo; he said to himself,
+and proceeded to act upon this resolution with a steadiness of purpose
+for which some may blame him.</p>
+<p>It was evening when the two travellers reached Xeres after some weary
+hours of monotonous progress through the vine-clad plains of this country.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is no wonder,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion, &lsquo;that
+the men of Xeres are malcontents, when they live in a country as flat
+as the palm of my hand.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>It happened to be a f&ecirc;te day, which in Spain, as in other countries
+farther North, is synonymous with mischief.&nbsp; The men of Xeres had
+taken advantage of this holiday to demonstrate their desire for more.&nbsp;
+They had marched through the streets with banner and song, arrayed in
+their best clothes, fostering their worst thoughts.&nbsp; They had consumed
+marvellous quantities of that small Amontillado which is as it were
+a thin fire to the blood, heating and degenerating at once.&nbsp; They
+had talked much nonsense and listened to more.&nbsp; Carlist or Christino
+- it was all the same to them, so long as they had a change of some
+sort.&nbsp; In the meantime they had a desire to break something, if
+only to assert their liberty.</p>
+<p>A few minutes before Conyngham and his guide rode into the market-place,
+which in Xeres is as long as a street, some of the free sons of Spain
+had thought fit to shout insulting remarks to a passer-by.&nbsp; With
+a fire too bright for his years this old gentleman, with fierce white
+moustache and imperial, had turned on them, calling them good-for-nothings
+and sons of pigs.</p>
+<p>Conyngham rode up just in time to see the ruffians rise as one man
+and rush at the victim of their humour.&nbsp; The old man with his back
+to the wall repelled his assailants with a sort of fierce joy in his
+attitude which betokened the soldier.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come on, Concep&ccedil;ion!&rsquo; cried Conyngham, with a
+dig of the spurs that made his tired horse leap into the air.&nbsp;
+He charged down upon the gathering crowd, which scattered right and
+left before the wild onslaught.&nbsp; But he saw the flash of steel,
+and knew that it was too late.&nbsp; The old man, with an oath and a
+gasp of pain, sank against the wall with the blood trickling through
+the fingers clasped against his breast.&nbsp; Conyngham would have reined
+in, but Concep&ccedil;ion on his heels gave the charger a cut with his
+heavy whip that made him bound forward and would have unseated a short-stirruped
+rider.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Go on,&rsquo; cried the Spaniard; &lsquo;it is no business
+of ours.&nbsp; The police are behind.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And Conyngham, remembering the letter in his pocket, rode on without
+looking back.&nbsp; In the day of which the present narrative treats,
+the streets of Xeres were but ill paved, and the dust lay on them to
+the depth of many inches, serving to deaden the sound of footsteps and
+facilitate the commission of such deeds of violence as were at this
+time of daily occurrence in Spain.&nbsp; Riding on at random, Conyngham
+and his companion soon lost their way in the narrow streets, and were
+able to satisfy themselves that none had followed them.&nbsp; Here in
+a quiet alley Conyngham read again the address of the letter of which
+he earnestly desired to rid himself without more ado.</p>
+<p>It was addressed to Colonel Monreal at No. 84 Plaza de Cadiz.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Let his Excellency stay here and drink a glass of wine at
+this venta,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion.&nbsp; &lsquo;Alone, I shall
+be able to get information without attracting attention.&nbsp; And then,
+in the name of the saints, let us shake the dust of Xeres off our feet.&nbsp;
+The first thing we see is steel, and I do not like it.&nbsp; I have
+a wife in Algeciras to whom I am much attached, and I am afraid - yes,
+afraid.&nbsp; A gentleman need never hesitate to say so.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He shook his head forebodingly as he loosened his girths and called
+for water for the horses.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I could eat a cocida,&rsquo; he went on, sniffing the odours
+of a neighbouring kitchen, &lsquo;with plenty of onions and the mutton
+as becomes the springtime - young and tender.&nbsp; Dios! this quick
+travelling and an empty stomach, it kills one.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;When I have delivered my letter,&rsquo; replied Conyngham,
+&lsquo;we shall eat with a lighter heart.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion went away in a pessimistic humour.&nbsp; He was
+one of those men who are brave enough on good wine and victuals, but
+lack the stamina to fight when hungry.&nbsp; He returned presently with
+the required information.&nbsp; The Plaza de Cadiz was, it appeared,
+quite close.&nbsp; Indeed, the town of Xeres is not large, though the
+intricacies of its narrow streets may well puzzle a new-comer.&nbsp;
+No. 84 was the house of the barber, and on his first floor lived Colonel
+Monreal, a retired veteran who had fought with the English against Napoleon&rsquo;s
+armies.</p>
+<p>During his servant&rsquo;s absence, Conyngham had written a short
+note in French, conveying, in terms which she would understand, the
+news that Julia Barenna doubtless awaited with impatience; namely, that
+her letter had been delivered to him whose address it bore.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have ordered your cocida and some good wine,&rsquo; he said
+to Concep&ccedil;ion.&nbsp; &lsquo;Your horse is feeding.&nbsp; Make
+good use of your time, for when I return I shall want you to take the
+road again at once.&nbsp; You must make ten miles before you sleep to-night,
+and then an early start in the morning.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For where, se&ntilde;or?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For Ronda.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion shrugged his shoulders.&nbsp; His life had been
+spent upon the road, his wardrobe since childhood had been contained
+in a saddle-bag, and Spaniards, above all people, have the curse of
+Ishmael.&nbsp; They are a homeless race, and lay them down to sleep,
+when fatigue overtakes them, under a tree or in the shade of a stone
+wall.&nbsp; It often happens that a worker in the fields will content
+himself with the lee side of a haystack for his resting-place when his
+home is only a few hundred yards up the mountain side.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And his Excellency?&rsquo; inquired Concep&ccedil;ion.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I shall sleep here to-night and proceed to Madrid to-morrow,
+by way of Cordova, where I will wait for you.&nbsp; I have a letter
+here which you must deliver to the Se&ntilde;orita Barenna at Ronda
+without the knowledge of anyone.&nbsp; It will be well that neither
+General Vincente nor any other who knows you should catch sight of you
+in the streets of Ronda.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion nodded his head with much philosophy.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah! these women,&rsquo; he said, turning to the steaming dish
+of mutton and vegetables which is almost universal in the South, &lsquo;these
+women, what shoe leather they cost us!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Leaving his servant thus profitably employed, Conyngham set out to
+find the barber&rsquo;s shop in the Plaza de Cadiz.&nbsp; This he did
+without difficulty, but on presenting himself at the door of Colonel
+Monreal&rsquo;s apartment learnt that that gentleman was out.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But,&rsquo; added the servant, &lsquo;the Colonel is a man
+of regular habits.&nbsp; He will return within the next fifteen minutes,
+for he dines at five.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham paused.&nbsp; He had no desire to make Colonel Monreal&rsquo;s
+acquaintance, indeed preferred to remain without it, for he rightly
+judged that Se&ntilde;or Larralde was engaged in affairs best left alone.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have a letter for the Colonel,&rsquo; he said to the servant,
+a man of stupid countenance.&nbsp; &lsquo;I will place it here upon
+his table, and can no doubt trust you to see that he gets it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That you can, Excellency,&rsquo; replied the man, with a palm
+already half extended to receive a gratuity.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If the Colonel fails to receive the letter I shall certainly
+know of it,&rsquo; said Conyngham, stumbling down the dark staircase,
+and well pleased to have accomplished his mission.</p>
+<p>He returned with all speed to the inn in the quiet alley where he
+had elected to pass the night, and found Concep&ccedil;ion still at
+table.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In half an hour I take the road,&rsquo; said the Spaniard.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;The time for a cup of coffee, and I am ready to ride all night.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Having eaten, Concep&ccedil;ion was in a better frame of mind, and
+now cheerfully undertook to carry out his master&rsquo;s instructions.&nbsp;
+In little more than half an hour he was in the saddle again, and waved
+an airy adieu to Conyngham as he passed under the swinging oil lamp
+that hung at the corner of the street.</p>
+<p>It was yet early in the evening, and Conyngham, having dined, set
+out to explore the streets of Xeres, which were quiet enough now, as
+the cafes were gayer and safer than the gloomy thoroughfares where a
+foe might lurk in every doorway.&nbsp; In the market-place, between
+rows of booths and tents, a dense crowd walked backwards and forwards
+with that steady sense of promenading which the Spaniard understands
+above all other men.&nbsp; The dealers in coloured handkerchiefs from
+Barcelona or mantillas from Seville were driving a great trade, and
+the majority of them had long since shouted themselves hoarse.&nbsp;
+A few quack dentists were operating upon their victims under the friendly
+covert of a big drum and a bassoon.&nbsp; Dealers in wonderful drugs
+and herbs were haranguing the crowd, easily gaining the attention of
+the simple peasants by handling a live snake or a crocodile which they
+allowed to crawl upon their shoulders.</p>
+<p>Conyngham lingered in the crowd, which was orderly enough, and amused
+himself by noting the credulity of the country folk, until his attention
+was attracted by a solemn procession passing up the market-place behind
+the tents.&nbsp; He inquired of a bystander what this might be.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is the police carrying to his apartment the body of Colonel
+Monreal, who was murdered this afternoon in the Plaza Mayor,&rsquo;
+was the answer.</p>
+<p>Conyngham made his way between two tents to the deserted side of
+the market-place, and, running past the procession, reached the barber&rsquo;s
+shop before it.&nbsp; In answer to his summons a girl came to the door
+of the Colonel&rsquo;s apartment.&nbsp; She was weeping and moaning
+in great mental distress.</p>
+<p>Without explanation Conyngham pushed past her into the room where
+he had deposited the letter.&nbsp; The room was in disorder, and no
+letter lay upon the table.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is,&rsquo; sobbed the girl, &lsquo;my husband, who, having
+heard that the good Colonel had been murdered, stole all his valuables
+and papers and has run away from me.&rsquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER XI.&nbsp; A TANGLED WEB.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p><i>&lsquo;Wherein I am false, I am honest - not true to be true.&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>&lsquo;And - would you believe it? - there are soldiers in the house,
+at the very door of Julia&rsquo;s apartments.&rsquo;&nbsp; Se&ntilde;ora
+Barenna, who made this remark, heaved a sigh and sat back in her canework
+chair with that jerkiness of action which in elderly ladies usually
+betokens impatience with the ways of young people.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Policemen - policemen, not soldiers,&rsquo; corrected Father
+Concha patiently, as if it did not matter much.&nbsp; They were sitting
+in the broad vine-clad verandah of the Casa Barenna, that grim old house
+on the Bobadilla road, two miles from Ronda.&nbsp; The priest had walked
+thither, as the dust on his square-toed shoes and black stockings would
+testify.&nbsp; He had laid aside his mournful old hat, long since brown
+and discoloured, and was wiping his forehead with a cheap pocket-handkerchief
+of colour and pattern rather loud for his station in life.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, they have swords,&rsquo; persisted the lady.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Policemen,&rsquo; said Father Concha, in a stern and final
+voice, which caused Se&ntilde;ora Barenna to cast her eyes upwards with
+an air of resigned martyrdom.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, that Alcalde!&rsquo; she whispered between her teeth.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A little dog, when it is afraid, growls,&rsquo; said Concha
+philosophically.&nbsp; &lsquo;The Alcalde is a very small dog, and he
+is at his wit&rsquo;s end.&nbsp; Such a thing has not occurred in Ronda
+before, and the Alcalde&rsquo;s world is Ronda.&nbsp; He does not know
+whether his office permits him to inspect young ladies&rsquo; love letters
+or not.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Love letters!&rsquo; ejaculated Se&ntilde;ora Barenna.&nbsp;
+She evidently had a keen sense of the romantic, and hoped for something
+more tragic than a mere flirtation begotten of idleness at sea.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said Concha, crossing his legs and looking at
+his companion with a queer cynicism.&nbsp; &lsquo;Young people mostly
+pass that way.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He had had a tragedy, this old man.&nbsp; One of those grim tragedies
+of the cassock which English people rarely understand.&nbsp; And his
+tragedy sat beside him on the cane chair, stout and eminently worldly,
+while he had journeyed on the road of life with all his illusions, all
+his half-fledged aspirations, untouched by the cold finger of reality.&nbsp;
+He despised the woman now, the contempt lurked in his cynical smile,
+but he clung with a half-mocking, open-eyed sarcasm to his memories.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But,&rsquo; he said reassuringly, &lsquo;Julia is a match
+for the Alcalde, you may rest assured of that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Se&ntilde;ora Barenna turned with a gesture of her plump hand indicative
+of bewilderment.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do not understand her.&nbsp; She laughs at the soldiers
+- the policemen, I mean.&nbsp; She laughs at me.&nbsp; She laughs at
+everything.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, it is the hollow hearts that make most noise in the world,&rsquo;
+said Concha, folding his handkerchief upon his knee.&nbsp; He was deadly
+poor, and had a theory that a folded handkerchief remains longer clean.&nbsp;
+His whole existence was an effort to do without those things that make
+life worth living.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why did you send for me?&rsquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But to advise me - to help me.&nbsp; I have been, all my life,
+cast upon the world alone.&nbsp; No one to help me - no one to understand.&nbsp;
+No one knows what I have suffered - my husband - &rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Was one of the best and most patient of mortals, and is assuredly
+in heaven, where I hope there are a few mansions reserved for men only.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Se&ntilde;ora Barenna fetched one of her deepest sighs.&nbsp; She
+had a few lurking in the depth of her capacious being, reserved for
+such occasions as this.&nbsp; It was, it seemed, no more than her life
+had led her to expect.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have had,&rsquo; went on her spiritual adviser, &lsquo;a
+life of ease and luxury, a husband who denied you nothing.&nbsp; You
+have never lost a child by death, which I understand is - one of the
+greatest sorrows that God sends to women.&nbsp; You are an ungrateful
+female.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Se&ntilde;ora Barenna, whose face would have graced one of the very
+earliest of the martyrs, sat with folded hands waiting until the storm
+should pass.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you wish me to see Julia?&rsquo; asked Concha abruptly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes - yes!&nbsp; And persuade her to conciliate the Alcalde
+- to tell him some story or another.&nbsp; It does not surely matter
+if it be not the strict truth.&nbsp; Anything to get these men out of
+the house.&nbsp; My maid Maria is so flighty.&nbsp; Ah - these young
+people!&nbsp; What a trial - my dear Padre, what a trial!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of course,&rsquo; said Father Concha.&nbsp; &lsquo;But what
+a dull world it would be if our neighbour knew how to manage his own
+affairs!&nbsp; Shall we go to Julia?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The perturbed lady preferred that the priest should see her daughter
+alone.&nbsp; A military-looking individual in white trousers and a dark
+green tunic stood guard over the door of Julia&rsquo;s apartment, seeking
+by his attitude and the curl of his moustache to magnify his office
+in the eyes of a maid who happened to have an unusual amount of cleaning
+to do in that particular corridor.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; said Father Concha, by no means abashed by the
+sentinel&rsquo;s sword.&nbsp; &lsquo;Ah, it is you, Manuel.&nbsp; Your
+wife tells me you have objections to the christening of that last boy
+of yours, number five, I think.&nbsp; Bring number five on Sunday, after
+vespers - eh?&nbsp; You understand - and a little something for the
+poor.&nbsp; It is pay day on Saturday.&nbsp; And no more nonsense about
+religion, Manuel, eh?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He shook his lean finger in the official&rsquo;s face and walked
+on unchallenged.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;May I come in?&rsquo; he said, tapping at the door; and Julia&rsquo;s
+voice bade him enter.</p>
+<p>He closed the door behind him and laid aside his hat.&nbsp; Then
+he stood upright, and slowly rubbing his hands together looked at Julia
+with the humorous twinkle lurking in his eye and its companion dimple
+twitching in his lean cheek.&nbsp; Then he began to feel his pockets,
+passing his hands down his worn cassock.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Let me see, I had a love letter - was it from Don Carlos?&nbsp;
+At all events, I have lost it!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He laughed, made a perfunctory sign of the cross and gave her his
+blessing.&nbsp; Then, his face having become suddenly grave as if by
+machinery at the sound of the solemn Latin benediction, he sat down.</p>
+<p>Julia looked worn and eager.&nbsp; Her eyes seemed to search his
+face for news.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, my dear child,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;Politics
+are all very well as a career.&nbsp; But without a distinct profit they
+are worth the attention of few men, and never worth the thought of a
+woman.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He looked at her keenly, and she turned to the window, which was
+open to admit the breath of violets and other flowers of the spring.&nbsp;
+She shrugged her shoulders and gave a sharp sigh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;See here, my child,&rsquo; said Padre Concha abruptly.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;For reasons which concern no one, I take a great interest in
+your happiness.&nbsp; You resemble some one whose welfare was once more
+important to me than my own.&nbsp; That was long ago, and I now consider
+myself first, as all wise men should.&nbsp; I am your friend, Julia,
+and much too old to be over-scrupulous.&nbsp; I peep and pry into my
+neighbours&rsquo; affairs, and I am uneasy about you, my child.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He shook his head and drummed upon the table with his dirty fingers.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thank you,&rsquo; answered the girl with her defiant little
+laugh, &lsquo;but I can manage my own affairs.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The priest nodded reflectively.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;It is natural that you should
+say that.&nbsp; One of the chief blessings of youth is self confidence.&nbsp;
+Heaven forbid that I should shake yours.&nbsp; But, you see, there are
+several people who happen to be anxious that this little affair should
+blow over and be forgotten.&nbsp; The Alcalde is a mule, we know that,
+and anything that serves to magnify himself and his office is likely
+to be prolonged.&nbsp; Do not play into his hand.&nbsp; As I tell you,
+there are some who wish to forget this incident, and one of them is
+coming to see you this afternoon.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; said the girl indifferently.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;General Vincente.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Julia changed colour and her eyelids flickered for a moment as she
+looked out of the open window.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A good friend,&rsquo; continued Concha, &lsquo;but - &rsquo;</p>
+<p>He finished the phrase with an eloquent little gesture of the hand.&nbsp;
+At this moment they both heard the sound of an approaching carriage.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He is coming now,&rsquo; said Concha.&nbsp; &lsquo;He is driving,
+so Estella is with him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Estella is of course jealous.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The priest looked at her with a slow wise smile and said nothing.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;She - &rsquo; began Julia, and then closed her lips - true
+to that <i>esprit de sexe</i> which has ruled through all the ages.&nbsp;
+Then Julia Barenna gave a sharp sigh as her mind reverted from Estella&rsquo;s
+affairs to her own.</p>
+<p>Sitting thus in silence, the two occupants of the quiet room heard
+the approach of steps and the clink of spurs in the corridor.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is the reverendo who visits the se&ntilde;orita,&rsquo;
+they heard the voice of the sentinel explain deprecatingly.</p>
+<p>The priest rose and went to the door, which he opened.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Only as a friend,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;Come in, General.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>General Vincente entered the room followed by Estella.&nbsp; He nodded
+to Concha and kissed his niece affectionately.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Still obdurate?&rsquo; he said, with a semi-playful tap on
+her shoulder.&nbsp; &lsquo;Still obdurate?&nbsp; My dear Julia, in peace
+and war the greatest quality in the strong is mercy.&nbsp; You have
+proved yourself strong - you have worsted that unfortunate Alcalde -
+be merciful to him now, and let this incident finish.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He drew forward a chair, the others being seated, and laid aside
+his gloves.&nbsp; The sword which he held upright between his knees,
+with his two hands resting on the hilt, looked incongruously large and
+reached the level of his eyes.&nbsp; He gave a little chuckling laugh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I saw him last night at the Caf&eacute; Real - the poor man
+had the air of a funeral, and took his wine as if it were sour.&nbsp;
+Ah! these civilians, they amuse one - they take life so seriously.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He laughed and looked round at those assembled as if inviting them
+to join him in a gayer and easier view of existence.&nbsp; The Padre&rsquo;s
+furrowed face answered the summons in a sudden smile, but it was with
+grave eyes that he looked searchingly at the most powerful man in Andalusia;
+for General Vincente&rsquo;s word was law south of the Tagus.</p>
+<p>The two men sat side by side in strong contrast.&nbsp; Fate indeed
+seems to shake men together in a bag, and cast them out upon the world
+heedless where they may fall; for here was a soldier in the priest&rsquo;s
+habit, and one carrying a sword who had the keen heart and sure sympathy
+for joy or sorrow that should ever be found within a black coat if the
+Master&rsquo;s work is to be well done.</p>
+<p>General Vincente smiled at Estella with <i>sang-froid</i> and an
+unruffled good nature, while the Padre Concha, whose place it surely
+was to take the lead in such woman&rsquo;s work as this, slowly rubbed
+his bony hands together, at a loss and incompetent to meet the urgency
+of the moment.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Our guest left us yesterday morning,&rsquo; said the General,
+&lsquo;and of course the Alcalde placed no hindrance on his departure.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He did not look at Julia, who drew a deep breath and glanced at Estella.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do not know if Se&ntilde;or Conyngham left any message for
+you with Estella - to me he said nothing,&rsquo; continued Estella&rsquo;s
+father; and that young lady shook her head.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; she put in composedly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then it remains for us to close this foolish incident, my
+dear Julia; and for me to remind you, seeing that you are fatherless,
+that there are in Spain many adventurers who come here seeking the sport
+of love or war, who will ride away when they have had their fill of
+either.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He ceased speaking with a tolerant laugh, as one who, being a soldier
+himself, would beg indulgence for the failings of his comrades, examined
+the hilt of his sword, and then looked blandly round on three faces
+which resolutely refused to class the absent Englishman in this category.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It remains, my dear niece, to satisfy the Alcalde - a mere
+glance at the letter - sufficient to satisfy him as to the nature of
+its contents.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have no letter,&rsquo; said Julia quietly, with her level
+red lips set hard.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not in your possession, but perhaps concealed in some place
+near at hand - unless it is destroyed.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have destroyed no letter, I have concealed no letter, and
+I have no letter,&rsquo; said the girl quietly.&nbsp; Estella moved
+uneasily in the chair.&nbsp; Her face was colourless and her eyes shone.&nbsp;
+She watched her cousin&rsquo;s face intently, and beneath his shaggy
+brows the old priest&rsquo;s eyes went from one fair countenance to
+the other.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then,&rsquo; cried the General, rising to his feet with an
+air of relief, &lsquo;you have but to assure the Alcalde of this, and
+the whole incident is terminated.&nbsp; Blown over, my dear Concha -
+blown over!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He tapped the priest on the shoulder with great good nature.&nbsp;
+Indeed, the world seemed sunny enough and free from cares when General
+Vincente had to deal with it.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes - yes,&rsquo; said the Padre, snuff-box in hand.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Blown over - of course.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then I may send the Alcalde to you, Julia - and you will tell
+him what you have told us?&nbsp; He cannot but take the word of a lady.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes - if you like,&rsquo; answered Julia.</p>
+<p>The General&rsquo;s joy knew no bounds.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That is well,&rsquo; he cried, &lsquo;I knew we could safely
+rely upon your good sense.&nbsp; Kiss me, Julia - that is well!&nbsp;
+Come, Estella - we must not keep the horses waiting.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>With a laugh and a nod he went towards the door.&nbsp; &lsquo;Blown
+over, my dear Concha,&rsquo; he said over his shoulder.</p>
+<p>A few minutes later the priest walked down the avenue of walnut trees
+alone.&nbsp; The bell was ringing for vespers, but the Padre was an
+autocratic shepherd and did not hurry towards his flock.&nbsp; The sun
+had set, and in the hollows of the distant mountains the shades of night
+already lay like a blue veil.</p>
+<p>The priest walked on and presently reached the high road.&nbsp; A
+single figure was upon it - the figure of a man sitting in the shadow
+of an ilex tree half a mile up the road towards Bobadilla.&nbsp; The
+man crouched low against a heap of stones and had the air of a wanderer.&nbsp;
+His face was concealed in the folds of his cloak.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Blown over,&rsquo; muttered the Padre as he turned his back
+upon Bobadilla and went on towards his church.&nbsp; &lsquo;Blown over,
+of course; but what is Concep&ccedil;ion Vara doing in the neighbourhood
+of Ronda to-night?&rsquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER XII.&nbsp; ON THE TOLEDO ROAD.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p><i>&lsquo;Une bonne intention est une &eacute;chelle trop courte.&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>Conyngham made his way without difficulty or incident from Xeres
+to Cordova, riding for the most part in front of the clumsy diligencia
+wherein he had bestowed his luggage.&nbsp; The road was wearisome enough,
+and the last stages, through the fertile plains bordering the Guadalquivir,
+dusty and monotonous.</p>
+<p>At Cordova the traveller found comfortable quarters in an old inn
+overlooking the river.&nbsp; The ancient city was then, as it is now,
+a great military centre, and the headquarters of the picturesque corps
+of horse-tamers, the &lsquo;Remonta,&rsquo; who are responsible for
+the mounting of the cavalry and the artillery of Spain.&nbsp; Conyngham
+had, at the suggestion of General Vincente, made such small changes
+in his costume as would serve to allay curiosity and prevent that gossip
+of the stable and kitchen which may follow a traveller to his hurt from
+one side of a continent to the other.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Wherever you may go learn your way in and out of every town,
+and you will thus store up knowledge most useful to a soldier,&rsquo;
+the General had said in his easy way.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;See you,&rsquo; Concep&ccedil;ion had observed, wagging his
+head over a cigarette; &lsquo;to go about the world with the eyes open
+is to conquer the world.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>From his guide, moreover, whose methods were those that Nature teaches
+to men who live their daily lives in her company, Conyngham learnt much
+of that road craft which had raised Concep&ccedil;ion Vara to such a
+proud eminence among the rascals of Andalusia.&nbsp; Cordova was a good
+object upon which to practise, for Roman and Goth, Moor and Christian,
+have combined to make its tortuous streets well-nigh incomprehensible
+to the traveller&rsquo;s mind.</p>
+<p>Here Conyngham wandered, or else he sat somnolently on a seat in
+the Paseo del Gran Capitan in the shade of the orange trees, awaiting
+the arrival of Concep&ccedil;ion Vara.&nbsp; He made a few acquaintances,
+as every traveller who is not a bear must needs do in a country where
+politeness and hospitality and a grave good fellowship are the natural
+habit of high and low alike.&nbsp; A bullfighter or two, who beguiled
+the long winter months, when the rings are closed, by a little innocent
+horse dealing, joined him quietly in the streets and offered him a horse
+- as between gentlemen of undoubted honour - at a price much below the
+current value.&nbsp; Or it was perhaps a beggar who came to him on the
+old yellow marble seat under the orange trees, and chatted affably about
+his business as being bad in these times of war.&nbsp; Once, indeed,
+it was a white-haired gentleman, who spoke in English, and asked some
+very natural questions as to the affairs that brought an Englishman
+to the town of Cordova.&nbsp; This sweet-spoken old man explained that
+strangers would do well to avoid all questions of politics and religion,
+which he classed together in one dangerous whole.&nbsp; Nevertheless,
+Conyngham thought that he perceived his ancient friend the same evening
+hurrying up the steps of the Jesuit College of La Campania.</p>
+<p>Two days elapsed and Concep&ccedil;ion Vara made neither appearance
+nor sign.&nbsp; On the second evening Conyngham decided to go on alone,
+prosecuting his journey through the sparsely populated valley of the
+Alcadia to Ciudad Real, Toledo, and Madrid.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You will ride,&rsquo; the innkeeper told him, &lsquo;from
+the Guadalquivir to the Guadiana, and if there is rain you may be a
+month upon the road.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham set out in the early morning, and as he threw his leg across
+the saddle the sun rose over the far misty hills of Ronda, and Concep&ccedil;ion
+Vara awoke from his night&rsquo;s rest under the wall of an olive terrace
+above the Bobadilla road, to begin another day of patient waiting and
+watching to get speech with the maid or the mistress; for he had already
+inaugurated what he lightly called &lsquo;an affair&rsquo; with Julia&rsquo;s
+flighty attendant.&nbsp; The sun rose also over the plains of Xeres,
+and lighted up the picturesque form of Esteban Larralde, in the saddle
+this hour and more, having learnt that Colonel Monreal&rsquo;s death
+took place an hour before Conyngham&rsquo;s arrival in the town of Xeres
+de la Frontera.&nbsp; The letter, therefore, had not been delivered
+to Colonel Monreal, and was still in Conyngham&rsquo;s possession.</p>
+<p>Larralde bestrode a shocking steed, and had but an indifferent seat
+in the saddle.&nbsp; Nevertheless, the dust rose beneath his horse&rsquo;s
+feet, and his spurs flashed in the sunlight as this man of many parts
+hurried on towards Utrera and Cordova.</p>
+<p>In the old Moorish palace in Ronda, General Vincente, summoned to
+a great council of war at Madrid, was making curt military preparations
+for his journey and the conveyance of his household to the capital.&nbsp;
+Se&ntilde;ora Barenna was for the moment forgetful of her nerves in
+the excitement of despatching servants in advance to Toledo, where she
+owned a summer residence.&nbsp; Julia was nervously anxious to be on
+the road again, and showed by every word and action that restlessness
+of spirit which is the inheritance of hungry hearts.&nbsp; Estella,
+quiet and self-contained, attended to the details of moving a vast and
+formal household with a certain eagerness which in no way resembled
+Julia&rsquo;s feverish haste.&nbsp; Estella seemed to be one of those
+happy people who know what they want.</p>
+<p>Thus Frederick Conyngham, riding northward alone, seemed to be a
+pilot to all these persons into whose lives he had suddenly stepped
+as from a side issue, for they were one and all making ready to follow
+him to the colder plains of Castile, where existence was full of strife
+and ambition, of war and those inner wheels that ever jar and grind
+where politicians contend together for the mastery of a moment.</p>
+<p>As he rode on, Conyngham left a message from time to time for his
+self-appointed servant.&nbsp; At the offices of the diligencias in various
+towns on the great road from Cordova to Madrid he left word for Concep&ccedil;ion
+Vara to follow, should the spirit of travel be still upon him, knowing
+that at these places where travellers were ever passing, the tittle-tattle
+of the road was on the tongue of every ostler and stable help.&nbsp;
+And truly enough there followed one who made careful inquiries as to
+the movements of the Englishman, and heard his messages with a grim
+smile.&nbsp; But this was not Concep&ccedil;ion Vara.</p>
+<p>It was late one evening when Conyngham, who had quitted Toledo in
+the morning, began to hunger for the sight of the towers and steeples
+of Madrid.&nbsp; He had ridden all day through the bare country of Cervantes,
+where to this day Spain rears her wittiest men and plainest women.&nbsp;
+The sun had just set behind the distant hills of Old Castile, and from
+the east, over Aranjuez, where the great river cuts Spain in two parts
+from its centre to the sea, a grey cloud - a very shade of night - was
+slowly rising.&nbsp; The aspect of the brown plains was dismal enough,
+and on the horizon the rolling unbroken land seemed to melt away into
+eternity and infinite space.</p>
+<p>Conyngham reined in and looked around him.&nbsp; So far as eye could
+reach, no house arose to testify to the presence of man.&nbsp; No labourer
+toiled home to his lonely hut.&nbsp; For, in this country of many wars
+and interminable strife, it has, since the days of Nebuchadnezzar, been
+the custom of the people to congregate in villages and small townships,
+where a common danger secured some protection against a lawless foe.&nbsp;
+The road rose and fell in a straight line across the table-land without
+tree or hedge, and Madrid seemed to belong to another world, for the
+horizon, which was distant enough, bore no sign of cathedral spire or
+castle height.</p>
+<p>Conyngham turned in his saddle to look back, and there, not a mile
+away, the form of a hurrying horseman broke the bare line of the dusty
+road.&nbsp; There was something weird and disturbing in this figure,
+a suggestion of pursuit in every line.&nbsp; For this was not Concep&ccedil;ion
+Vara.&nbsp; Conyngham would have known him at once.&nbsp; This was one
+wearing a better coat; indeed Concep&ccedil;ion preferred to face life
+and the chances of the world in shirt sleeves.</p>
+<p>Conyngham sat in his saddle awaiting the new-comer.&nbsp; To meet
+on such a road in Spain without pausing to exchange a salutation would
+be a gratuitous insult, to ride in solitude within hail of another traveller
+were to excite or betray the deepest distrust.&nbsp; It was characteristic
+of Conyngham that he already waved his hand in salutation, and was prepared
+to hail the new-comer as the jolliest companion in the world.</p>
+<p>Esteban Larralde, seeing the salutation, gave a short laugh, and
+jerked the reins of his tired horse.&nbsp; He himself wore a weary look,
+as if the fight he had in hand were an uphill one.&nbsp; He had long
+recognised Conyngham; indeed the chase had been one of little excitement,
+but rather an exercise of patience and dogged perseverance.&nbsp; He
+raised his hat to indicate that the Englishman&rsquo;s gay salutations
+were perceived, and pulled the wide brim well forward again.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He will change his attitude when it becomes apparent who I
+am,&rsquo; he muttered.</p>
+<p>But Conyngham&rsquo;s first word would appear to suggest that Esteban
+Larralde was a much less impressive person than he considered himself.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, it&rsquo;s the devout lover!&rsquo; he cried.&nbsp; &lsquo;Se&ntilde;or
+Larralde, you remember me, Algeciras, and your pink love letter - deuced
+fishy love letter, that; nearly got me into a devil of a row, I can
+tell you.&nbsp; How are you, eh?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And the Englishman rode forward with a jolly laugh and his hand held
+out.&nbsp; Larralde took it without enthusiasm.&nbsp; It was rather
+difficult to pick a picturesque quarrel with such a person as this.&nbsp;
+Moreover, the true conspirator never believes in another man&rsquo;s
+honesty.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who would have expected to meet you here?&rsquo; went on Conyngham
+jovially.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is not so surprising as you think.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>There was no mistaking Larralde&rsquo;s manner, and the Englishman&rsquo;s
+gay blue eyes hardened suddenly and rather surprisingly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, I have followed you.&nbsp; I want that letter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, as it happens, Se&ntilde;or Larralde, I have not got
+your letter, and if I had I am not quite sure that I would give it to
+you.&nbsp; Your conduct in the matter has not been over-nice, and, to
+tell you the truth, I don&rsquo;t think much of a man who gets strangers
+and women to do his dirty work for him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Larralde stroked his moustache with a half-furtive air of contempt.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I should have given the confounded letter to the Alcalde of
+Ronda if it had not been that a lady would have suffered for it, and
+let you take your chance, Se&ntilde;or Larralde.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Larralde shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You would not have given it to the Alcalde of Ronda,&rsquo;
+he said in a sneering voice, &lsquo;because you want it yourself.&nbsp;
+You require it in order to make your peace with Estella Vincente.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We are not going to talk of Se&ntilde;orita Vincente,&rsquo;
+said Conyngham quietly.&nbsp; &lsquo;You say you followed me because
+you wanted that letter.&nbsp; It is not in my possession.&nbsp; I left
+it in the house of Colonel Monreal at Xeres.&nbsp; If you are going
+on to Madrid, I think I will sit down here and have a cigarette.&nbsp;
+If, on the other hand, you propose resting here, I shall proceed, as
+it is getting late.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham looked at his companion with a nod and a smile which was
+not in the least friendly and at the same time quite cheerful.&nbsp;
+He seemed to recognise the necessity of quarrelling, but proposed to
+do so as light-heartedly as possible.&nbsp; They were both on horseback
+in the middle of the road, Larralde a few paces in the direction of
+Madrid.</p>
+<p>Conyngham indicated the road with an inviting wave of the hand.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Will you go on?&rsquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>Larralde sat looking at him with glittering eyes, and said nothing.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then I will continue my journey,&rsquo; said the Englishman,
+touching his horse lightly with the spur.&nbsp; The horse moved on and
+passed within a yard of the other.&nbsp; At this moment Larralde rose
+in his stirrups and flung himself on one side.</p>
+<p>Conyngham gave a sharp cry of pain and threw back his head.&nbsp;
+Larralde had stabbed him in the back.&nbsp; The Englishman swayed in
+the saddle as if trying to balance himself, his legs bent back from
+the knee in the sharpness of a biting pain.&nbsp; The heavy stirrups
+swung free.&nbsp; Then, slowly, Conyngham toppled forward and rolled
+out of the saddle, falling to the road with a thud.</p>
+<p>Larralde watched him with a white face and staring eyes.&nbsp; Then
+he looked quickly round over the darkening landscape.&nbsp; There was
+no one in sight.&nbsp; This was one of the waste places of the world.&nbsp;
+Larralde seemed to remember the Eye that seeth even there, and crossed
+himself as he slipped from the saddle to the ground.&nbsp; He was shaking
+all over.&nbsp; His face was ashen, for it is a terrible thing to kill
+a man and be left alone with him.</p>
+<p>Conyngham&rsquo;s eyes were closed.&nbsp; There was blood on his
+lips.&nbsp; With hands that shook like leaves Esteban Larralde searched
+the Englishman, found nothing, and cursed his ill fortune.&nbsp; Then
+he stood upright, and in the dim light his face shone as if he had dipped
+it in water.&nbsp; He crept into the saddle and rode on towards Madrid.</p>
+<p>It was quite dark when Conyngham recovered consciousness.&nbsp; In
+turning him over to search his pockets Larralde had perhaps, unwittingly,
+saved his life by placing him in a position that checked the internal
+h&aelig;morrhage.&nbsp; What served to bring back the Englishman&rsquo;s
+wandering senses was the rumbling of heavy wheels and the crack of a
+great whip as a cart laden with hay and drawn by six mules approached
+him from the direction of Toledo.</p>
+<p>The driver of the team was an old soldier, as indeed were most of
+the Castilians at this time, and knew how to handle wounded men.&nbsp;
+With great care and a multitude of oaths he lifted Conyngham on to his
+cart and proceeded with him to Madrid.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER XIII.&nbsp; A WISE IGNORAMUS.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p><i>&lsquo;God help me!&nbsp; I know nothing - can but pray.&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>It was Father Concha&rsquo;s custom to attend, at his church between
+the hours of nine and ten in the morning, to such wants spiritual or
+temporal as individual members of his flock chose to bring to him.</p>
+<p>Thus it usually happened that the faithful found the old priest at
+nine o&rsquo;clock sunning himself at the front door of the sacred edifice,
+smoking a reflective cigarette and exchanging the time of day with passers-by
+or such as had leisure to pause a moment.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Whether it is body or soul that is in trouble - come to me,&rsquo;
+he would say.&nbsp; &lsquo;For the body I can do a little - a very little.&nbsp;
+I have twenty pounds a year, and it is not always paid to me, but I
+sometimes have a trifle for charity.&nbsp; For the soul I can do a little
+more.&rsquo;&nbsp; After a storm of wind and rain, such as come in the
+winter-time, it was no uncommon sight to see the priest sweeping the
+leaves and dust from the church steps and using the strongest language
+at the bootmaker over the way whose business this was supposed to be.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;See!&rsquo; he would cry to some passer-by.&nbsp; &lsquo;See!
+- it is thus that our sacristan does his work.&nbsp; It is for this
+that the Holy Church pays him fifteen - or is it twenty? - pesetas each
+year.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And the bootmaker would growl and shake his head over his last; for,
+like most who have to do with leather, he was a man of small humour.</p>
+<p>Here, too, mothers would bring their children - little girls cowering
+under their bright handkerchiefs, the mantilla of the poor, and speak
+with the Padre of the Confirmation and first Communion which had lately
+begun to hang like a cloud over the child&rsquo;s life.&nbsp; Father
+Concha would take the child upon his knee as he sat on the low wall
+at the side of the steps, and when the mother had left them, would talk
+quietly with the lines of his face wonderfully softened, so that before
+long the little girl would run home quite happy in mind and no longer
+afraid of the great unknown.&nbsp; Here, in the spring time, came the
+young men with thoughts appropriate to the season, and sheepish exceedingly;
+for they knew that Father Concha knew all about them, and would take
+an unfair advantage of his opportunities, refusing probably to perform
+the ceremony until he was satisfied as to the ways and means and prudence
+of the contracting parties - which of course he had no right to do.&nbsp;
+Here came the halt, the lame, the blind, the poor, and also the rich.&nbsp;
+Here came the unhappy.&nbsp; They came naturally and often.&nbsp; Here,
+so the bootmaker tells, came one morning a ruined man, who after speaking
+a few words to the Padre, produced a revolver and tried to shoot himself.&nbsp;
+And the Padre fell on him like a wild beast.&nbsp; And they fought,
+and fell, and rolled down the steps together into the road, where they
+still fought till they were white like millers with dust.&nbsp; Then
+at last the Padre got the strong man under him and took the revolver
+away and threw it into the ditch.&nbsp; Then he fell to belabouring
+the would-be suicide with his fists, until the big man cried for mercy
+and received it not.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You saved his life,&rsquo; the people said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It was his soul that I was caring for,&rsquo; replied the
+Padre with his grim smile.</p>
+<p>Concha was not a clever man, but he was wise.&nbsp; Of learning he
+had but little.&nbsp; It is easy, however, to be wise without being
+learned.&nbsp; It is easier still to be learned without being wise.&nbsp;
+The world is full of such persons to-day when education is too cheap.&nbsp;
+Concha steered his flock as best he could through the stormy paths of
+insurrection and civil war.&nbsp; He ruled with a rod of iron whom he
+could, and such as were beyond his reach he influenced by ridicule and
+a patient tolerance.&nbsp; True to his cloth, he was the enemy of all
+progress and distrusted every innovation.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Padre,&rsquo; said the barber, who was a talker and a
+radical, &lsquo;would have the world stand still.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Padre,&rsquo; replied Concha, tenderly drying his chin
+with a towel, &lsquo;would have all barbers attend to their razors.&nbsp;
+Many are so busy shouting &ldquo;Advance!&rdquo; that they have no breath
+to ask whither they are going.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>On the whole, perhaps, his autocratic rule was a beneficent one,
+and contributed to the happiness of the little northern suburb of Ronda
+over which it extended.&nbsp; At all events, he was a watchful guardian
+of his flock, and knew every face in his parish.</p>
+<p>It thus happened one morning that a strange woman, who had come quietly
+into church to pray, attracted his attention as he passed out after
+matins.&nbsp; She was a mere peasant and ill clad.&nbsp; The child seated
+on a chair by her side and staring with wondering eyes at the simple
+altar and stained-glass window had a hungry look.</p>
+<p>Concha sat down on the low wall without the doors and awaited the
+exit of this devotee who was not of his flock.&nbsp; For though, as
+he often said, the good God had intended him for a soldier, his own
+strong will and simple faith had in time produced a very passable priest
+who, with a grim face, went about doing good.</p>
+<p>The woman presently lifted the heavy leathern curtain and let out
+into the sunlight a breath of cool, incense-laden air.</p>
+<p>She curtsied and paused as if expecting recognition.&nbsp; Concha
+threw away his cigarette and raised his hand to his hat.&nbsp; He had
+not lifted it except to ladies of the highest quality for some years,
+out of regard to symptoms of senile decay which had manifested themselves
+at the junction of the brim and the crown.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Have I not seen your face before, my child?&rsquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, reverendo.&nbsp; I am of Ronda but have been living in
+Xeres.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah! then your husband is no doubt a malcontent?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The woman burst into tears, burying her face in her hands and leaning
+against the wall in an attitude that was still girlish.&nbsp; She had
+probably been married at fifteen.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, reverendo!&nbsp; He is a thief.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concha merely nodded his head.&nbsp; He never had been a man to betray
+much pious horror when he heard of ill-doing.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The two are almost identical,&rsquo; he said quietly.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;One does what the other fears to do.&nbsp; And is your husband
+in prison?&nbsp; Is that why you have come back?&nbsp; Ah! you women
+- in foolishness you almost equal the men!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, reverendo.&nbsp; I am come back because he has left me.&nbsp;
+Sebastian has run away, and has stolen all his master&rsquo;s property.&nbsp;
+It was the Colonel Monreal of Xeres - a good man, reverendo, but a politician.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, and he was murdered, as your reverence has no doubt seen
+in the newspapers.&nbsp; A week ago it was - the day that the Englishman
+came with a letter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What Englishman was that?&rsquo; inquired Father Concha, brushing
+some grains of snuff from his sleeve.&nbsp; &lsquo;What Englishman was
+that, my child?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, I do not know!&nbsp; His name is unknown to me, but I
+could tell he was English from his manner of speaking.&nbsp; The Colonel
+had an English friend who spoke so - one engaged in the sherry in Xeres.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah yes!&nbsp; And this Englishman, what was he like?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He was very tall and straight, like a soldier, and had a moustache
+quite light in colour, like straw.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah yes.&nbsp; The English are so.&nbsp; And he left a letter?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, reverendo.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A rose-coloured letter - ?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the woman, looking at him with surprise.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And tell me what happened afterwards.&nbsp; I may perhaps
+be able to help you, my child, if you tell me all you know.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And then, reverendo, the police brought back the Colonel who
+had been murdered in the streets - and I who had his Excellency&rsquo;s
+dinner on the table waiting for him!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And - &rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And Sebastian ate the dinner, reverendo.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Your husband appears to be a man of action,&rsquo; said Concha
+with a queer smile.&nbsp; &lsquo;And then - &rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sebastian sent me on a message to the town, and when I came
+back he was gone and all his Excellency&rsquo;s possessions were gone
+- his papers and valuables.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Including the letter which the Englishman had left for the
+Colonel?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, reverendo.&nbsp; Sebastian knew that in these times the
+papers of a politician may perhaps be sold for money.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concha nodded his head reflectively and took a pinch of snuff with
+infinite deliberation and enjoyment.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes - assuredly, Sebastian is one of those men who get on
+in the world - up to a certain point - and at that point they get hanged.&nbsp;
+There is in the universe a particular spot for each man - where we all
+think we should like to go if we had the money.&nbsp; For me it is Rome.&nbsp;
+Doubtless Sebastian had some such spot, of which he spoke when he was
+intoxicated.&nbsp; Where is Sebastian&rsquo;s earthly paradise, think
+you, my child?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He always spoke of Madrid, reverendo.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes - yes, I can imagine he would.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And I have no money to follow him,&rsquo; sobbed the woman,
+breaking into tears again.&nbsp; &lsquo;So I came to Ronda, where I
+am known, to seek it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, foolish woman!&rsquo; exclaimed the priest severely, and
+shaking his finger at her.&nbsp; &lsquo;Foolish woman to think of following
+such a person.&nbsp; More foolish still is it to weep for a worthless
+husband, especially in public, thus, on the church steps, where all
+may see.&nbsp; All the other women will be so pleased.&nbsp; It is their
+greatest happiness to think that their neighbour&rsquo;s husband is
+worse than their own.&nbsp; Failure is the royal road to popularity.&nbsp;
+Dry your tears, foolish one, before you make too many friends.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The woman obeyed him mechanically with a sort of dumb hopelessness.</p>
+<p>At this moment a horseman clattered past, coming from Ronda and hastening
+in the direction of Bobadilla or perhaps to the Casa Barenna.&nbsp;
+He wore his flat-brimmed hat well forward over the eyes, and kept his
+gaze fixed upon the road in front.&nbsp; There was a faint suggestion
+of assumed absorption in his attitude, as if he knew that the priest
+was usually at the church door at this hour, and had no desire to meet
+his eye.&nbsp; It was Larralde.</p>
+<p>A few minutes later Julia Barenna, who was sitting at her window
+watching and waiting - her attitude in life - suddenly rose with eyes
+that gleamed and trembling hands.&nbsp; She stood and gazed down into
+the valley below, her attention fixed on the form of a horseman slowly
+making his way through the olive groves.&nbsp; Then breathlessly she
+turned to her mirror.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;At last!&rsquo; she whispered, her fingers busy with her hair
+and mantilla, a thousand thoughts flying through her brain, her heart
+throbbing in her breast.&nbsp; In a moment the aspect of the whole world
+had changed - in a moment Julia herself was another woman.&nbsp; Ten
+years seemed to have rolled away from her heart, leaving her young and
+girlish and hopeful again.&nbsp; She gave one last look at herself and
+hurried to the door.</p>
+<p>It was yet early in the day, and the air beneath the gnarled and
+ancient olive trees was cool and fresh as Julia passed under them to
+meet her lover.&nbsp; He threw himself out of the saddle when he saw
+her, and, leaving his horse loose, ran to meet her.&nbsp; He took her
+hands and raised her fingers to his lips with a certain fervour which
+was sincere enough.&nbsp; For Larralde loved Julia according to his
+lights, though he had another mistress, Ambition, who was with him always
+and filled his thoughts, sleeping or waking.&nbsp; Julia, her face all
+flushed, her eyes aglow, received his gallant greeting with a sort of
+breathless eagerness.&nbsp; She knew she had not Larralde&rsquo;s whole
+heart, and, woman-like, was not content with half.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have not seen you for nearly a fortnight,&rsquo; she said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; answered Larralde, who had apparently not kept
+so strict an account of the days.&nbsp; &lsquo;Ah! yes - I know.&nbsp;
+But, dearest, I have been burning the high-roads.&nbsp; I have been
+almost to Madrid.&nbsp; Ah! Julia, why did you make such a mistake?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What mistake?&rsquo; she asked with a sudden light of coquetry
+in her eyes.&nbsp; She thought he was about to ask her why she loved
+him.&nbsp; In former days he had had a pretty turn for such questions.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In giving the letter to that scoundrel Conyngham - he has
+betrayed us, and Spain is no longer safe for me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are you sure of this?&rsquo; asked Julia, alert.&nbsp; Had
+she possessed Larralde&rsquo;s whole heart she would have been happy
+enough to take part in his pursuits.</p>
+<p>Larralde gave a short laugh and shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Heaven only knows where the letter is now,&rsquo; he answered.&nbsp;
+Julia unfolded a note and handed it to him.&nbsp; She had received it
+three weeks earlier from Concep&ccedil;ion Vara, and it was from Conyngham,
+saying that he had left her note at the house of the Colonel.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Colonel was dead before Conyngham arrived at Xeres,&rsquo;
+said Larralde shortly.&nbsp; &lsquo;And I do not believe he ever left
+the letter.&nbsp; I suspected that he had kept it as a little recommendation
+to the Christinos under whom he takes service.&nbsp; It would have been
+the most natural thing to do.&nbsp; But I have satisfied myself that
+the letter is not in his possession.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How?&rsquo; asked Julia with a sudden fear that blanched her
+face.</p>
+<p>Larralde smiled in rather a sickly way and made no answer.&nbsp;
+He turned and looked down the avenue.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I see Father Concha approaching,&rsquo; he said; &lsquo;let
+us go towards the house.&rsquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER XIV.&nbsp; A WEIGHT OF EVIDENCE.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p><i>&lsquo;The woman who loves you is at once your detective and accomplice.&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>The old priest was walking leisurely up the avenue towards the Casa
+Barenna when the branches of a dwarf ilex were pushed aside, and there
+came to him from their leafy concealment, not indeed a wood-nymph, but
+Se&ntilde;ora Barenna, with her finger at her lips.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Hush!&rsquo; she said; &lsquo;he is here.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And from the anxious and excited expression of her face it became
+apparent that madame&rsquo;s nerves were astir.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who is here?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, Esteban Larralde, of course.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; said Concha patiently.&nbsp; &lsquo;But need we
+for that hide behind the bushes and walk on the flower borders?&nbsp;
+Life would be much simpler, se&ntilde;ora, if people would only keep
+to the footpath.&nbsp; Less picturesque, I allow you, but simpler.&nbsp;
+Shall I climb up a tree?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The lady cast her eyes up to heaven and heaved an exaggerated sigh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah - what a tragedy life is!&rsquo; she whispered, apparently
+to the angels, but loud enough for her companion to hear.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Or a farce,&rsquo; said Concha, &lsquo;according to our reading
+of the part.&nbsp; Where is Se&ntilde;or Larralde?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, he has gone to the fruit garden with Julia - there is
+a high wall all round, and one cannot see.&nbsp; She may be murdered
+by this time.&nbsp; I knew he was coming from the manner in which she
+ran downstairs.&nbsp; She walks at other times.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concha smiled rather grimly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;She is not the first to do that,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;and
+many have stumbled on the stairs in their haste.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&nbsp; You are a hard man - a terrible man with no heart.&nbsp;
+And I have no one to sympathise with me.&nbsp; No one knows what I suffer.&nbsp;
+I never sleep at night - not a wink - but lie and think of my troubles.&nbsp;
+Julia will not obey me.&nbsp; I have warned her not to rouse me to anger
+- and she laughs at me.&nbsp; She persists in seeing this terrible Esteban
+Larralde - a Carlist, if you please.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We are all as God made us,&rsquo; said Concha - &rsquo;with
+embellishments added by the Evil One,&rsquo; he added, in a lower tone.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And now I am going to see General Vincente.&nbsp; I shall
+tell him to send soldiers.&nbsp; This man&rsquo;s presence is intolerable
+- I am not obeyed in my own house,&rsquo; cried the lady.&nbsp; &lsquo;I
+have ordered the carriage to meet me at the lower gate.&nbsp; I dare
+not drive away from my own door.&nbsp; Ah! what a tragedy!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will go with you, since you are determined to go,&rsquo;
+said Concha.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What!&nbsp; And leave Julia here with that terrible man?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; answered the priest.&nbsp; &lsquo;Happiness is
+a dangerous thing to meddle with.&nbsp; There is so little of it in
+the world, and it lasts so short a time.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Se&ntilde;ora Barenna indicated by a sigh and her attitude that she
+had had no experience in the matter.&nbsp; As a simple fact, she had
+been enabled all through her life to satisfy her own desires - the subtlest
+form of misfortune.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then you would have Julia marry this terrible man,&rsquo;
+said the lady, shielding her face from the sun with the black fan which
+she always carried.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am too old and too stupid to take any active part in my
+neighbours&rsquo; affairs.&nbsp; It is only the young and inexperienced
+who are competent to do that,&rsquo; answered the priest.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But you say you are fond of Julia.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the priest quietly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I wonder why.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So do I,&rsquo; he said in a tone that Se&ntilde;ora Barenna
+never understood.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are always kinder to her than you are to me,&rsquo; went
+on the lady in her most martyred manner.&nbsp; &lsquo;Her penances are
+always lighter than mine.&nbsp; You are patient with her and not with
+me.&nbsp; And I am sure I have never done you any injury - &rsquo;</p>
+<p>The old Padre smiled.&nbsp; Perhaps he was thinking of those illusions
+which she had during the years pulled down one by one - for the greater
+peace of his soul.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There is the carriage,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;Let us
+hasten to General Vincente - if you wish to see him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>In a few minutes they were rattling along the road, while Esteban
+Larralde and Julia sat side by side in the shade of the great wall that
+surrounded the fruit garden.&nbsp; And one at least of them was gathering
+that quick harvest of love which is like the grass of the field, inasmuch
+as to-day it is, and to-morrow is not.</p>
+<p>General Vincente was at home.&nbsp; He was one of those men who are
+happy in finding themselves where they are wanted.&nbsp; So many have,
+on the contrary, the misfortune to be always absent when they are required,
+and the world soon learns to progress without them.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That man - that Larralde is in Ronda,&rsquo; said Se&ntilde;ora
+Barenna, bursting in on the General&rsquo;s solitude.&nbsp; Vincente
+smiled, and nevertheless exchanged a quick glance with Concha, who confirmed
+the news by a movement of his shaggy eyebrows.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, these young people!&rsquo; exclaimed the General with
+a gay little sigh.&nbsp; &lsquo;What it is to be young and in love!&nbsp;
+But be seated, I&ntilde;ez - be seated.&nbsp; Padre - a chair.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What do you propose to do?&rsquo; asked Se&ntilde;ora Barenna
+breathlessly, for she was stout and agitated and had hurried up the
+steps.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;When, my dear I&ntilde;ez - when?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But now - with this man in Ronda.&nbsp; You know quite well
+he is dangerous.&nbsp; He is a Carlist.&nbsp; It was only the other
+day that you received an anonymous letter saying that your life was
+in danger.&nbsp; Of course it was from the Carlists, and Larralde has
+something to do with it; or that Englishman - that Se&ntilde;or Conyngham
+with the blue eyes.&nbsp; A man with blue eyes - bah!&nbsp; Of course
+he is not to be trusted.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The receiver of the anonymous warning seemed to be amused.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A little sweeping, your statements, my dear I&ntilde;ez.&nbsp;
+Is it not so?&nbsp; Now, a lemonade! the afternoon is warm.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He rose and rang the bell.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My nerves,&rsquo; whispered the Se&ntilde;ora to Concha.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;My nerves - they are so easily upset.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The liqueurs,&rsquo; said the General to the servant with
+perfect gravity.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You must take steps at once,&rsquo; urged Se&ntilde;ora Barenna
+when they were alone again.&nbsp; She was endowed with a magnificent
+imagination without much wisdom to hold it in check, and at times persuaded
+herself that she was in the midst, and perhaps the leader, of a dangerous
+whirl of political events.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will, my dear I&ntilde;ez; I will.&nbsp; And we will take
+a little maraschino, to collect ourselves, eh?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And his manner quite indicated that it was he and not Madame Barenna
+who was upset.&nbsp; The lady consented, and proceeded to what she took
+to be a consultation, which in reality was a monologue.&nbsp; During
+this she imparted a vast deal of information, and received none in return,
+which is the habit of voluble people, and renders them exceedingly dangerous
+to themselves and useful to others.</p>
+<p>Presently the two men conducted her to her carriage, with many reassurances.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Never fear, I&ntilde;ez; never fear.&nbsp; He will be gone
+before you return,&rsquo; said the General, with a wave of the hand.&nbsp;
+He had consented to invite Julia to accompany Estella and himself to
+Madrid, where she would be out of harm&rsquo;s way.</p>
+<p>The two men then returned to the General&rsquo;s study, and sat down
+in that silence which only grows to perfection on the deep soil of a
+long-standing friendship.&nbsp; Vincente was the first to speak.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have had a letter from Madrid,&rsquo; he said, looking gravely
+at his companion.&nbsp; &lsquo;My correspondent tells me that Conyngham
+has not yet presented his letter of introduction, and, so far as is
+ascertainable, has not arrived in the capital.&nbsp; He should have
+been there six weeks ago.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The Padre took a pinch of snuff, and held the box out towards his
+companion, who waved it aside.&nbsp; The General was too dainty a man
+to indulge in such a habit.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He possessed no money, so he cannot have fallen a victim to
+thieves,&rsquo; said Concha.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He was accompanied by a good guide, and an honest enough scoundrel,
+so he cannot have lost his way,&rsquo; observed the General, with a
+queer expression of optimistic distress on his face.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;His movements were not always above suspicion - &rsquo; the
+priest closed his snuff-box and laboriously replaced it in the pocket
+of his cassock.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That letter - it was a queer business!&rsquo; and the General
+laughed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Most suspicious.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>There was a silence, during which Concha sneezed twice with enjoyment
+and more noise than is usually considered necessary.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And your letter,&rsquo; he said, carefully folding his handkerchief
+into squares; &lsquo;that anonymous letter of warning that your life
+is threatened - is that true?&nbsp; It is the talk of Ronda.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, that!&rsquo; laughed Vincente.&nbsp; &lsquo;Yes, it is
+true enough.&nbsp; It is not the first time - a mere incident, that
+is all.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That which the Se&ntilde;ora Barenna said just now,&rsquo;
+observed the priest slowly, &lsquo;about our English friend - may be
+true.&nbsp; Sometimes thoughtless people arrive at a conclusion which
+eludes more careful minds.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes - my dear Padre - yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The two grey-headed men looked at each other for a moment in silence.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And yet you trust him,&rsquo; said Concha.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Despite myself, despite my better judgment, my dear friend.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The priest rose and went to the window which overlooked the garden.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Estella is in the garden?&rsquo; he asked, and received no
+answer.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know what you are thinking,&rsquo; said the General.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;You are thinking that we should do well to tell Estella of these
+distressing suspicions.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For you it does not matter,&rsquo; replied the priest.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;It is a mere incident, as you say.&nbsp; Your life has been attempted
+before, and you killed both the men with your own hand, if I recollect
+aright.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Vincente shrugged his shoulders and looked rather embarrassed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But a woman,&rsquo; went on Concha, &lsquo;cannot afford to
+trust a man against her better judgment.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>By way of reply the General rose and rang the bell, requesting the
+servant when he answered the summons to ask the se&ntilde;orita to spare
+a few moments of her time.</p>
+<p>They exchanged no further words until Estella came hurrying into
+the room with a sudden flush on her cheeks and something in her dark
+eyes that made her father say at once -</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is not bad news that we have, my child.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella glanced at Concha and said nothing.&nbsp; His wise old eyes
+rested for a moment on her face with a little frown of anxiety.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We have had a visit from the Se&ntilde;ora Barenna,&rsquo;
+went on the General, &lsquo;and she is anxious that we should invite
+Julia to go to Madrid with us.&nbsp; It appears that Esteban Larralde
+is still attempting to force his attentions on Julia, and is at present
+in Ronda.&nbsp; You will not object to her coming with us?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh no,&rsquo; said Estella without much interest.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We have also heard rather disquieting news about our pleasant
+friend, Mr. Conyngham,&rsquo; said the General, examining the tassel
+of his sword.&nbsp; &lsquo;And I think it is only right to tell you
+that I fear we have been deceived in him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>There was silence for a few moments, and then Vincente spoke again.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In these times, one is almost compelled to suspect one&rsquo;s
+nearest friends.&nbsp; Much harm may be done by being over-trustful,
+and appearances are so consistently against Mr. Conyngham that it would
+be folly to ignore them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General waited for Estella to make some comment, and after a
+pause continued</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He arrived in Ronda under singularly unfortunate circumstances,
+and I was compelled to have his travelling companion shot.&nbsp; Then
+occurred that affair of the letter, which he gave to Julia - an affair
+which has never been explained.&nbsp; Conyngham would have to show me
+that letter before I should be quite satisfied.&nbsp; I obtained for
+him an introduction to General Espartero in Madrid.&nbsp; That was six
+or seven weeks ago.&nbsp; The introduction has not been presented, nor
+has Conyngham been seen in Madrid.&nbsp; In England, on his own confession,
+he was rather a scamp; why not the same in Spain?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General spread out his hands in his favourite gesture of deprecation.&nbsp;
+He had not made the world, and while deeply deploring that such things
+could be, he tacitly admitted that the human race had not been, creatively
+speaking, a complete success.</p>
+<p>Father Concha was brushing invisible grains of snuff from his cassock
+sleeve and watching Estella with anxious eyes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I only tell you, my dear,&rsquo; continued the General, &lsquo;so
+that we may know how to treat Mr. Conyngham should we meet him in Madrid.&nbsp;
+I liked him.&nbsp; I like a roving man - and many Englishmen are thus
+wanderers - but appearances are very much against him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; admitted Estella quietly.&nbsp; &lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She moved towards the door, and there turning looked at Concha.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Does the Padre stay to dinner?&rsquo; she asked.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, my child, thank you.&nbsp; No; I have affairs at home.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella went out of the room, leaving a queer silence behind her.</p>
+<p>Presently Concha rose.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I, too, am going to Madrid,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;It
+is an opportunity to press my claim for the payment of my princely stipend,
+now two years overdue.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He walked home on the shady side of the street, exchanging many salutations,
+pausing now and then to speak to a friend.&nbsp; Indeed, nearly every
+passer-by counted himself as such.&nbsp; In his bare room, where the
+merest necessities of life scarce had place, he sat down thoughtfully.&nbsp;
+The furniture, the few books, his own apparel, bespoke the direst poverty.&nbsp;
+This was one who in his simplicity read his Master&rsquo;s words quite
+literally, and went about his work with neither purse nor scrip.&nbsp;
+The priest presently rose and took from a shelf an old wooden box quaintly
+carved and studded with iron nails.&nbsp; A search in the drawer of
+the table resulted in the finding of a key and the final discovery of
+a small parcel at the bottom of the box which contained letters and
+other papers.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The rainy day - it comes at last,&rsquo; said the Padre Concha,
+counting out his little stock of silver with the care that only comes
+from the knowledge that each coin represents a self-denial.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER XV.&nbsp; AN ULTIMATUM.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p><i>&lsquo;I do believe yourself against yourself.&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>Neither Estella nor her father had a great liking for the city of
+Madrid, which indeed is at no time desirable.&nbsp; In the winter it
+is cold, in the summer exceedingly hot, and during the changes of the
+seasons of a treacherous weather difficult to surpass.&nbsp; The social
+atmosphere was no more genial at the period with which we deal.&nbsp;
+For it blew hot and cold, and treachery marked every change.</p>
+<p>Although the Queen Regent seemed to be nearing at last a successful
+issue to her long and eventful struggle against Don Carlos, she had
+enemies nearer home whose movements were equally dangerous to the throne
+of the child queen.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I cannot afford to have an honest soldier so far removed from
+the capital,&rsquo; said Christina, who never laid aside the woman while
+playing the Queen, as Vincente kissed her hand on presenting himself
+at Court.&nbsp; The General smiled and shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What did she say?&nbsp; What did she say?&rsquo; the intriguers
+whispered eagerly as the great soldier made his way towards the door,
+with the haste of one who was no courtier.&nbsp; But they received no
+answer.</p>
+<p>The General had taken a suite of rooms in one of the hotels on the
+Puerta del Sol, and hurried thither, well pleased do have escaped so
+easily from a palace where self-seeking - the grim spirit that haunts
+the abodes of royalty - had long reigned supreme.&nbsp; There was, the
+servants told him, a visitor in the salon - one who had asked for the
+General, and on learning of his absence had insisted on being received
+by the se&ntilde;orita.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That sounds like Conyngham,&rsquo; muttered the General, unbuckling
+his sword - for he had but one weapon, and wore it in the presence of
+the Queen and her enemies alike.</p>
+<p>It was indeed Conyngham, whose gay laugh Vincente heard before he
+crossed the threshold of Estella&rsquo;s drawing-room.&nbsp; The Englishman
+was in uniform, and stood with his back turned towards the door by which
+the General entered.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is Se&ntilde;or Conyngham,&rsquo; said Estella at once,
+in a quiet voice, &lsquo;who has been wounded and six weeks in the hospital.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said Conyngham.&nbsp; &lsquo;But I am well again
+now!&nbsp; And I got my appointment while I was still in the Sisters&rsquo;
+care.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He laughed, though his face was pale and thin, and approached the
+General with extended hand.&nbsp; The General had come to Madrid with
+the intention of refusing to take that hand, and those who knew him
+said that this soldier never swerved from his purpose.&nbsp; He looked
+for a moment into Conyngham&rsquo;s eyes, and then shook hands with
+him.&nbsp; He did not disguise the hesitation, which was apparent to
+both Estella and the Englishman.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How were you wounded?&rsquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I was stabbed in the back on the Toledo road, ten miles from
+here.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not by a robber - not for your money?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No one ever hated me or cared for me on that account,&rsquo;
+laughed Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then who did it?&rsquo; asked General Vincente, unbuttoning
+his gloves.</p>
+<p>Conyngham hesitated.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A man with whom I quarrelled on the road,&rsquo; he made reply;
+but it was no answer at all, as hearers and speaker alike recognised
+in a flash of thought.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He left me for dead on the road, but a carter picked me up
+and brought me to Madrid, to the hospital of the Hermanas, where I have
+been ever since.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>There were flowers on the table, and the General stooped over them
+with a delicate appreciation of their scent.&nbsp; He was a great lover
+of flowers, and indeed had a sense of the beautiful quite out of keeping
+with the colour of his coat.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You must beware,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;now that you wear
+the Queen&rsquo;s uniform.&nbsp; There is treachery abroad, I fear.&nbsp;
+Even I have had an anonymous letter of warning.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I should like to know who wrote it,&rsquo; exclaimed Conyngham,
+with a sudden flash of anger in his eyes.&nbsp; The General laughed
+pleasantly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So should I,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;Merely as a matter
+of curiosity.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And he turned towards the door, which was opened at this moment by
+a servant.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A gentleman wishing to see me - an Englishman, as it would
+appear,&rsquo; he continued, looking at the card.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;By the way,&rsquo; said Conyngham, as the General moved away,
+&lsquo;I am instructed to inform you that I am attached to your staff
+as extra aide-de-camp during your stay in Madrid.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General nodded and left Estella and Conyngham alone in the drawing-room.&nbsp;
+Conyngham turned on Estella.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So that I have a right to be near you,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;which
+is all that I want.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He spoke lightly enough, as was his habit; but Estella, who was wise
+in those matters that women know, preferred not to meet his eyes, which
+were grave and deep.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Such things are quickly said,&rsquo; Estella retorted.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes - and it takes a long time to prove them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General had left his gloves on the table.&nbsp; Estella took
+them up and appeared to be interested in them.&nbsp; &lsquo;Perhaps
+a lifetime,&rsquo; she suggested.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I ask no less, se&ntilde;orita.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then you ask much.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And I give all - though that is little enough.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>They spoke slowly - not bandying words but exchanging thoughts.&nbsp;
+Estella was grave.&nbsp; Conyngham&rsquo;s attitude was that which he
+ever displayed to the world - namely, one of cheerful optimism, as behoved
+a strong man who had not yet known fear.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is it too little, se&ntilde;orita?&rsquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>She was sitting at the table and would not look up - neither would
+she answer his question.&nbsp; He was standing quite close to her -
+upright in his bright uniform, his hand on his sword - and all her attention
+was fixed on the flowers which had called forth the General&rsquo;s
+unspoken admiration.&nbsp; She touched them with fingers hardly lighter
+than his.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Now that I think of it,&rsquo; said Conyngham after a pause,
+&lsquo;what I give is nothing.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella&rsquo;s face wore a queer little smile, as of a deeper knowledge.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nothing at all,&rsquo; continued the Englishman.&nbsp; &lsquo;For
+I have nothing to give, and you know nothing of me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Three months ago,&rsquo; answered Estella, &lsquo;we had never
+heard of you - and you had never seen me,&rsquo; she added, with a little
+laugh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have seen nothing else since,&rsquo; Conyngham replied deliberately;
+&lsquo;for I have gone about the world a blind man.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In three months one cannot decide matters that affect a whole
+lifetime,&rsquo; said the girl.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;This matter decided itself in three minutes, so far as I am
+concerned, se&ntilde;orita, in the old palace at Ronda.&nbsp; It is
+a matter that time is powerless to affect one way or the other.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;With some people; but you are hasty and impetuous.&nbsp; My
+father said it of you - and he is never mistaken.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then you do not trust me, se&ntilde;orita?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella had turned away her face so that he could only see her mantilla
+and the folds of her golden hair gleaming through the black lace.&nbsp;
+She shrugged her shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is not due to yourself, nor to all who know you in Spain,
+if I do,&rsquo; she said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;All who know me?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; she continued; &lsquo;Father Concha, Se&ntilde;ora
+Barenna, my father, and others at Ronda.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&nbsp; And what leads them to mistrust me?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Your own actions,&rsquo; replied Estella.</p>
+<p>And Conyngham was too simple-minded, too inexperienced in such matters,
+to understand the ring of anxiety in her voice.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do not much mind what the rest of the world thinks of me,&rsquo;
+he said; &lsquo;I have never owed anything to the world nor asked anything
+from it.&nbsp; They are welcome to think what they like.&nbsp; But with
+you it is different.&nbsp; Is it possible, se&ntilde;orita, to make
+you trust me?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella did not answer at once.&nbsp; After a pause she gave an indifferent
+jerk of the head.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Perhaps,&rsquo; she said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If it is possible, I will do it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is quite easy,&rsquo; she answered, raising her head and
+looking out of the window with an air that seemed to indicate that her
+interests lay without and not in this room at all.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How can I do it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She gave a short, hard laugh, which to experienced ears would have
+betrayed her instantly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;By showing me the letter you wrote to Julia Barenna,&rsquo;
+she said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I cannot do that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; she said significantly.&nbsp; A woman fighting
+for her own happiness is no sparing adversary.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Will nothing else than the sight of that letter satisfy you,
+se&ntilde;orita?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Her profile was turned towards him - delicate and proud, with the
+perfect chiselling of outline that only comes with a long descent, and
+bespeaks the blood of gentle ancestors.&nbsp; For Estella Vincente had
+in her veins blood that was counted noble in Spain - the land of a bygone
+glory.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nothing,&rsquo; she answered.&nbsp; &lsquo;Though the question
+of my being satisfied is hardly of importance.&nbsp; You asked me to
+trust you, and you make it difficult by your actions.&nbsp; In return
+I ask a proof, that is all.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you want to trust me?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He had come a little closer to her, and was grave enough now.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why do you ask that?&rsquo; she inquired in a low voice.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you want to trust me?&rsquo; he asked, and it is to be
+supposed that he was able to detect an infinitesimal acquiescent movement
+of her head.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then, if that letter is in existence, you shall have it,&rsquo;
+he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;You say that my actions have borne evidence against
+me.&nbsp; I shall trust to action and not to words to refute that evidence.&nbsp;
+But you must give me time - will you do that?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You always ask something.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, se&ntilde;orita, from you; but from no one else in the
+world.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He gave a sudden laugh and walked to the window, where he stood looking
+at her.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I suppose,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;I shall be asking all my
+life from you.&nbsp; Perhaps that is why we were created, se&ntilde;orita
+- I to ask, you to give.&nbsp; Perhaps that is happiness, Estella.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She raised her eyes but did not meet his, looking past him through
+the open window.&nbsp; The hotel was situated at the lower end of the
+Puerta del Sol - the quiet end, and farthest removed from the hum of
+the market and the busy sounds of traffic.&nbsp; These only came in
+the form of a distant hum, like the continuous roar of surf upon an
+unseen shore.&nbsp; Below the windows a passing waterseller plied his
+trade, and his monotonous cry of &lsquo;Agua-a-a!&nbsp; Agua-a-a!&rsquo;
+rose like a wail - like the voice of one crying in that human wilderness
+where solitude reigns as surely as in the desert.</p>
+<p>For a moment Estella glanced at Conyngham gravely, and his eyes were
+no less serious.&nbsp; They were not the first, but only two out of
+many millions, to wonder what happiness is and where it hides in this
+busy world.</p>
+<p>They had not spoken or moved when the door was again opened by a
+servant, who bowed towards Conyngham and then stood aside to allow ingress
+to one who followed on his heels.&nbsp; This was a tall man, white-haired,
+and white of face.&nbsp; Indeed, his cheeks had the dead pallor of paper,
+and seemed to be drawn over the cheekbones at such tension as gave to
+the skin a polish like that of fine marble.&nbsp; One sees many such
+faces in London streets, and they usually indicate suffering, either
+mental or physical.</p>
+<p>The stranger came forward with a perfect lack of embarrassment, which
+proved him to be a man of the world.&nbsp; His bow to Estella clearly
+indicated that his business lay with Conyngham.&nbsp; He was the incarnation
+of the Continental ideal of the polished cold Englishman, and had the
+air of a diplomate such as this country sends to foreign Courts to praise
+or blame, to declare friendship or war with the same calm suavity and
+imperturbable politeness.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I come from General Vincente,&rsquo; he said to Conyngham,
+&lsquo;who will follow in a moment, when he has despatched some business
+which detains him.&nbsp; I have a letter to the General, and am, in
+fact, in need of his assistance.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He broke off, turning to Estella, who was moving towards the door.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I was especially instructed,&rsquo; he said quickly to her,
+&lsquo;to ask you not to leave us.&nbsp; You were, I believe, at school
+with my nieces in England, and when my business, which is of the briefest,
+is concluded, I have messages to deliver to you from Mary and Amy Mainwaring.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella smiled a little and resumed her seat.&nbsp; Then the stranger
+turned to Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The General told me,&rsquo; he went on in his cold voice,
+without a gleam of geniality or even of life in his eyes, &lsquo;that
+if I followed the servant to the drawing-room I should find here an
+English aide-de-camp who is fully in his confidence, and upon whose
+good-nature and assistance I could rely.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am for the time General Vincente&rsquo;s aide-de-camp, and
+I am an Englishman,&rsquo; answered Conyngham.</p>
+<p>The stranger bowed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I did not explain my business to General Vincente,&rsquo;
+said he, &lsquo;who asked me to wait until he came, and then tell the
+story to you both at one time.&nbsp; In the meantime I was to introduce
+myself to you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham waited in silence.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My name is Sir John Pleydell,&rsquo; said the stranger quietly.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER XVI.&nbsp; IN HONOUR.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p><i>&lsquo;He makes no friend who never made a foe.&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>Conyngham remembered the name of Pleydell well enough, and glanced
+sharply at Estella, recollecting that the General received the &lsquo;Times&rsquo;
+from London.&nbsp; Before he had time to make an answer, and indeed
+he had none ready, the General came into the room.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; said Vincente in his sociable manner, &lsquo;I
+see you know each other already - so an introduction is superfluous.&nbsp;
+And now we will have Sir John&rsquo;s story.&nbsp; Be seated, my dear
+sir.&nbsp; But first - a little refreshment.&nbsp; It is a dusty day
+- a lemonade?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John declined, his manner strikingly cold and reserved beside
+the genial <i>empressement</i> of General Vincente.&nbsp; In truth the
+two men seemed to belong to opposite poles - the one of cold and the
+other of heat.&nbsp; Sir John had the chill air of one who had mixed
+among his fellow men only to see their evil side; for the world is a
+cold place to those that look on it with a chilling glance.&nbsp; General
+Vincente, on the other hand, whose life had been passed in strife and
+warfare, seemed ready to welcome all comers as friends and to hold out
+the hand of good-fellowship to rich and poor alike.</p>
+<p>Conyngham shrugged his shoulders with a queer smile.&nbsp; Here was
+a quandary requiring a quicker brain than his.&nbsp; He did not even
+attempt to seek a solution to his difficulties, and the only thought
+in his mind was a characteristic determination to face them courageously.&nbsp;
+He drew forward a chair for Sir John Pleydell, his heart stirred with
+that sense of exhilaration which comes to some in moments of peril.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will not detain you long,&rsquo; began the new-comer, with
+an air slightly suggestive of the law court, &lsquo;but there are certain
+details which I am afraid I must inflict upon you, in order that you
+may fully understand my actions.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The remark was addressed to General Vincente, although the speaker
+appeared to be demanding Conyngham&rsquo;s attention in the first instance.&nbsp;
+The learned gentlemen of the Bar thus often address the jury through
+the ears of the judge.</p>
+<p>General Vincente had seated himself at the table and was drawing
+his scented pocket-handkerchief across his moustache reflectively.&nbsp;
+He was not, it was obvious, keenly interested, although desirous of
+showing every politeness to the stranger.&nbsp; In truth, such Englishmen
+as brought their affairs to Spain at this time were not as a rule highly
+desirable persons or a credit to their country.&nbsp; Estella was sitting
+near the window, rather behind her father, and Conyngham stood by the
+fireplace, facing them all.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You perhaps know something of our English politics,&rsquo;
+continued Sir John Pleydell, and the General making a little gesture
+indicative of a limited but sufficient knowledge, went on to say - &rsquo;of
+the Chartists more particularly?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General bowed.&nbsp; Estella glanced at Conyngham, who was smiling.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One cannot call them a party, as I have heard them designated
+in Spain,&rsquo; said Sir John parenthetically.&nbsp; &lsquo;They are
+quite unworthy of so distinguished a name.&nbsp; These Chartists consist
+of the most ignorant people in the land - the rabble, in fact, headed
+by a few scheming malcontents: professional agitators who are not above
+picking the pockets of the poor.&nbsp; Many capitalists and landowners
+have suffered wrong and loss at the hands of these disturbers of the
+peace, none - &rsquo;&nbsp; He paused and gave a sharp sigh which seemed
+to catch him unawares, and almost suggested that the man had, after
+all, or had at one time possessed, a heart.&nbsp; &lsquo;None more severely
+than myself,&rsquo; he concluded.</p>
+<p>The General&rsquo;s face instantly expressed the utmost concern.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My dear sir,&rsquo; he murmured.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For many years,&rsquo; continued Sir John hurriedly, as if
+resenting anything like sympathy, as all good Britons do, &lsquo;the
+authorities acted in an irresolute and foolish manner, not daring to
+put down the disturbances with a firm hand.&nbsp; At length, however,
+a riot of a more serious character at a town in Wales necessitated the
+interference of the military.&nbsp; The ringleaders were arrested, and
+for some time the authorities were in considerable doubt as to what
+to do to them.&nbsp; I interested myself strongly in the matter - having
+practised the law in my younger days - and was finally enabled to see
+my object carried out.&nbsp; These men were arraigned, not as mere brawlers
+and rioters, but under a charge of high treason - a much more serious
+affair for them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He broke off with a harsh laugh, which was only a matter of the voice,
+for his marble face remained unchanged, and probably had not at any
+time the power of expressing mirth.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The ringleaders of the Newport riots were sentenced to long
+terms of imprisonment, which served my purpose excellently.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John Pleydell spoke with that cynical frankness which seems often
+to follow upon a few years devoted to practice at the Common Law Bar,
+where men in truth spend their days in dissecting the mental diseases
+of their fellow creatures, and learn to conclude that a pure and healthy
+mind is possessed by none.&nbsp; He moved slightly in his chair, and
+seemed to indicate that he had made his first point.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I hope,&rsquo; he said, addressing Conyngham directly, &lsquo;that
+I am not fatiguing you?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not at all,&rsquo; returned the younger Englishman coolly;
+&lsquo;I am much interested.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General was studying the texture of his pocket-handkerchief.&nbsp;
+Estella&rsquo;s face had grown cold and set.&nbsp; Her eyes from time
+to time turned towards Conyngham.&nbsp; Sir John Pleydell was not creating
+a good impression.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will now come to the more personal part of my story,&rsquo;
+went on that gifted speaker, &lsquo;and proceed to explain my reason
+for inflicting it upon you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He still spoke directly to Conyngham, who bowed his head in silence,
+with the queer smile still hovering on his lips.&nbsp; Estella saw it
+and drew a sharp breath.&nbsp; In the course of her short life, which
+had almost been spent in the midst of warfare, she had seen men in danger
+more than once, and perhaps recognised that smile.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I particularly beg your attention,&rsquo; explained Sir John
+to Conyngham, &lsquo;because I understand from General Vincente that
+you are in reality attached to the staff of General Espartero, and it
+is to him that I look for help.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John paused again.&nbsp; He had established another point.&nbsp;
+One almost expected to see him raise his hand to his shoulder to throw
+back the silken gown.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Some months ago,&rsquo; he went on, &lsquo;these Chartists
+attacked my house in the North of England, and killed my son.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>There was a short silence, and the General muttered a curt and polite
+Spanish oath under his breath.&nbsp; But somehow the speaker had failed
+to make that point, and he hurried on.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It was not, technically speaking, a murder; my boy, who had
+a fine spirit, attacked the rioters, and a clever counsel might have
+got a verdict for the scoundrel who actually struck the blow.&nbsp;
+I knew this, and awaited events.&nbsp; I did not even take steps against
+the man who killed my son - an only son and child.&nbsp; It was not,
+from a legal point of view, worth while.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He laughed his unpleasant laugh again and presently went on.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Fortune, however, favoured me.&nbsp; The trouble grew worse,
+and the Newport riots at last aroused the Government.&nbsp; The sentence
+upon the ringleaders gave me my opportunity.&nbsp; It was worth while
+to hunt down the murderer of my son when I could ensure him sixteen
+or twenty years&rsquo; penal servitude.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Quite,&rsquo; said the General; &lsquo;quite.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+And he smiled.&nbsp; He seemed to fail to realise that Sir John Pleydell
+was in deadly earnest, and really harboured the implacable spirit of
+revenge with which he cynically credited himself.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I traced my man to Gibraltar, and thence he appears to have
+come north,&rsquo; continued Sir John Pleydell.&nbsp; &lsquo;He has
+probably taken service under Espartero - many of our English outlaws
+wear the Spanish Queen&rsquo;s uniform.&nbsp; He is, of course, bearing
+an assumed name; but surely it would be possible to trace him?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, yes,&rsquo; answered Conyngham, &lsquo;I think you will
+be able to find him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John&rsquo;s eyes had for a moment a gleam of life in them.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;I am glad to hear you say that.&nbsp;
+For that is my object in coming to this country; and although I have
+during the course of my life had many objects of ambition or desire,
+none of them has so entirely absorbed my attention as this one.&nbsp;
+Half a dozen men have gone to penal servitude in order that I might
+succeed in my purpose.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>There was a cold deliberation in this statement which was more cruel
+than cynicism, for it was sincere.&nbsp; Conyngham looked at Estella.&nbsp;
+Her face had lost all colour, her eyes were burning - not with the dull
+light of fear, for the blood that ran in her veins had no taint of that
+in it - but with anger.&nbsp; She knew who it was that Sir John Pleydell
+sought.&nbsp; She looked at Conyngham, and his smile of cool intrepidity
+made her heart leap within her breast.&nbsp; This lover of hers was
+at all events a brave man - and that which through all the ages reaches
+the human heart most surely is courage.&nbsp; The coward has no friends.</p>
+<p>Sir John Pleydell had paused, and was seeking something in his pocket.&nbsp;
+General Vincente preserved his attitude of slightly bored attention.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have here,&rsquo; went on the baronet, &lsquo;a list of
+the English officers serving in the army of General Espartero at the
+time of my quitting England.&nbsp; Perhaps you will, at your leisure,
+be kind enough to cast your eye over it, and make a note of such men
+as are personally unknown to you, and may therefore be bearing assumed
+names.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham took the paper, and, holding it in his hand, spoke without
+moving from the mantelpiece against which he leant.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have not yet made quite clear your object in coming to
+Spain,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;There exists between Spain and England
+no extradition treaty; and even if such were to come in force I believe
+that persons guilty of political offences would be exempt from its action.&nbsp;
+You propose to arraign this man for high treason - a political offence
+according to the law of many countries.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You speak like a lawyer,&rsquo; said Sir John, with a laugh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have just informed us,&rsquo; retorted Conyngham, &lsquo;that
+all the English in the Spanish service are miscreants.&nbsp; None know
+the law so intimately as those who have broken it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; laughed Sir John again, with a face of stone.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;There are exceptions to all rules - and you, young sir, are an
+exception to that which I laid down as regards our countrymen in Spain,
+unless my experience of faces and knowledge of men play me very false.&nbsp;
+But your contention is a just one.&nbsp; I am not in a position to seek
+the aid of the Spanish authorities in this matter.&nbsp; I am fully
+aware of the fact.&nbsp; You surely did not expect me to come to Spain
+with such a weak case as that?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; answered Conyngham slowly, &lsquo;I did not.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John Pleydell raised his eyes and looked at his fellow countryman
+with a dawning interest.&nbsp; The General also looked up, from one
+face to the other.&nbsp; The atmosphere of the room seemed to have undergone
+a sudden change, and to be dominated by the personality of these two
+Englishmen.&nbsp; The one will, strong on the surface, accustomed to
+assert itself and dominate, seemed suddenly to have found itself faced
+by another as strong and yet hidden behind an easy smile and indolent
+manner.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are quite right,&rsquo; he went on in his cold voice.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I have a better case than that, and one eminently suited to a
+country such as Spain, where a long war has reduced law and order to
+a somewhat low ebb.&nbsp; I at first thought of coming here to await
+my chance of shooting this man - his name, by the way, is Frederick
+Conyngham; but circumstances placed a better vengeance within my grasp
+- one that will last longer.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused for a moment to reflect upon this long-drawn-out expiation.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I propose to get my man home to England, and let him there
+stand his trial.&nbsp; The idea is not my own; it has, in fact, been
+carried out successfully before now.&nbsp; Once in England I shall make
+it my business to see that he gets twenty years&rsquo; penal servitude.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And how do you propose to get him to England?&rsquo; asked
+Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh! that is simple enough.&nbsp; Only a matter of paying a
+couple of such scoundrels as I understand abound in Spain at this moment
+- a little bribing of officials, a heavy fee to some English ship-captain.&nbsp;
+I propose, in short, to kidnap Frederick Conyngham.&nbsp; But I do not
+ask you to help me in that.&nbsp; I only ask you to put me on his track
+- to help me to find him, in fact.&nbsp; Will you do it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Certainly,&rsquo; said Conyngham, coming forward with a card
+in his hand.&nbsp; &lsquo;You could not have come to a better man.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John Pleydell read the card, and had himself in such control
+that his face hardly changed.&nbsp; His teeth closed over his lower
+lip for a second; then he rose.&nbsp; The perspiration stood out on
+his face - the grey of his eyes seemed to have faded to the colour of
+ashes.&nbsp; He looked hard at Conyngham, and then, taking up his hat,
+went to the door with curious, uneven steps.&nbsp; On the threshold
+he turned.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Your insolence,&rsquo; he said breathlessly, &lsquo;is only
+exceeded by your - daring.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>As the door closed behind him there came, from that part of the room
+where General Vincente sat, a muffled click of steel, as if a sword
+half out of its scabbard had been sent softly home again.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER XVII.&nbsp; IN MADRID.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p><i>&lsquo;Some keepeth silence knowing his time.&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who travels slowly may arrive too late,&rsquo; said the Padre
+Concha, with a pessimistic shake of the head, as the carrier&rsquo;s
+cart in which he had come from Toledo drew up in the Plazuela de la
+Cebada at Madrid.&nbsp; The careful penury of many years had not, indeed,
+enabled the old priest to travel by the quick diligences, which had
+often passed him on the road with a cloud of dust and the rattle of
+six horses.&nbsp; The great journey had been accomplished in the humbler
+vehicles plying from town to town, that ran as often as not by night
+in order to save the horses.</p>
+<p>The priest, like his fellow-travellers, was white with dust.&nbsp;
+Dust covered his cloak so that its original hue of rusty black was quite
+lost.&nbsp; Dust coated his face and nestled in the deep wrinkles of
+it.&nbsp; His eyebrows were lost to sight, and his lashes were like
+those of a miller.</p>
+<p>As he stood in the street the dust arose in whirling columns and
+enveloped all who were abroad; for a gale was howling across the tableland,
+which the Moors of old had named &lsquo;Majerit&rsquo; - a draught of
+wind.&nbsp; The conductor, who, like a good and jovial conductor, had
+never refused an offer of refreshment on the road, was now muddled with
+drink and the heat of the sun.&nbsp; He was, in fact, engaged in a warm
+controversy with a passenger.&nbsp; So the Padre found his own humble
+portmanteau, a thing of cardboard and canvas, and trudged up the Calle
+de Toledo, bearing the bag in one hand and his cloak in the other -
+a lean figure in the sunlight.</p>
+<p>Father Concha had been in Madrid before, though he rarely boasted
+of it, or indeed of any of his travels.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The wise man does not hang his knowledge on a hook,&rsquo;
+he was in the habit of saying.</p>
+<p>That this knowledge was of that useful description which is usually
+designated as knowing one&rsquo;s way about, soon became apparent; for
+the dusty traveller passed with unerring steps through the narrower
+streets that lie between the Calle de Toledo and the street of Segovia.&nbsp;
+Here dwell the humbler citizens of Madrid, persons engaged in the small
+commerce of the marketplace, for in the Plazuela de la Cebada a hundred
+yards away is held the corn market, which, indeed, renders the dust
+in this quarter particularly trying to the eyes.&nbsp; Once or twice
+the priest was forced to stop at the corner of two streets and there
+do battle with the wind.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But it is a hurricane,&rsquo; he muttered; &lsquo;a hurricane.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>With one hand he held his hat, with the other clung to his cloak
+and portmanteau.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But it will blow the dust from my poor old capa,&rsquo; he
+added, giving the cloak an additional shake.</p>
+<p>He presently found himself in a street which, if narrower than its
+neighbours, smelt less pestiferous.&nbsp; The open drain that ran down
+the middle of it pursued its varied course with a quite respectable
+speed.&nbsp; In the middle of the street Father Concha paused and looked
+up, nodding as if to an old friend at the sight of a dingy piece of
+palm bound to the ironwork of a balcony on the second floor.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The time to wash off the dust,&rsquo; he muttered as he climbed
+the narrow stairs, &lsquo;and then to work.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>An hour later he was afoot again in a quarter of the city which was
+less known to him - namely, in the Calle Preciados, where he sought
+a venta more or less suspected by the police.&nbsp; The wind had risen,
+and was now blowing with the force of a hurricane.&nbsp; It came from
+the north-west with a chill whistle which bespoke its birthplace among
+the peaks of the Gaudarramas.&nbsp; The streets were deserted; the oil
+lamps swung on their chains at the street corners, casting weird shadows
+that swept over the face of the houses with uncanny irregularity.&nbsp;
+It was an evening for evil deeds, except that when Nature is in an ill-humour
+human nature is mostly cowed, and those who have bad consciences cannot
+rid their minds of thoughts of the hereafter.</p>
+<p>The priest found the house he sought, despite the darkness of the
+street and the absence of any from whom to elicit information.&nbsp;
+The venta was on the ground-floor, and above it towered storey after
+storey, built with the quaint fantasy of the middle ages, and surmounted
+by a deep, overhanging gabled roof.&nbsp; The house seemed to have two
+staircases of stone and two doors - one on each side of the venta.&nbsp;
+There is a Spanish proverb which says that the rat which has only one
+hole is soon caught.&nbsp; Perhaps the architect remembered this, and
+had built his house to suit his tenants.&nbsp; It was on the fifth floor
+of this tenement that Father Concha, instructed by Heaven knows what
+priestly source of information, looked to meet with Sebastian, the whilom
+bodyservant of the late Colonel Monreal of Xeres.</p>
+<p>It was known among a certain section of the Royalists that this man
+had papers and perchance some information of value to dispose of, and
+more than one respectable, black-clad elbow had brushed the greasy walls
+of this staircase.&nbsp; Sebastian, it was said, passed his time in
+drinking and smoking.&nbsp; The boasted gaieties of Madrid had, it would
+appear, diminished to this sordid level of dissipation.</p>
+<p>The man was, indeed, thus occupied when the old priest opened the
+door of his room.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; he answered in a thick voice, &lsquo;I am Sebastian
+of Xeres, and no other; the man who knows more of the Carlist plots
+than any other in Madrid.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Can you read?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then you know nothing,&rsquo; said the Padre.&nbsp; &lsquo;You
+have, however, a letter in a pink envelope which a friend of mine desires
+to possess.&nbsp; It is a letter of no importance, of no political value
+- a love letter, in fact.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, yes!&nbsp; Ah, yes!&nbsp; That may be, reverendo.&nbsp;
+But there are others who want it - your love letter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I offer you, on the part of my friend, a hundred pesetas for
+this letter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The priest&rsquo;s wrinkled face wore a grim smile.&nbsp; It was
+so little - a hundred pesetas, the price of a dinner for two persons
+at one of the great restaurants on the Puerta del Sol.&nbsp; But to
+Father Concha the sum represented five hundred cups of black coffee
+denied to himself in the evening at the cafe - five hundred packets
+of cigarettes, so-called of Havana, unsmoked - two new cassocks in the
+course of twenty years - a hundred little gastronomic delights sternly
+resisted season after season.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not enough, your hundred pesetas, reverendo, not enough,&rsquo;
+laughed the man.&nbsp; And Concha, who could drive as keen a bargain
+as any market-woman of Ronda, knew by the manner of saying it that Sebastian
+only spoke the truth when he said that he had other offers.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;See, reverendo,&rsquo; the man went on, leaning across the
+table and banging a dirty fist upon it, &lsquo;come to-night at ten
+o&rsquo;clock.&nbsp; There are others coming at the same hour to buy
+my letter in the pink envelope.&nbsp; We will have an auction, a little
+auction, and the letter goes to the highest bidder.&nbsp; But what does
+your reverence want with a love letter, eh?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will come,&rsquo; said the Padre, and, turning, he went
+home to count his money once more.</p>
+<p>There are many living still who remember the great gale of wind which
+was now raging, and through which Father Concha struggled back to the
+Calle Preciados as the city clocks struck ten.&nbsp; Old men and women
+still tell how the theatres were deserted that night and the great caf&eacute;s
+wrapt in darkness.&nbsp; For none dare venture abroad amid such whirl
+and confusion.&nbsp; Concha, however, with that lean strength that comes
+from a life of abstemiousness and low-living, crept along in the shadow
+of the houses and reached his destination unhurt.&nbsp; The tall house
+in the alley leading from the Calle Preciados to the Plazuela Santa
+Maria was dark, as indeed were most of the streets of Madrid this night.&nbsp;
+A small moon struggled, however, through the riven clouds at times,
+and cast streaks of light down the narrow streets.&nbsp; Concha caught
+sight of the form of a man in the alley before him.&nbsp; The priest
+carried no weapon, but he did not pause.&nbsp; At this moment a gleam
+of light aided him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Se&ntilde;or Conyngham!&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;What
+brings you here?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And the Englishman turned sharply on his heel.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is that you - Father Concha, of Ronda?&rsquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No other, my son.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Standing in the doorway Conyngham held out his hand with that air
+of good-fellowship which he had not yet lost amid the more formal Spaniards.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Hardly the night for respectable elderly gentlemen of your
+cloth to be in the streets,&rsquo; he said; whereat Concha, who had
+a keen appreciation of such small pleasantries, laughed grimly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And I have not even the excuse of my cloth.&nbsp; I am abroad
+on worldly business, and not even my own.&nbsp; I will be honest with
+you, Se&ntilde;or Conyngham.&nbsp; I am here to buy that malediction
+of a letter in a pink envelope.&nbsp; You remember - in the garden at
+Ronda, eh?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, I remember; and why do you want that letter?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For the sake of Julia Barenna.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&nbsp; I want it for the sake of Estella Vincente.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concha laughed shortly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;It is only up to the age
+of twenty-five that men imagine themselves to be the rulers of the world.&nbsp;
+But we need not bid against each other, my son.&nbsp; Perhaps a sight
+of the letter before I destroy it would satisfy the se&ntilde;orita.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, we need not bid against each other,&rsquo; began Conyngham;
+but the priest dragged him back into the doorway with a quick whisper
+of &lsquo;Silence!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Someone was coming down the other stairway of the tall house, with
+slow and cautious steps.&nbsp; Conyngham and his companion drew back
+to the foot of the stairs and waited.&nbsp; It became evident that he
+who descended the steps did so without a light.&nbsp; At the door he
+seemed to stop, probably making sure that the narrow alley was deserted.&nbsp;
+A moment later he hurried past the door where the two men stood.&nbsp;
+The moon was almost clear, and by its light both the watchers recognised
+Larralde in a flash of thought.&nbsp; The next instant Esteban Larralde
+was running for his life with Frederick Conyngham on his heels.</p>
+<p>The lamp at the corner of the Calle Preciados had been shattered
+against the wall by a gust of wind, and both men clattered through a
+slough of broken glass.&nbsp; Down the whole length of the Preciados
+but one lamp was left alight, and the narrow street was littered with
+tiles and fallen bricks, for many chimneys had been blown down, and
+more than one shutter lay in the roadway, torn from its hinges by the
+hurricane.&nbsp; It was at the risk of life that any ventured abroad
+at this hour and amid the whirl of falling masonry.&nbsp; Larralde and
+Conyngham had the Calle Preciados to themselves - and Larralde cursed
+his spurs, which rang out at each footfall, and betrayed his whereabouts.</p>
+<p>A dozen times the Spaniard fell, but before his pursuer could reach
+him, the same obstacle threw Conyngham to the ground.&nbsp; A dozen
+times some falling object crashed to earth on the Spaniard&rsquo;s heels,
+and the Englishman leapt aside to escape the rebound.&nbsp; Larralde
+was fleet of foot despite his meagre limbs, and leapt over such obstacles
+as he could perceive, with the agility of a monkey.&nbsp; He darted
+into the lighted doorway - the entrance to the palatial mansion of an
+upstart politician.&nbsp; The large doors were thrown open, and the
+hall-porter stood in full livery awaiting the master&rsquo;s carriage.&nbsp;
+Larralde was already in the patio, and Conyngham ran through the marble-paved
+entrance hall, before the porter realised what was taking place.&nbsp;
+There was no second exit as the fugitive had hoped - so it was round
+the patio and out again into the dark street, leaving the hall-porter
+dumfoundered.</p>
+<p>Larralde turned sharply to the right as soon as he gained the Calle
+Preciados.&nbsp; It was a mere alley running the whole way round a church
+- and here again was solitude, but not silence, for the wind roared
+among the chimneys overhead as it roars through a ship&rsquo;s rigging
+at sea.&nbsp; The Calle Preciados again! and a momentary confusion among
+the tables of a caf&eacute; that stood upon the pavement, amid upturned
+chairs and a fallen, flapping awning.&nbsp; The pace was less killing
+now, but Larralde still held his own - one hand clutched over the precious
+letter regained at last - and Conyngham was conscious of a sharp pain
+where the Spaniard&rsquo;s knife had touched his lung.</p>
+<p>Larralde ran mechanically with open mouth and staring eyes.&nbsp;
+He never doubted that death was at his heels, should he fail to distance
+the pursuer.&nbsp; For he had recognised Conyngham in the patio of the
+great house, and as he ran the vague wonder filled his mind whether
+the Englishman carried a knife.&nbsp; What manner of death would it
+be if that long arm reached him?&nbsp; Esteban Larralde was afraid.&nbsp;
+His own life - Julia&rsquo;s life - the lives of a whole Carlist section
+were at stake.&nbsp; The history of Spain, perhaps of Europe, depended
+on the swiftness of his foot.</p>
+<p>The little crescent moon was shining clearly now between the long-drawn
+rifts of the rushing clouds.&nbsp; Larralde turned to the right again,
+up a narrow street which seemed to promise a friendly darkness.&nbsp;
+The ascent was steep, and the Spaniard gasped for breath as he ran -
+his legs were becoming numb.&nbsp; He had never been in this street
+before, and knew not whither it led.&nbsp; But it was at all events
+dark and deserted.&nbsp; Suddenly he fell upon a heap of bricks and
+rubbish, a whole stack of chimneys.&nbsp; He could smell the soot.&nbsp;
+Conyngham was upon him, touched him, but failed to get a grip.&nbsp;
+Larralde was afoot in an instant, and fell heavily down the far side
+of the barricade.&nbsp; He gained a few yards again, and, before Conyngham&rsquo;s
+eyes, was suddenly swallowed up in a black mass of falling masonry.&nbsp;
+It was more than a chimney this time; nothing less than a whole house
+carried bodily to the ground by the fall of the steeple of the church
+of Santa Maria del Monte.&nbsp; Conyngham stopped dead, and threw his
+arms over his head.&nbsp; The crash was terrific, deafening - and for
+a few moments the Englishman was stunned.&nbsp; He opened his eyes and
+closed them again, for the dust and powdered mortar whirled round him
+like smoke.&nbsp; Almost blinded, he crept back by the way he had come,
+and the street was already full of people.&nbsp; In the Calle Preciados
+he sat down on a door-step, and there waited until he had gained mastery
+over his limbs, which shook still.&nbsp; Presently he made his way back
+to the house where he had left Concha.</p>
+<p>The man Sebastian had, a week earlier, seen and recognised Conyngham
+as the bearer of the letter addressed to Colonel Monreal, and left at
+that officer&rsquo;s lodging in Xeres at the moment of his death in
+the streets.&nbsp; Sebastian approached Conyngham, and informed him
+that he had in his possession sundry papers belonging to the late Colonel
+Monreal, which might be of value to a Royalist.&nbsp; This was, therefore,
+not the first time that Conyngham had climbed the narrow stairs of the
+tall house with two doors.</p>
+<p>He found Concha busying himself by the bedside, where Sebastian lay
+in the unconsciousness of deep drink.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He has probably been drugged,&rsquo; said the priest.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Or, he may be dying.&nbsp; What is more important to us is, that
+the letter is not here.&nbsp; I have searched.&nbsp; Larralde escaped
+you?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes; and of course has the letter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of course, amigo.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The priest looked at the prostrate man with a face of profound contempt,
+and, shrugging his shoulders, went towards the door.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;I must return to Toledo and Julia.&nbsp;
+It is thither that this Larralde always returns, and she, poor woman,
+believes in him.&nbsp; Ah, my friend&rsquo; - he paused and shook his
+long finger at Conyngham.&nbsp; &lsquo;When a woman believes in a man
+she makes him or mars him; there is no medium.&rsquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER XVIII.&nbsp; IN TOLEDO.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p><i>&lsquo;Meddle not with many matters; for if thou meddle much thou
+shalt not be innocent.&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>The Caf&eacute; of the Ambassadeurs in the Calle de la Montera was
+at this time the fashionable resort of visitors to the city of Madrid.&nbsp;
+Its tone was neither political nor urban, but savoured rather of the
+cosmopolitan.&nbsp; The waiters at the first-class hotels recommended
+the Caf&eacute; of the Ambassadeurs, and stepped round to the manager&rsquo;s
+office at the time of the New Year to mention the fact.</p>
+<p>Sir John Pleydell had been rather nonplussed by his encounter with
+Conyngham, and, being a man of the world as well as a lawyer, sat down,
+as it were, to think.&nbsp; He had come to Spain in the first heat of
+a great revenge, and such men as he take, like the greater volcanoes,
+a long time to cool down.&nbsp; He had been prepossessed in the favour
+of the man who subsequently owned to being Frederick Conyngham.&nbsp;
+And the very manner in which this admission was made redounded in some
+degree to the honour of the young Englishman.&nbsp; Here, at least,
+was one who had no fear, and fearlessness appeals to the heart of every
+Briton from the peer to the navvy.</p>
+<p>Sir John took a certain cold interest in his surroundings, and in
+due course was recommended to spend an evening at the Caf&eacute; des
+Ambassadeurs, as it styled itself, for the habit of preferring French
+to Spanish designations for places of refreshment had come in since
+the great revolution.&nbsp; Sir John went, therefore, to the caf&eacute;,
+and with characteristic scorn of elemental disturbance chose to resort
+thither on the evening of the great gale.&nbsp; The few other occupants
+of the gorgeous room eyed his half-bottle of claret with a grave and
+decorous wonder, but made no attempt to converse with this chill-looking
+Englishman.&nbsp; At length, about ten o&rsquo;clock or a few minutes
+later, entered one who bowed to Sir John with an air full of affable
+promise.&nbsp; This was Larralde, who called a waiter and bade him fetch
+a coat-brush.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Would you believe it, sir?&rsquo; he said, addressing Sir
+John in broken English, &lsquo;but I have just escaped a terrible death.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He shrugged his shoulders, spread out his hands, and laughed good-humouredly,
+after the manner of one who has no foes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The fall of a chimney - so - within a metre of my shoulder.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+He threw back his cloak with a graceful swing of the arm and handed
+it to the waiter.&nbsp; Then he drew forward a chair to the table occupied
+by Sir John, who sipped his claret and bowed coldly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You must not think that Madrid is always like this,&rsquo;
+said Larralde.&nbsp; &lsquo;But perhaps you know the city - &rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No - this is my first visit.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Larralde turned aside to give his order to the waiter.&nbsp; His
+movements were always picturesque, and in the presence of Englishmen
+he had a habit of accentuating those characteristics of speech and manner
+which are held by our countrymen to be native to the Peninsula.&nbsp;
+There is nothing so disarming as conventionality - and nothing less
+suspicious.&nbsp; Larralde seemed ever to be a typical Spaniard - indolently
+polite, gravely indifferent - a cigarette-smoking nonentity.</p>
+<p>They talked of topics of the day, and chiefly of that great event,
+the hurricane, which was still raging.&nbsp; Larralde, whose habit it
+was to turn his neighbour to account - a seed of greatness this! - had
+almost concluded that the Englishman was useless when the conversation
+turned, as it was almost bound to turn between these two, upon Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There are but few of your countrymen in Madrid at the moment,&rsquo;
+Larralde had said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know but one,&rsquo; was the guarded reply.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And I also,&rsquo; said Larralde, flicking the ash from his
+cigarette.&nbsp; &lsquo;A young fellow who has made himself somewhat
+notorious in the Royalist cause - a cause in which I admit I have no
+sympathy.&nbsp; His name is Conyngham.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Then a silence fell upon the two men, and over raised glasses they
+glanced surreptitiously at each other.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know him,&rsquo; said Sir John at length, and the tone of
+his voice made Larralde glance up with a sudden gleam in his eyes.&nbsp;
+There thus sprang into existence between them the closest of all bonds
+- a common foe.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The man has done me more than one ill-turn,&rsquo; said Larralde
+after a pause, and he drummed on the table with his cigarette-stained
+fingers.</p>
+<p>Sir John, looking at him, coldly gauged the Spaniard with the deadly
+skill of his calling.&nbsp; He noted that Larralde was poor and ambitious
+- qualities that often raise the devil in a human heart when fate brings
+them there together.&nbsp; He was not deceived by the picturesque manner
+of Julia&rsquo;s lover, but knew exactly how much was assumed of that
+air of simple vanity to which Larralde usually treated strangers.&nbsp;
+He probably gauged at one glance the depth of the man&rsquo;s power
+for good or ill, his sincerity, his possible usefulness.&nbsp; In the
+hands of Sir John Pleydell, Larralde was the merest tool.</p>
+<p>They sat until long after midnight, and before they parted Sir John
+Pleydell handed to his companion a roll of notes, which he counted carefully
+and Larralde accepted with a grand air of condescension and indifference.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You know my address,&rsquo; said Sir John, with a slight suggestion
+of masterfulness which had not been noticeable before the money changed
+hands.&nbsp; &lsquo;I shall remain at the same hotel.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Larralde nodded his head.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I shall remember it,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;And now
+I go to take a few hours&rsquo; rest.&nbsp; I have had a hard day, and
+am as tired as a shepherd&rsquo;s dog.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And indeed the day had been busy enough.&nbsp; Se&ntilde;or Larralde
+hummed an air between his teeth as he struggled against the fierce wind.</p>
+<p>Before dawn the gale subsided, and daylight broke with a clear, calm
+freshness over the city, where sleep had been almost unknown during
+the night.&nbsp; The sun had not yet risen when Larralde took the road
+on his poor, thin black horse.&nbsp; He rode through the streets, still
+littered with the <i>d&eacute;bris</i> of fallen chimneys, slates, and
+shutters, with his head up and his mind so full of the great schemes
+which gave him no rest, that he never saw Concep&ccedil;ion Vara going
+to market with a basket on his arm and a cigarette, unlighted, between
+his lips.&nbsp; Concep&ccedil;ion turned and watched the horseman, shrugged
+his shoulders, and quietly followed until the streets were left behind
+and there could no longer be any doubt that Larralde was bound for Toledo.</p>
+<p>Thither, indeed, he journeyed throughout the day with a leisureliness
+begotten of the desire to enter the ancient city after nightfall only.&nbsp;
+Toledo was at this time the smouldering hotbed of those political intrigues
+which some years later burst into flame, and resulted finally in the
+expulsion of the Bourbons from the throne of Spain.&nbsp; Larralde was
+sufficiently dangerous to require watching, and, like many of his kind,
+considered himself of a greater importance than his enemies were pleased
+to attach to him.&nbsp; The city of Toledo is, as many know, almost
+surrounded by the rapid Tagus, and entrance to its narrow confine is
+only to be gained by two gates.&nbsp; To pass either of these barriers
+in open day would be to court a publicity singularly undesirable at
+this time, for Esteban Larralde was slipping down the social slope,
+which gradual progress is the hardest to arrest.&nbsp; If one is mounting
+there are plenty to help him - those from above seeking to make unto
+themselves friends of the mammon of unrighteousness; those from below
+hoping to tread in the footsteps he may leave.&nbsp; Each step, however,
+of the upward progress has to be gained at the expense of another.&nbsp;
+But on the descent there are none to stay and many to push behind, while
+those in front make room readily enough.&nbsp; Larralde had for the
+first time accepted a direct monetary reward for his services.&nbsp;
+That this had been offered and accepted in a polite Spanish manner as
+an advance of expenses to be incurred was, of course, only natural under
+the circumstances, but the fact remained that Esteban Larralde was no
+longer a picturesque conspirator, serving a failing cause with that
+devotion which can only be repaid later by high honours, and a post
+carrying with it emoluments of proportionate value.&nbsp; He had, in
+fact, been paid in advance; which is the surest sign of distrust upon
+one side or the other.</p>
+<p>The Barennas had been established at their house in Toledo some weeks,
+and, for Julia, life had been dull enough.&nbsp; She had hastened northward,
+knowing well that her lover&rsquo;s intrigues must necessarily bring
+him to the neighbourhood of the capital - perhaps to Toledo itself.&nbsp;
+Larralde had, however, hitherto failed to come near her, and the news
+of the day reported an increasing depression in the ranks of the Carlists.&nbsp;
+Indeed, that cause seemed now at such a low ebb that the franker mercenaries
+were daily drifting away to more promising scenes of warfare, while
+some cynically accepted commissions in the army of Espartero.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I always said that Don Carlos would fail if he employed such
+men - as - well, as he does,&rsquo; Madame Barenna took more than one
+opportunity of observing at this time, and her emphatic fan rapped the
+personal application home.</p>
+<p>She had just made this remark for perhaps the sixth time one evening
+when the door of the patio where she and Julia sat was thrown open,
+and Larralde - the person indirectly referred to - came towards the
+ladies.&nbsp; He was not afraid of Madame Barenna, and his tired face
+lightened visibly at the sight of Julia.&nbsp; Concha was right.&nbsp;
+According to his lights Larralde loved Julia.&nbsp; She, who knew every
+expression, noted the look in his face, and her heart leapt within her
+breast.&nbsp; She had long secretly rejoiced over the failure of the
+Carlist cause.&nbsp; Such, messieurs, is the ambition of a woman for
+the man she really loves.</p>
+<p>Se&ntilde;ora Barenna rose and held out her hand with a beaming smile.&nbsp;
+She was rather bored that evening, and it was pleasant to imagine herself
+in the midst of great political intrigues.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We were wondering if you would come,&rsquo; she said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am here - there - everywhere - but I always come back to
+the Casa Barenna,&rsquo; he said gallantly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You look tired,&rsquo; said Julia quietly.&nbsp; &lsquo;Where
+are you from?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;At the moment I am from Madrid.&nbsp; The city has been wrecked
+by a tornado - I myself almost perished.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused, shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What will you?&rsquo; he added carelessly.&nbsp; &lsquo;What
+is life - a single life - in Spain to-day?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Julia winced.&nbsp; It is marvellous how an intelligent woman may
+blind herself into absolute belief in one man.&nbsp; Se&ntilde;ora Barenna
+shuddered.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Blessed Heaven!&rsquo; she whispered.&nbsp; &lsquo;Why does
+not someone do something?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One does one&rsquo;s best,&rsquo; answered Larralde, with
+his hand at his moustache.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But yes!&rsquo; said Madame eagerly.&nbsp; She had a shrewd
+common sense, as many apparently foolish women have, and probably put
+the right value on Se&ntilde;or Larralde&rsquo;s endeavours.&nbsp; Father
+Concha and the General were, however, far away, and all women are time-servers.</p>
+<p>Larralde spoke of general news, and when he at length proposed to
+Julia that they should take a &lsquo;paseo&rsquo; in the garden the
+elder lady made no objection.&nbsp; For some moments Julia was quite
+happy.&nbsp; She had schooled herself into a sort of contentment in
+the hope that her turn would come when ambition failed.&nbsp; Perhaps
+this moment had arrived.&nbsp; At all events, Larralde acquitted himself
+well, and seemed sincere enough in his joy at seeing her again.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you love me?&rsquo; he asked suddenly.</p>
+<p>Julia gave a little laugh.&nbsp; Heaven has been opened by such a
+laugh ere now, and men have seen for a moment the brightness of it.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Enough to leave Spain for ever and live in another country?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Enough to risk something now for my sake?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Enough to risk everything,&rsquo; she answered.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have tried to gain a great position for you,&rsquo; went
+on Larralde, &lsquo;and fortune has been against me.&nbsp; I have failed.&nbsp;
+The Carlist cause is dead, Julia.&nbsp; Our chief has failed us - that
+is the truth of it.&nbsp; We set him up as a king, but unless we hold
+him upright he falls.&nbsp; He is a man of straw.&nbsp; We are making
+one last effort, as you know, but it is a dangerous one, and we have
+had misfortunes.&nbsp; This pestilential Englishman!&nbsp; No one may
+say how much he knows.&nbsp; He has had the letter too long in his possession
+for our safety.&nbsp; But I have outwitted him this time.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Larralde paused, and drew from his pocket the letter in the pink
+envelope - somewhat soiled by its passage through the hands of Colonel
+Monreal&rsquo;s servant.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It requires two more signatures and will then be complete,&rsquo;
+said the upholder of Don Carlos.&nbsp; &lsquo;We shall then make our
+&ldquo;coup,&rdquo; but we cannot move while Conyngham remains in Spain.&nbsp;
+It would never do for me to - well, to get shot at this moment.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Julia breathed hard.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And that is what Mr. Conyngham is endeavouring to bring about.&nbsp;
+In the first place he wants this letter to show to Estella Vincente
+- some foolish romance.&nbsp; In the second place he hates me, and seeks
+promotion in the Royalist ranks.&nbsp; These Englishmen are unscrupulous.&nbsp;
+He tried to take my life - only last night.&nbsp; I bear him no ill-feeling.&nbsp;
+<i>A la guerre comme &agrave; la guerre</i>.&nbsp; My only intention
+is to get him quietly out of Spain.&nbsp; It can be managed easily enough.&nbsp;
+Will you help me - to save my own life?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; answered Julia.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I want you to write a letter to Conyngham saying that you
+are tired of political intrigue.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Heaven knows that would be true enough,&rsquo; put in Julia.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And that you will give him the letter he desires on the condition
+that he promises to show it to no one but Estella Vincente and return
+it to you.&nbsp; That you will also swear that it is the identical letter
+that he handed to you in the General&rsquo;s garden at Ronda.&nbsp;
+If Conyngham agrees, he must meet you at the back of the Church of Santo
+Tome in the Calle Pedro Martir here, in Toledo, next Monday evening
+at seven o&rsquo;clock.&nbsp; Will you write this letter, Julia?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And Estella Vincente?&rsquo; inquired Julia.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;She will forget him in a week,&rsquo; laughed Larralde.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER XIX.&nbsp; CONCEP&Ccedil;ION TAKES THE ROAD.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p><i>&lsquo;Who knows? the man is proven by the hour.&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>After the great storm came a calm almost as startling.&nbsp; It seemed
+indeed as if Nature stood abashed and silent before the results of her
+sudden rage.&nbsp; Day after day the sun glared down from a cloudless
+sky, and all Castile was burnt brown as a desert.&nbsp; In the streets
+of Madrid there arose a hot dust and the subtle odour of warm earth
+that rarely meets the nostrils in England.&nbsp; It savoured of India
+and other sun-steeped lands where water is too precious to throw upon
+the roads.</p>
+<p>Those who could, remained indoors or in their shady patios until
+the heat of the day was past; and such as worked in the open lay unchallenged
+in the shade from midday till three o&rsquo;clock.&nbsp; During those
+days military operations were almost suspended, although the heads of
+departments were busy enough in their offices.&nbsp; The confusion of
+war, it seemed, was past, and the sore-needed peace was immediately
+turned to good account.&nbsp; The army of the Queen Regent was indeed
+in an almost wrecked condition, and among the field officers jealousy
+and backbiting, which had smouldered through the war-time, broke out
+openly.&nbsp; General Vincente was rarely at home, and Estella passed
+this time in quiet seclusion.&nbsp; Coming as she did from Andalusia,
+she was accustomed to an even greater heat, and knew how to avoid the
+discomfort of it.</p>
+<p>She was sitting one afternoon, with open windows and closed jalousies,
+during the time of the siesta, when the servant announced Father Concha.</p>
+<p>The old priest came into the room wiping his brow with simple ill
+manners.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have been hurrying and have no regard for the sun,&rsquo;
+said Estella.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You need not find shelter for an old ox,&rsquo; replied Concha,
+seating himself.&nbsp; &lsquo;It is the young ones that expose themselves
+unnecessarily.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella glanced at him sharply but said nothing.&nbsp; He sat, handkerchief
+in hand, and stared at a shaft of sunlight that lay across the floor
+from a gap in the jalousies.&nbsp; From the street under the windows
+came the distant sounds of traffic and the cries of the vendors of water,
+fruit, and newspapers.</p>
+<p>Father Concha looked puzzled, and seemed to be seeking his way out
+of a difficulty.&nbsp; Estella sat back in her chair, half hidden by
+her slow-waving, black fan.&nbsp; There is no pride so difficult as
+that which is unconscious of its own existence, no heart so hard to
+touch as that which has thrown its stake and asks neither sympathy nor
+admiration from the outside world.&nbsp; Concha glanced at Estella and
+wondered if he had been mistaken.&nbsp; There was in the old man&rsquo;s
+heart, as indeed there is in nearly all human hearts, a thwarted instinct.&nbsp;
+How many are there with maternal instincts who have no children; how
+many a poet has been lost by the crying need of hungry mouths!&nbsp;
+It was a thwarted instinct that made the old priest busy himself with
+the affairs of other people, and always of young people.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I came hoping to see your father,&rsquo; he said at length,
+blandly untruthful.&nbsp; &lsquo;I have just seen Conyngham, in whom
+we are all interested, I think.&nbsp; His lack of caution is singular.&nbsp;
+I have been trying to persuade him not to do something most rash and
+imprudent.&nbsp; You remember the incident in your garden at Ronda -
+a letter which he gave to Julia?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; answered Estella quietly, &lsquo;I remember.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For some reason which he did not explain I understand that
+he is desirous of regaining possession of that letter, and now Julia,
+writing from Toledo, tells him that she will give it to him if he will
+go there and fetch it.&nbsp; The Toledo road, as you will remember,
+is hardly to be recommended to Mr. Conyngham.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But Julia wishes him no harm,&rsquo; said Estella.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My child, rarely trust a political man and never a political
+woman.&nbsp; If Julia wished him to have the letter she could have sent
+it to him by post.&nbsp; But Conyngham, who is all eagerness, must needs
+refuse to listen to any argument, and starts this afternoon for Toledo
+- alone.&nbsp; He has not even his servant Concep&ccedil;ion Vara, who
+has suddenly disappeared, and a woman who claims to be the scoundrel&rsquo;s
+wife from Algeciras has been making inquiries at Conyngham&rsquo;s lodging.&nbsp;
+A hen&rsquo;s eyes are where her eggs lie.&nbsp; I offered to go to
+Toledo with Conyngham, but he laughed at me for a useless old priest,
+and said that the saddle would gall me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused, looking at her beneath his shaggy brows, knowing, as he
+had always known, that this was a woman beyond his reach - cleverer,
+braver, of a higher mind than her sisters - one to whom he might perchance
+tender some small assistance, but nothing better.&nbsp; For women are
+wiser in their generation than men, and usually know better what is
+for their own happiness.&nbsp; Estella returned his glance with steady
+eyes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He has gone,&rsquo; said Concha.&nbsp; &lsquo;I have not been
+sent to tell you that he is going.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I did not think that you had,&rsquo; she answered.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Conyngham has enemies in this country,&rsquo; continued the
+priest, &lsquo;and despises them - a mistake to which his countrymen
+are singularly liable.&nbsp; He has gone off on this foolish quest without
+preparation or precaution.&nbsp; Toledo is, as you know, a hotbed of
+intrigue and dissatisfaction.&nbsp; All the malcontents in Spain congregate
+there, and Conyngham would do well to avoid their company.&nbsp; Who
+lies down with dogs gets up with fleas.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused, tapping his snuffbox, and at that moment the door opened
+to admit General Vincente.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh! the Padre!&rsquo; cried the cheerful soldier.&nbsp; &lsquo;But
+what a sun, eh?&nbsp; It is cool here, however, and Estella&rsquo;s
+room is always a quiet one.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He touched her cheek affectionately, and drew forward a low chair
+wherein he sat, carefully disposing of the sword that always seemed
+too large for him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what news has the Padre?&rsquo; he asked, daintily touching
+his brow with his pocket-handkerchief.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Bad,&rsquo; growled Concha, and then told his tale over again
+in a briefer, blunter manner.&nbsp; &lsquo;It all arises,&rsquo; he
+concluded, &lsquo;from my pestilential habit of interfering in the affairs
+of other people.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said General Vincente; &lsquo;it arises from Conyngham&rsquo;s
+pestilential habit of acquiring friends wherever he goes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The door was opened again, and a servant entered.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Excellency,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;a man called Concep&ccedil;ion
+Vara, who desires a moment.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What did I tell you?&rsquo; said the General to Concha.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Another of Conyngham&rsquo;s friends.&nbsp; Spain is full of
+them.&nbsp; Let Concep&ccedil;ion Vara come to this room.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The servant looked slightly surprised, and retired.&nbsp; If, however,
+this manner of reception was unusual, Concep&ccedil;ion was too finished
+a man of the world to betray either surprise or embarrassment.&nbsp;
+By good fortune he happened to be wearing a coat.&nbsp; His flowing
+unstarched shirt was as usual spotless, he wore a flower in the ribbon
+of the hat carried jauntily in his hand, and about his person in the
+form of handkerchief and faja were those touches of bright colour by
+means of which he so irresistibly attracted the eye of the fair.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Excellency,&rsquo; he murmured, bowing on the threshold; &lsquo;Reverendo,&rsquo;
+with one step forward and a respectful semi-religious inclination of
+the head towards Concha; &lsquo;Se&ntilde;orita!&rsquo;&nbsp; The ceremony
+here concluded with a profound obeisance to Estella full of gallantry
+and grave admiration.&nbsp; Then he stood upright, and indicated by
+a pleasant smile that no one need feel embarrassed, that in fact this
+meeting was most opportune.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A matter of urgency, Excellency,&rsquo; he said confidentially
+to Vincente.&nbsp; &lsquo;I have reason to suspect that one of my friends
+- in fact, the Se&ntilde;or Conyngham, with whom I am at the moment
+in service - happens to be in danger.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah! what makes you suspect that, my friend?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion waved his hand lightly, as if indicating that the
+news had been brought to him by the birds of the air.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;When one goes into the caf&eacute;,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;one
+is not always so particular - one associates with those who happen to
+be there - muleteers, diligencia-drivers, bull-fighters, all and sundry,
+even contrabandistas.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He made this last admission with a face full of pious toleration,
+and Father Concha laughed grimly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That is true, my friend,&rsquo; said the General, hastening
+to cover the priest&rsquo;s little lapse of good manners, &lsquo;and
+from these gentlemen - honest enough in their way, no doubt - you have
+learnt - ?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That the Se&ntilde;or Conyngham has enemies in Spain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So I understand; but he has also friends?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He has one,&rsquo; said Vara, taking up a fine, picturesque
+attitude, with his right hand at his waist where the deadly knife was
+concealed in the rolls of his faja.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then he is fortunate,&rsquo; said the General, with his most
+winning smile; &lsquo;why do you come to me, my friend.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I require two men,&rsquo; answered Concep&ccedil;ion airily,
+&lsquo;that is all.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&nbsp; What sort of men.&nbsp; Guardias Civiles?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Holy Saints forbid!&nbsp; Honest soldiers, if it please
+your Excellency.&nbsp; The Guardia Civil!&nbsp; See you, Excellency.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused, shaking his outspread hand from side to side, palm downwards,
+fingers apart, as if describing a low level of humanity.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A brutal set of men,&rsquo; he continued; &lsquo;with the
+finger ever on the trigger and the rifle ever loaded.&nbsp; Pam! and
+a life is taken - many of my friends - at least, many persons I have
+met - in the caf&eacute;!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is better to give him his two men,&rsquo; put in Father
+Concha, in his atrocious English, speaking to the General.&nbsp; &lsquo;The
+man is honest in his love of Conyngham, if in nothing else.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And if I accord you these two men, my friend,&rsquo; said
+the General, from whose face Estella&rsquo;s eyes had never moved, &lsquo;will
+you undertake that Mr. Conyngham comes to no harm?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will arrange it,&rsquo; replied Concep&ccedil;ion, with
+an easy shrug of the shoulders.&nbsp; &lsquo;I will arrange it, never
+fear.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You shall have two men,&rsquo; said General Vincente, drawing
+a writing-case towards himself and proceeding to write the necessary
+order.&nbsp; &lsquo;Men who are known to me personally.&nbsp; You can
+rely upon them at all times.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Since they are friends of his Excellency&rsquo;s,&rsquo; interrupted
+Concep&ccedil;ion with much condescension, &lsquo;that suffices.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He will require money,&rsquo; said Estella in English - her
+eyes bright and her cheeks flushed.&nbsp; For she came of a fighting
+race, and her repose of manner, the dignity which sat rather strangely
+on her slim young shoulders, were only signs of that self-control which
+had been handed down to her through the ages.</p>
+<p>The General nodded as he wrote.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Take that to headquarters,&rsquo; he said, handing the papers
+to Concep&ccedil;ion, &lsquo;and in less than half an hour your men
+will be ready.&nbsp; Mr. Conyngham is a friend of mine, as you know,
+and any expenses incurred on his behalf will be defrayed by myself -
+&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion held up his hand.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is unnecessary, Excellency,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;At
+present Mr. Conyngham has funds.&nbsp; Only yesterday he gave me money.&nbsp;
+He liquidated my little account.&nbsp; It has always been a jest between
+us - that little account.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He laughed pleasantly, and moved towards the door.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Vara,&rsquo; said Father Concha.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, reverendo.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If I meet your wife in Madrid, what shall I say to her?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion turned and looked into the smiling face of the
+old priest.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In Madrid, reverendo?&nbsp; How can you think of such a thing?&nbsp;
+My wife lives in Algeciras, and at times, see you - &rsquo; he stopped,
+casting his eyes up to the ceiling and fetching an exaggerated sigh,
+&lsquo;at times my heart aches.&nbsp; But now I must get to the saddle.&nbsp;
+What a thing is Duty, reverendo!&nbsp; Duty!&nbsp; God be with your
+Excellencies.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And he hurried out of the room.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If you would make a thief honest, trust him,&rsquo; said Concha,
+when the door was closed.</p>
+<p>In less than an hour Concep&ccedil;ion was on the road accompanied
+by two troopers, who were ready enough to travel in company with a man
+of his reputation.&nbsp; For in Spain, if one cannot be a bull-fighter
+it is good to be a smuggler.&nbsp; At sunset the great heat culminated
+in a thunderstorm, which drew a veil of heavy cloud across the sky,
+and night fell before its time.</p>
+<p>The horsemen had covered two-thirds of their journey when he whom
+they followed came in sight of the lights of Toledo, set upon a rock
+like the jewels in a lady&rsquo;s ring, and almost surrounded by the
+swift Tagus.&nbsp; Conyngham&rsquo;s horse was tired, and stumbled more
+than once on the hill by which the traveller descends to the great bridge
+and the gate that Wamba built thirteen hundred years ago.</p>
+<p>Through this gate he passed into the city, which was a city of the
+dead, with its hundred ruined churches, its empty palaces and silent
+streets.&nbsp; Ichabod is written large over all these tokens of a bygone
+glory; where the Jews flying from Jerusalem first set foot; where the
+Moor reigned unmolested for nearly four hundred years; where the Goth
+and the Roman and the great Spaniard of the middle ages have trod on
+each other&rsquo;s heels.&nbsp; Truly these worn stones have seen the
+greatness of the greatest nations of the world.</p>
+<p>A single lamp hung slowly swinging in the arch of Wamba&rsquo;s Gate,
+and the streets were but ill lighted with an oil lantern at an occasional
+corner.&nbsp; Conyngham had been in Toledo before, and knew his way
+to the inn under the shadow of the great Alcazar, now burnt and ruined.&nbsp;
+Here he left his horse; for the streets of Toledo are so narrow and
+tortuous, so ill-paved and steep, that wheel traffic is almost unknown,
+while a horse can with difficulty keep his feet on the rounded cobble
+stones.&nbsp; In this city men go about their business on foot, which
+makes the streets as silent as the deserted houses.</p>
+<p>Julia had selected a spot which was easy enough to find, and Conyngham,
+having supped, made his way thither without asking for directions.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is at all events worth trying,&rsquo; he said to himself,
+&lsquo;and she can scarcely have forgotten that I saved her life on
+the Garonne as well as at Ronda.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>But there is often in a woman&rsquo;s life one man who can make her
+forget all.&nbsp; The streets were deserted, for it was a cold night,
+and the caf&eacute;s were carefully closed against the damp air.&nbsp;
+No one stirred in the Calle Pedro Martir, and Conyngham peered into
+the shadow of the high wall of the Church of San Tome in vain.&nbsp;
+Then he heard the soft tread of muffled feet, and turning on his heel
+realised Julia&rsquo;s treachery in a flash of thought.&nbsp; He charged
+to meet the charge of his assailants.&nbsp; Two of them went down like
+felled trees, but there were others - four others - who fell on him
+silently like hounds upon a fox, and in a few moments all was quiet
+again in the Calle Pedro Martir.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER XX.&nbsp; ON THE TALAVERA ROAD.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p><i>&lsquo;Les barri&egrave;res servent &agrave; indiquer o&ugrave;
+il faut passer.&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>An hour&rsquo;s ride to the west of Toledo, on the road to Torrijos
+and Talavera, and in the immediate neighbourhood of the village of Galvez,
+two men sat in the shadow of a great rock, and played cards.&nbsp; They
+played quietly and without vociferation, illustrating the advantages
+of a minute coinage.&nbsp; They had gambled with varying fortune since
+the hour of the siesta, and a sprinkling of cigarette ends on the bare
+rocks around them testified to the indulgence in a kindred vice.</p>
+<p>The elder of the two men glanced from time to time over his shoulder,
+and down towards the dusty high road which lay across the arid plain
+beneath them like a tape.&nbsp; The country here is barren and stone-ridden,
+but to the west, where Torrijos gleamed whitely on the plain, the earth
+was green with lush corn and heavy blades of maize, now springing into
+ear.&nbsp; Where the two soldiers sat the herbage was scant and of an
+aromatic scent, as it mostly is in hot countries and in rocky places.&nbsp;
+That these men belonged to a mounted branch of the service was evident
+from their equipment, and notably from the great rusty spurs at their
+heels.&nbsp; They were clad in cotton - dusky white breeches, dusky
+blue tunics - a sort of undress, tempered by the vicissitudes of a long
+war and the laxity of discipline engendered by political trouble at
+home.</p>
+<p>They had left their horses in the stable of a venta, hidden among
+ilex trees by the roadside, and had clambered to this point of vantage
+above the highway, to pass the afternoon after the manner of their race.&nbsp;
+For the Spaniard will be found playing cards amid the wreck of the world
+and in the intervals between the stupendous events of the last day.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He comes,&rsquo; said the elder man at length, as he leisurely
+shuffled the greasy cards.&nbsp; &lsquo;I hear his horse&rsquo;s hoofs.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And, indeed, the great silence which seems to brood over the uplands
+of Spain - the silence, as it were, of an historic past and a dead present
+- was broken by the distant regular beat of hoofs.</p>
+<p>The trooper who had spoken was a bullet-headed Castilian, with square
+jaw and close-set eyes.&nbsp; His companion, a younger man, merely nodded
+his head, and studied the cards which had just been dealt to him.&nbsp;
+The game progressed, and Concep&ccedil;ion Vara, on the Toledo road,
+approached at a steady trot.&nbsp; This man showed to greater advantage
+on horseback and beneath God&rsquo;s open sky than in the streets of
+a city.&nbsp; Here, in the open and among the mountains, he held his
+head erect and faced the world, ready to hold his own against it.&nbsp;
+In the streets he wore a furtive air, and glanced from left to right
+fearing recognition.</p>
+<p>He now took his tired horse to the stable of the little venta, where,
+with his usual gallantry, he assisted a hideous old hag to find a place
+in the stalls.&nbsp; While uttering a gay compliment, he deftly secured
+for his mount a feed of corn which was much in excess of that usually
+provided for the money.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; he said, as he tipped the measure; &lsquo;I can
+always tell when a woman has been pretty; but with you, se&ntilde;ora,
+no such knowledge is required.&nbsp; You will have your beauty for many
+years yet.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Thus Vara and his horse fared ever well upon the road.&nbsp; He lingered
+at the stable door, knowing perhaps that corn poured into the manger
+may yet find its way back to the bin, and then turned his steps towards
+the mountain.</p>
+<p>The cards were still falling with a whispering sound upon the rock
+selected as a table, and, with the spirit of a true sportsman, Concep&ccedil;ion
+waited until the hand was played out before imparting his news.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is well,&rsquo; he said at length.&nbsp; &lsquo;A carriage
+has been ordered from a friend of mine in Toledo to take the road to-night
+to Talavera - and Talavera is on the way to Lisbon.&nbsp; What did I
+tell you?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The two soldiers nodded.&nbsp; One was counting his gains, which
+amounted to almost threepence.&nbsp; The loser wore a brave air of indifference,
+as behoved a reckless soldier taking loss or gain in a Spartan spirit.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There will be six men,&rsquo; continued Concep&ccedil;ion.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Two on horseback, two on the box, two inside the carriage with
+their prisoner - my friend.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; said the younger soldier thoughtfully.</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion looked at him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What have you in your mind?&rsquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I was wondering how three men could best kill six.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Out of six,&rsquo; said the older man, &lsquo;there is always
+one who runs away.&nbsp; I have found it so in my experience.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And of five there is always one who cannot use his knife,&rsquo;
+added Concep&ccedil;ion.</p>
+<p>Still the younger soldier, who had medals all across his chest, shook
+his head.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am afraid,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;I am always afraid
+before I fight.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion looked at the man whom General Vincente had selected
+from a brigade of tried soldiers, and gave a little upward jerk of the
+head.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;With me,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;it is afterwards - when all
+is over.&nbsp; Then my hand shakes, and the wet trickles down my face.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He laughed, and spread out his hands.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And yet,&rsquo; he said gaily, &lsquo;it is the best game
+of all - is it not so?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The troopers shrugged their shoulders.&nbsp; One may have too much
+of even the best game.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The carriage is ordered for eight o&rsquo;clock,&rsquo; continued
+the practical Concep&ccedil;ion, rolling a cigarette, which he placed
+behind his ear where a clerk would carry his pen.&nbsp; &lsquo;Those
+who take the road when the night-birds come abroad have something to
+hide.&nbsp; We will see what they have in their carriage, eh?&nbsp;
+The horses are hired for the journey to Galvez, where a relay is doubtless
+ordered.&nbsp; It will be a fine night for a journey.&nbsp; There is
+a half moon, which is better than the full for those who use the knife;
+but the Galvez horses will not be required, I think.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The younger soldier, upon whose shoulder gleamed the stars of a rapid
+promotion, looked up to the sky, where a few fleecy clouds were beginning
+to gather above the setting sun like sheep about a gate.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A half moon for the knife and a full moon for firearms,&rsquo;
+he said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes; and they will shoot quick enough if we give them the
+chance,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion.&nbsp; &lsquo;They are Carlists!&nbsp;
+There is a river between this and Galvez - a little stream such as we
+have in Andalusia - so small that there is only a ford and no bridge.&nbsp;
+The bed of the river is soft; the horses will stop, or, at all events,
+must go at the walking pace.&nbsp; Across the stream are a few trees&rsquo;
+(he paused, illustrating his description with rapid gestures and an
+imaginary diagram drawn upon the rock with the forefinger), &lsquo;ilex,
+and here, to the left, some pines.&nbsp; The stream runs thus from north-east
+to south-west.&nbsp; This bank is high, and over here are low-lying
+meadows where pigs feed.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He looked up, and the two soldiers nodded.&nbsp; The position lay
+before them like a bird&rsquo;s-eye view; and Concep&ccedil;ion, in
+whom Spain had perhaps lost a guerilla general, had only set eyes on
+the spot once as he rode past it.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;This matter is best settled on foot; is it not so?&nbsp; We
+cross the stream, and tie our horses to the pine trees.&nbsp; I will
+recross the water, and come back to meet the carriage at the top of
+the hill - here.&nbsp; The horsemen will be in advance.&nbsp; We will
+allow them to cross the stream.&nbsp; The horses will come out of the
+water slowly, or I know nothing of horses.&nbsp; As they step up the
+incline, you take their riders, and remember to give them the chance
+of running away.&nbsp; In midstream I will attack the two on the box,
+pulling him who is not driving into the water by his legs, and giving
+him the blade in the right shoulder above the lung.&nbsp; He will think
+himself dead, but should recover.&nbsp; Then you must join me.&nbsp;
+We shall be three to three, unless the Englishman&rsquo;s hands are
+loose; then we shall be four to three, and need do no man any injury.&nbsp;
+The Englishman is as strong as two, and quick with it, as big men rarely
+are.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you take a hand?&rsquo; asked the Castilian, fingering
+the cards.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No; I have affairs.&nbsp; Continue your game.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>So the sun went down, and the two soldiers continued their game,
+while Concep&ccedil;ion sat beside them and slowly, lovingly sharpened
+his knife on a piece of slate which he carried in his pocket for the
+purpose.</p>
+<p>After sunset there usually arises a cold breeze which blows across
+the table-lands of Castile quite gently and unobtrusively.&nbsp; A local
+proverb says of this wind that it will extinguish a man but not a candle.&nbsp;
+When this arose, the three men descended the mountain-side and sat down
+to a simple if highly-flavoured meal provided by the ancient mistress
+of the venta.&nbsp; At half-past eight, when there remained nothing
+of the day but a faint greenish light in the western sky, the little
+party mounted their horses and rode away towards Galvez.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&rsquo;Tis better,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion, with a meaning
+and gallant bow to the hostess.&nbsp; &lsquo;&rsquo;Tis for my peace
+of mind.&nbsp; I am but a man.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Then he haggled over the price of the supper.</p>
+<p>They rode forward to the ford described by Concep&ccedil;ion, and
+there made their preparations - carefully and coolly - as men recognising
+the odds against them.&nbsp; The half moon was just rising as the soldiers
+splashed through the water leading Concep&ccedil;ion&rsquo;s horse,
+he remaining on the Toledo side of the river.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The saints protect us!&rsquo; said the nervous soldier, and
+his hand shook on the bridle.&nbsp; His companion smiled at the recollection
+of former fights passed through together.&nbsp; It is well, in love
+and war, to beware of him who says he is afraid.</p>
+<p>Shortly after nine o&rsquo;clock the silence of that deserted plain
+was broken by a distant murmur, which presently shaped itself into the
+beat of horses&rsquo; feet.&nbsp; To this was added soon the rumble
+of wheels.&nbsp; The elder soldier put a whole cigarette into his mouth
+and chewed it.&nbsp; The younger man made no movement now.&nbsp; They
+crouched low at their posts one on each side of the ford.&nbsp; Concep&ccedil;ion
+was across the river, but they could not see him.&nbsp; In Andalusia
+they say that a contrabandist can conceal himself behind half a brick.</p>
+<p>The two riders were well in front of the carriage, and, as had been
+foreseen, the horses lingered on the rise of the bank as if reluctant
+to leave the water without having tasted it.&nbsp; In a moment the younger
+soldier had his man out of the saddle, raising his own knee sharply
+as the man fell, so that the falling head and the lifted knee came into
+deadly contact.&nbsp; It was a trick well known to the trooper, who
+let the insensible form roll to the ground, and immediately darted down
+the bank to the stream.&nbsp; The other soldier was chasing his opponent
+up the hill, shelling him, as he rode away, with oaths and stones.</p>
+<p>In mid-stream the clumsy travelling carriage had come to a standstill.&nbsp;
+The driver on the box, having cast down his reins, was engaged in imploring
+the assistance of a black-letter saint, upon which assistance he did
+not hesitate to put a price, in candles.&nbsp; There was a scurrying
+in the water, which was about two feet deep, where Concep&ccedil;ion
+was settling accounts with the man who had been seated by the driver&rsquo;s
+side.&nbsp; A half-choked scream of pain appeared to indicate that Concep&ccedil;ion
+had found the spot he sought, above the right lung, and that amiable
+smuggler now rose dripping from the flood and hurried to the carriage.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Conyngham!&rsquo; he shouted, laying aside that ceremony upon
+which he never set great store.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; answered a voice from within.&nbsp; &lsquo;Is
+that you, Concep&ccedil;ion?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of course; throw them out.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But the door is locked,&rsquo; answered Conyngham in a muffled
+voice.&nbsp; And the carriage began to rock and crack upon its springs,
+as if an earthquake were taking place inside it.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The window is good enough for such rubbish,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion.&nbsp;
+As he spoke a man, violently propelled from within, came head foremost,
+and most blasphemously vociferous, into Concep&ccedil;ion&rsquo;s arms,
+who immediately, and with the rapidity of a terrier, had him by the
+throat and forced him under water.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have hold of my leg - you, on the other side,&rsquo; shouted
+Conyngham from the turmoil within.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A thousand pardons, se&ntilde;or!&rsquo; said the soldier,
+and took a new grip of another limb.</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion, holding his man under water, heard the sharp crack
+of another head upon the soldier&rsquo;s kneecap, and knew that all
+was well.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That is all?&rsquo; he inquired.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That is all,&rsquo; replied the soldier, who did not seem
+at all nervous now.&nbsp; &lsquo;And we have killed no one.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Put a knife into that son of a mule who prays upon the box
+there,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion judicially.&nbsp; &lsquo;This is
+no time for prayer.&nbsp; Just where the neck joins the shoulder - that
+is a good place.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And a sudden silence reigned upon the box.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Pull the carriage to the bank,&rsquo; commanded Concep&ccedil;ion.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;There is no need for the English Excellency to wet his feet.&nbsp;
+He might catch a cold.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>They all made their way to the bank, where, in the dim moonlight,
+one man sat nursing his shoulder while another lay, at length, quite
+still, upon the pebbles.</p>
+<p>The young soldier laid a second victim to the same deadly trick beside
+him, while Concep&ccedil;ion patted his foe kindly on the back.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is well,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;you have swallowed water.&nbsp;
+You will be sick, and then you will be well.&nbsp; But if you move from
+that spot I will let the water out another way.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And, laughing pleasantly at this delicate display of humour, he turned
+to help Conyngham, who was clambering out of the carriage window.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Whom have you with you?&rsquo; asked Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Two honest soldiers of General Vincente&rsquo;s division.&nbsp;
+You see, se&ntilde;or, you have good friends.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, I see that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One of them,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion meaningly, &lsquo;is
+at Toledo at the moment, journeying after you.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Se&ntilde;or Pleydell.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then we will go back to meet him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I thought so,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXI.&nbsp; A CROSS-EXAMINATION.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p><i>&lsquo;Wherein I am false I am honest - not true to be true.&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will sing you a contrabandista song,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion,
+as the party rode towards Toledo in the moonlight.&nbsp; &lsquo;The
+song we - they sing when the venture has been successful.&nbsp; You
+may hear it any dark night in the streets of Gaucin.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sing,&rsquo; said the older soldier, &lsquo;if it is in your
+lungs.&nbsp; For us - we prefer to travel silent.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham, mounted on the horse from which the Carlist rider had
+been dragged unceremoniously enough, rode a few paces in front.&nbsp;
+The carriage had been left behind at the venta, where no questions were
+asked, and the injured men revived readily enough.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is well,&rsquo; answered Concep&ccedil;ion, in no way abashed.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I will sing.&nbsp; In Andalusia we can all sing.&nbsp; The pigs
+sing better there than the men of Castile.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>It was after midnight when the party rode past the Church of the
+Cristo de la Vega, and faced the long hill that leads to the gate Del
+Cambron.&nbsp; Above them towered the city of Toledo - silent and dreamlike.&nbsp;
+Concep&ccedil;ion had ceased singing now, and the hard breathing of
+the horses alone broke the silence.&nbsp; The Tagus, emerging here from
+rocky fastness, flowed noiselessly away to the west - a gleaming ribbon
+laid across the breast of the night.&nbsp; In the summer it is no uncommon
+thing for travellers to take the road by night in Spain, and although
+many doubtless heard the clatter of horses&rsquo; feet on the polished
+cobble stones of the city, none rose from bed to watch the horsemen
+pass.</p>
+<p>At that time Toledo possessed, and indeed to the present day can
+boast of, but one good inn - a picturesque old house in the Plaza de
+Zocodover, overhung by the mighty Alcazar.&nbsp; Here Cervantes must
+have eaten and Lazarillo de Tormes no doubt caroused.&nbsp; Here those
+melancholy men and mighty humorists must have delighted the idler by
+their talk.&nbsp; Concep&ccedil;ion soon aroused the sleeping porter,
+and the great doors being thrown open, the party passed into the courtyard
+without quitting the saddle.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion, &lsquo;an English Excellency
+and his suite.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We have another such in the house,&rsquo; answered the sleepy
+doorkeeper, &lsquo;though he travels with but one servant.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We know that, my friend, which is the reason why we patronise
+your dog-hole of an inn.&nbsp; See that the two Excellencies breakfast
+together at a table apart in the morning.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You will have matters to speak about with the Se&ntilde;or
+Pleydell in the morning,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion, as he unpacked
+Conyngham&rsquo;s luggage a few minutes later.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, I should like to speak to Se&ntilde;or Pleydell.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And I,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion, turning round with a
+brush in his hand, &lsquo;should like a moment&rsquo;s conversation
+with Se&ntilde;or Larralde.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, Excellency, he is in this matter too.&nbsp; But the Se&ntilde;or
+Larralde is so modest - so modest!&nbsp; He always remains in the background.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>In the tents of Kedar men sleep as sound as those who lie on soft
+pillows, and Conyngham was late astir the next morning.&nbsp; Sir John
+Pleydell was, it transpired, already at his breakfast, and had ordered
+his carriage for an early hour to take the road to Talavera.&nbsp; It
+was thus evident that Sir John knew nothing of the arrival of his fellow-countryman
+at midnight.</p>
+<p>The cold face of the great lawyer wore a look of satisfaction as
+he sat at a small table in the patio of the hotel and drank his coffee.&nbsp;
+Conyngham watched him for a moment from the balcony of the courtyard,
+himself unseen, while Concep&ccedil;ion stood within his master&rsquo;s
+bedroom, and rubbed his brown hands together in anticipation of a dramatic
+moment.&nbsp; Conyngham passed down the stone steps and crossed the
+patio with a gay smile.&nbsp; Sir John recognised him as he emerged
+from the darkness of the stairway, but his face betrayed neither surprise
+nor fear.&nbsp; There was a look in the grey eyes, however, that seemed
+to betoken doubt.&nbsp; Such a look a man might wear who had long travelled
+with assurance upon a road which he took to be the right one, and then
+at a turning found himself in a strange country with no landmark to
+guide him.</p>
+<p>Sir John Pleydell had always outwitted his fellows.&nbsp; He had,
+in fact, been what is called a successful man - a little cleverer, a
+little more cunning than those around him.</p>
+<p>He looked up now at Conyngham, who was drawing forward a chair to
+the neighbouring table, and the cold eye, which had been the dread of
+many a criminal, wavered.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The waiter has set my breakfast near to yours,&rsquo; said
+Conyngham, unconcernedly seating himself.</p>
+<p>And Concep&ccedil;ion in the balcony above cursed the English for
+a cold-blooded race.&nbsp; This was not the sort of meeting he had anticipated.&nbsp;
+He could throw a knife very prettily, and gave a short sigh of regret
+as he turned to his peaceful duties.</p>
+<p>Conyngham examined the simple fare provided for him, and then looked
+towards his companion with that cheerfulness which is too rare in this
+world; for it is born of a great courage, and outward circumstances
+cannot affect it.&nbsp; Sir John Pleydell had lost all interest in his
+meal, and was looking keenly at Conyngham - dissecting, as it were,
+his face, probing his mind, searching through the outward manner of
+the man, and running helplessly against a motive which he failed to
+understand.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have in my long experience found that all men may be divided
+into two classes,&rsquo; he said acidly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Fools and knaves?&rsquo; suggested Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have practised at the Bar,&rsquo; parenthetically.</p>
+<p>Conyngham shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Unsuccessfully - anybody can do that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Which are you - a fool or a knave?&rsquo; asked Sir John.</p>
+<p>And suddenly Conyngham pitied him.&nbsp; For no man is proof against
+the quick sense of pathos aroused by the sight of man, or dumb animal,
+baffled.&nbsp; At the end of his life Sir John had engaged upon the
+greatest quest of it - an unworthy quest, no doubt, but his heart was
+in it - and he was an old man, though be bore his years well enough.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Perhaps that is the mistake you have always made,&rsquo; said
+Conyngham gravely.&nbsp; &lsquo;Perhaps men are not to be divided into
+two classes.&nbsp; There may be some who only make mistakes, Sir John.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Unconsciously he had lapsed into the advocate, as those who have
+once played the part are apt to do.&nbsp; This was not his own cause,
+but Geoffrey Horner&rsquo;s.&nbsp; And he served his friend so thoroughly
+that for the moment he really was the man whose part he had elected
+to play.&nbsp; Sir John Pleydell was no mean foe.&nbsp; Geoffrey Horner
+had succeeded in turning aside the public suspicion, and in the eternal
+march of events, of which the sound is louder as the world grows older
+and hollower, the murder of Alfred Pleydell had been forgotten by all
+save his father.&nbsp; Conyngham saw the danger, and never thought to
+avoid it.&nbsp; What had been undertaken half in jest would be carried
+out in deadly earnest.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Mistakes,&rsquo; said Sir John sceptically.&nbsp; In dealing
+with the seamy side of life men come to believe that it is all stitches.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Which they may pass the rest of their lives in regretting.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John looked sharply at his companion, with suspicion dawning
+in his eyes again.&nbsp; It was Conyngham&rsquo;s tendency to overplay
+his part.&nbsp; Later, when he became a soldier, and found that path
+in life for which he was best fitted, his superior officers and the
+cooler tacticians complained that he was over-eager, and in battle outpaced
+the men he led.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then you see now that it was a mistake?&rsquo; suggested Sir
+John.&nbsp; In cross-examinations the suggestions of Sir John Pleydell
+are remembered in certain courts of justice to this day.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of course.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To have mixed yourself in such an affair at all?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John seemed to be softening, and Conyngham began to see a way
+out of this difficulty which had never suggested itself to him before.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Such mistakes have to be paid for - and the law assesses the
+price.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is easy enough to say you are sorry - the law can make
+no allowance for regret.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham turned his attention to his breakfast, deeming it useless
+to continue the topic.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It was a mistake to attend the meeting at Durham - you admit
+that?&rsquo; continued Sir John.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes - I admit that, if it is any satisfaction to you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then it was worse than a mistake to actually lead the men
+out to my house for the purpose of breaking the windows.&nbsp; It was
+almost a crime.&nbsp; I would suggest to you, as a soldier for the moment,
+to lead a charge up a steep hill against a body of farm labourers and
+others entrenched behind a railing.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That is a mere matter of opinion.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And yet you did that,&rsquo; said Sir John.&nbsp; &lsquo;If
+you are going to break the law you should insure success before embarking
+on your undertaking.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham made no answer.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It was also a stupid error, if I may say so, to make your
+way back to Durham by Ravensworth, where you were seen and recognised.&nbsp;
+You see I have a good case against you, Mr. Conyngham.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, I admit you have a good case against me, but you have
+not caught me yet.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John Pleydell looked at him coldly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You do not even take the trouble to deny the facts I have
+named.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why should I, when they are true?&rsquo; asked Conyngham carelessly.</p>
+<p>Sir John Pleydell leant back in his chair.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have classified you,&rsquo; he said with a queer laugh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; answered Conyngham, suddenly uneasy.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes - as a fool.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He leant forward with a deprecating gesture of his thin white hand.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do not be offended,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;and do not reproach
+yourself for having given your case away.&nbsp; You never had a case,
+Mr. Conyngham.&nbsp; Chartists are not made of your material at all.&nbsp;
+As soon as you gave me your card in Madrid, I had a slight suspicion.&nbsp;
+I thought you were travelling under a false name.&nbsp; It was plain
+to the merest onlooker that you were not the man I sought.&nbsp; You
+are too easy-going, too much of a gentleman to be a Chartist.&nbsp;
+You are screening somebody else.&nbsp; You have played the part well,
+and with an admirable courage and fidelity.&nbsp; I wish my boy Alfred
+had had a few such friends as you.&nbsp; But you are a fool, Mr. Conyngham.&nbsp;
+No man on earth is worth the sacrifice that you have made.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham slowly stirred his coffee.&nbsp; He was meditating.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have pieced together a very pretty tale,&rsquo; he said
+at length.&nbsp; &lsquo;Some new scheme to get me within the reach of
+the English law, no doubt.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is a pretty tale - too pretty for practical life.&nbsp;
+And if you want proofs I will mention the fact that the Chartist meeting
+was at Chester-le-Street, not Durham; that my house stands in a hollow
+and not on a hill; that you could not possibly go to Durham <i>vi&acirc;</i>
+Ravensworth, for they lie in opposite directions.&nbsp; No, Mr. Conyngham,
+you are not the man I seek.&nbsp; And, strange to say, I took a liking
+to you when I first saw you.&nbsp; I am no believer in instinct, or
+mutual sympathy, or any such sentimental nonsense.&nbsp; I do not believe
+in much, Mr. Conyngham, and not in human nature at all.&nbsp; I know
+too much about it for that.&nbsp; But there must have been something
+in that liking for you at first sight.&nbsp; I wish you no harm, Mr.
+Conyngham.&nbsp; I am like Balaam - I came to curse, and now stay to
+bless.&nbsp; Or, perhaps, I am more like Balaam&rsquo;s companion and
+adviser - I bray too much.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He sat back again with a queer smile.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You may go home to England to-morrow if you care to,&rsquo;
+he added, after a pause, &lsquo;and if that affair is ever raked up
+against you I will be your counsel, if you will have me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thank you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You do not want to go home to England?&rsquo; suggested Sir
+John, whose ear was as quick as his eye.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, I have affairs in Spain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Or - perhaps a castle here.&nbsp; Beware of such - I once
+had one.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And the cold grey face softened for an instant.&nbsp; It seemed at
+times as if there were after all a man behind that marble casing.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A man who can secure such a friendship as yours has proved
+itself to be,&rsquo; said Sir John after a short silence, &lsquo;can
+scarcely be wholly bad.&nbsp; He may, as you say, have made a mistake.&nbsp;
+I promise nothing; but perhaps I will make no further attempts to find
+him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham was silent.&nbsp; To speak would have been to admit.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So far as I am concerned,&rsquo; said Sir John, rising, &lsquo;you
+are safe in this or any country.&nbsp; But I warn you - you have a dangerous
+enemy in Spain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know,&rsquo; answered Conyngham, with a laugh, &lsquo;Mr.
+Esteban Larralde.&nbsp; I once undertook to deliver a letter for him.&nbsp;
+It was not what he represented it to be, and after I had delivered it
+he began to suspect me of having read it.&nbsp; He is kind enough to
+consider me of some importance in the politics of this country owing
+to the information I am supposed to possess.&nbsp; I know nothing of
+the contents of the letter, but I want to regain it - if only for a
+few moments.&nbsp; That is the whole story, and that is how matters
+stand between Larralde and myself.&rsquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXII.&nbsp; REPARATION.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p><i>&lsquo;Il s&rsquo;en faut bien que l&rsquo;innocence trouve autant
+de protection que le crime.&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>For those minded to leave Spain at this time, there was but one route,
+namely, the south, for the northern exits were closed by the Carlists,
+still in power there, though thinning fast.&nbsp; Indeed, Don Carlos
+was now illustrating the fact, which any may learn by the study of the
+world&rsquo;s history, that it is not the great causes, but the great
+men, who have made and destroyed nations.&nbsp; Nearly half of Spain
+was for Don Carlos.&nbsp; The Church sided with him, and the best soldiers
+were those who, unpaid, unfed, and half clad, fought on the southern
+slopes of the Pyrenees for a man who dared not lead them.</p>
+<p>Sir John Pleydell had intended crossing the frontier into Portugal,
+following the carriage conveying his prisoner to the seaport of Lisbon,
+where he anticipated no difficulty in finding a ship captain who would
+be willing to carry Conyngham to England.&nbsp; All this, however, had
+been frustrated by so unimportant a person as Concep&ccedil;ion Vara,
+and the carriage ordered for nine o&rsquo;clock to proceed to Talavera
+now stood in the courtyard of the hotel, while the Baronet in his lonely
+apartment sat and wondered what he should do next.&nbsp; He had dealt
+with justice all his life, and had ensued it not from love, but as a
+matter of convenience and a means of livelihood.&nbsp; From the mere
+habit, he now desired to do justice to Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;See if you can find out for me the whereabouts of General
+Vincente at the moment, and let the carriage wait,&rsquo; he said to
+his servant, a valet-courier of taciturn habit.</p>
+<p>The man was absent about half an hour, and returned with a face that
+promised little.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There is a man in the hotel, sir,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;the
+servant of Mr. Conyngham, who knows, but will not tell me.&nbsp; I am
+told, however, that a lady living in Toledo, a Contessa Barenna, will
+undoubtedly have the information.&nbsp; General Vincente was lately
+in Madrid, but his movements are so rapid and uncertain, that he has
+become a by-word in Spain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So I understand.&nbsp; I will call on this Contessa this afternoon,
+unless you can get the information elsewhere during the morning.&nbsp;
+I shall not want the carriage.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John walked slowly to the window, deep in thought.&nbsp; He was
+interested in Conyngham, despite himself.&nbsp; It is possible that
+he had not hitherto met a man capable of so far forgetting his own interests
+as to undertake a foolish and dangerous escapade without anything in
+the nature of gain or advantage to recommend it.&nbsp; The windows of
+the hotel of the Comercio in Toledo look out upon the market-place,
+and Sir John, who was an indoor man, and mentally active enough to be
+intensely bored at times, frequently used this opportunity of studying
+Spanish life.</p>
+<p>He was looking idly through the vile panes, when an old priest passed
+by, and glanced up beneath shaggy brows.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Seen that man before,&rsquo; said Sir John.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; muttered Father Concha, as he hurried on towards
+the Palazzo Barenna.&nbsp; &lsquo;So far, so good.&nbsp; Where the fox
+is, will be found the stolen fowl.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion Vara, who was saddling his horse in the stable
+yard of the inn, saw the Padre pass.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, clever one!&rsquo; he muttered, &lsquo;with your jokes
+about my wife.&nbsp; Now you may make a false journey for all the help
+you receive from me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And a few minutes later Concep&ccedil;ion rode across the Bridge
+of Alcantara, some paces behind Conyngham, who deemed it wise to return
+to his duties at Madrid without delay.</p>
+<p>Despite the great heat on the plains, which, indeed, made it almost
+dangerous to travel at midday, the streets of Toledo were cool and shady
+enough, as Sir John Pleydell traversed them in search of the Palazzo
+Barenna.&nbsp; The Contessa was in, and the Englishman was ushered into
+a vast room, which even the taste of the day could not entirely deprive
+of its medi&aelig;val grandeur.&nbsp; Sir John explained to the servant
+in halting Spanish that his name was unknown to the Se&ntilde;ora Barenna,
+but that - a stranger in some slight difficulty - he had been recommended
+to seek her assistance.</p>
+<p>Sir John was an imposing-looking man, with that grand air which enables
+some men not only to look, but to get over a wall while an insignificant
+wight may not so much as approach the gate.&nbsp; The se&ntilde;ora&rsquo;s
+curiosity did the rest.&nbsp; In a few minutes the rustle of silk made
+Sir John turn from the contemplation of a suit of armour.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Madame speaks French?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But yes, se&ntilde;or.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Madame Barenna glanced towards a chair, which Sir John hastened to
+bring forward.&nbsp; He despised her already, and she admired his manner
+vastly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have taken the immense liberty of intruding myself upon
+your notice, Madame.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not to sell me a Bible?&rsquo; exclaimed Se&ntilde;ora Barenna,
+with her fan upheld in warning.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A Bible!&nbsp; I believe I have one at home, in England, Madame,
+but - &rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is well,&rsquo; said Madame sinking back and fanning herself
+rather faintly.&nbsp; &lsquo;Excuse my fears.&nbsp; But there is an
+Englishman - what is his name?&nbsp; I forget.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Borrow.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes; that is it, Borrow.&nbsp; And he sells Bibles; and Father
+Concha, my confessor, a bear, but a holy man - a holy bear, as one might
+say - has forbidden me to buy one.&nbsp; I am so afraid of disobeying
+him, by heedlessness or forgetfulness.&nbsp; There are, it appears,
+some things in the Bible which one ought not to read, and one naturally
+- &rsquo;</p>
+<p>She finished the sentence with a shrug, and an expressive gesture
+of the fan.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One naturally desires to read them,&rsquo; suggested Sir John.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;The privilege of all Eve&rsquo;s daughters, Madame.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Se&ntilde;ora Barenna treated the flatterer to what the French call
+a <i>fin sourire</i>, and wondered how long Julia would stay away.&nbsp;
+This man would pay her a compliment in another moment.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I merely called on the excuse of a common friendship, to ask
+if you can tell me the whereabouts of General Vincente,&rsquo; said
+Sir John, stating his business in haste and when the opportunity presented
+itself.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is it politics?&rsquo; asked the lady, with a hasty glance
+round the room.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, it is scarcely politics; but why do you ask?&nbsp; You
+are surely too wise, Madame, to take part in such.&nbsp; It is a woman&rsquo;s
+mission to please - and when it is so easy!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He waved his thin white hand in completion of a suggestion which
+made his hearer bridle her stout person.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, no,&rsquo; she whispered, glancing over her shoulder at
+the door.&nbsp; &lsquo;No; it is my daughter.&nbsp; Ah! se&ntilde;or,
+you can scarce imagine what it is to live upon a volcano!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And she pointed to the oaken floor with her fan.&nbsp; Sir John deemed
+it wise to confine his display of sympathy to a glance of the deepest
+concern.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; he said; &lsquo;it is merely a personal matter.&nbsp;
+I have a communication to make to my friend General Vincente or to his
+daughter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To Estella?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To the Se&ntilde;orita Estella.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you think her beautiful?&nbsp; Some do, you know.&nbsp;
+Eyes - I admit - yes, lovely.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I admire the se&ntilde;orita exceedingly.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah yes, yes.&nbsp; You have not seen my daughter, have you,
+se&ntilde;or?&nbsp; Julia - she rather resembles Estella.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Se&ntilde;ora Barenna paused and examined her fan with a careless
+air.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Some say,&rsquo; she went on, apparently with reluctance,
+&lsquo;that Julia is - well - has some advantages over Estella.&nbsp;
+But <i>I</i> do not, of course.&nbsp; I admire Estella, excessively
+- oh yes, yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And the se&ntilde;ora&rsquo;s dark eyes searched Sir John&rsquo;s
+face.&nbsp; They might have found more in sculptured marble.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you know where she is?&rsquo; asked Sir John, almost bluntly.&nbsp;
+Like a workman who has mistaken his material, he was laying aside his
+finer conversational tools.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, I believe they arrive in Toledo this evening.&nbsp;
+I cannot think why.&nbsp; But with General Vincente one never knows.&nbsp;
+He is so pleasant, so playful - such a smile - but you know him.&nbsp;
+Well, they say in Spain that he is always where he is wanted.&nbsp;
+Ah!&rsquo; Madame paused and cast her eyes up to the ceiling, &lsquo;what
+it is to be wanted somewhere, se&ntilde;or.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And she gave him the benefit of one of her deepest sighs.&nbsp; Sir
+John mentally followed the direction of her glance, and wondered what
+the late Count thought about it.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, I am deeply interested in Estella - as indeed is natural,
+for she is my niece.&nbsp; She has no mother, and the General has such
+absurd ideas.&nbsp; He thinks that a girl is capable of choosing a husband
+for herself.&nbsp; But to you - an Englishman - such an idea is naturally
+not astonishing.&nbsp; I am told that in your country it is the girls
+who actually propose marriage.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not in words, Madame - not more in England than elsewhere.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah,&rsquo; said Madame, looking at him doubtfully, and thinking,
+despite herself, of Father Concha.</p>
+<p>Sir John rose from the chair he had taken at the se&ntilde;ora&rsquo;s
+silent invitation.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then I may expect the General to arrive at my hotel this evening,&rsquo;
+he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;I am staying at the Comercio, the only hotel,
+as I understand, in Toledo.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, he will doubtless descend there.&nbsp; Do you know Frederick
+Conyngham, se&ntilde;or?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But everyone knows him!&rsquo; exclaimed the lady vivaciously.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Tell me how it is.&nbsp; A most pleasant young man, I allow you
+- but without introductions and quite unconnected.&nbsp; Yet he has
+friends everywhere.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She paused and, closing her fan, leant forward in an attitude of
+intense confidence and secrecy.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And how about his little affair?&rsquo; she whispered.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;His little affair, Madame?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;De coeur,&rsquo; explained the lady, tapping her own breast
+with an eloquent fan.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Estella,&rsquo; she whispered after a pause.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; said Sir John, as if he knew too much about it
+to give an opinion.&nbsp; And he took his leave.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That is the sort of woman to break one&rsquo;s heart in the
+witness box,&rsquo; he said as he passed out into the deserted street,
+and Se&ntilde;ora Barenna, in the great room with the armour, reflected
+complacently that the English lord had been visibly impressed.</p>
+<p>General Vincente and Estella arrived at the hotel in the evening,
+but did not of course appear in the public rooms.&nbsp; The dusty old
+travelling carriage was placed in a quiet corner of the courtyard of
+the hotel, and the General appeared on this, as on all occasions, to
+court retirement and oblivion.&nbsp; Unlike many of his brothers-in-arms,
+he had no desire to catch the public eye.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There is doubtless something astir,&rsquo; said the waiter,
+who, in the intervals of a casual attendance on Sir John, spoke of these
+things, cigarette in mouth.&nbsp; &lsquo;There is doubtless something
+astir, since General Vincente is on the road.&nbsp; They call him the
+Stormy Petrel, for when he appears abroad there usually follows a disturbance.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John sent his servant to the General&rsquo;s apartment about
+eight o&rsquo;clock in the evening asking permission to present himself.&nbsp;
+In reply, the General himself came to Sir John&rsquo;s room.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My dear sir,&rsquo; he cried, taking both the Englishman&rsquo;s
+hands in an affectionate grasp, &lsquo;to think that you were in the
+hotel and that we did not dine together.&nbsp; Come, yes, come to our
+poor apartment, where Estella awaits the pleasure of renewing your acquaintance.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then the se&ntilde;orita,&rsquo; said Sir John, following
+his companion along the dimly-lighted passage, &lsquo;has her father&rsquo;s
+pleasant faculty of forgetting any little <i>contretemps</i> of the
+past?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ask her,&rsquo; exclaimed the General in his cheery way.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Ask her.&rsquo;&nbsp; And he threw open the door of the dingy
+salon they occupied.</p>
+<p>Estella was standing with her back to the window, and her attitude
+suggested that she had not sat down since she had heard of Sir John&rsquo;s
+presence in the hotel.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Se&ntilde;orita,&rsquo; said the Englishman, with that perfect
+knowledge of the world which usually has its firmest basis upon indifference
+to criticism, &lsquo;se&ntilde;orita, I have come to avow a mistake
+and to make my excuses.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is surely unnecessary,&rsquo; said Estella, rather coldly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Say rather,&rsquo; broke in the General in his smoothest way,
+&lsquo;that you have come to take a cup of coffee with us and to tell
+us your news.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John took the chair which the General brought forward.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;At all events,&rsquo; he said, still addressing Estella, &lsquo;it
+is probably a matter of indifference to you, as it is merely an opinion
+expressed by myself which I wish to retract.&nbsp; When I first had
+the pleasure of meeting you, I took it upon myself to speak of a guest
+in your father&rsquo;s house, fortunately in the presence of that guest
+himself, and I now wish to tell you that what I said does not apply
+to Frederick Conyngham himself, but to another whom Conyngham is screening.&nbsp;
+He has not confessed so much to me, but I have satisfied myself that
+he is not the man I seek.&nbsp; You, General, who know more of the world
+than the se&ntilde;orita, and have been in it almost as long as I have,
+can bear me out in the statement that the motives of men are not so
+easy to discern as younger folks imagine.&nbsp; I do not know what induced
+Conyngham to undertake this thing; probably he entered into it in a
+spirit of impetuous and reckless generosity, which would only be in
+keeping with his character.&nbsp; I only know that he has carried it
+out with a thoroughness and daring worthy of all praise.&nbsp; If such
+a tie were possible between an old man and a young, I should like to
+be able to claim Mr. Conyngham as a friend.&nbsp; There, se&ntilde;orita
+- thank you, I will take coffee.&nbsp; I made the accusation in your
+presence.&nbsp; I retract it before you.&nbsp; It is, as you see, a
+small matter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But it is of small matters that life is made up,&rsquo; put
+in the General in his deferential way.&nbsp; &lsquo;Our friend,&rsquo;
+he went on after a pause, &lsquo;is unfortunate in misrepresenting himself.&nbsp;
+We also have a little grudge against him - a little matter of a letter
+which has not been explained.&nbsp; I admit that I should like to see
+that letter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And where is it?&rsquo; asked Sir John.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; replied Vincente, with a shrug of the shoulders
+and a gay little laugh, &lsquo;who can tell?&nbsp; Perhaps in Toledo,
+my dear sir - perhaps in Toledo.&rsquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXIII.&nbsp; LARRALDE&rsquo;S PRICE.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p><i>&lsquo;It is as difficult to be entirely bad as it is to be entirely
+good.&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>To those who say that there is no Faith, Spain is in itself a palpable
+answer.&nbsp; No country in the world can show such cathedrals as those
+of Granada, Cordova, Seville, Toledo, Burgos.&nbsp; In any other land
+any one of these great structures would suffice.&nbsp; But in Spain
+these huge monuments to that Faith which has held serenely through war
+and fashion, through thought and thoughtlessness, are to be found in
+all the great cities.&nbsp; And the queen of them all is Toledo.</p>
+<p>Father Concha, that sour-visaged philosopher, had a queer pride in
+his profession and in the history of that Church which is to-day seen
+in its purest form in the Peninsula, while it is so entangled with the
+national story of Spain that the two are but one tale told from a different
+point of view.&nbsp; As a private soldier may take pleasure in standing
+on a great battlefield noting each spot of interest - here a valley
+of death, there the scene of a cavalry charge of which the thunder will
+echo down through all the ages - so Concha, a mere country priest, liked
+to pace the aisles of a great cathedral, indulging the while in a half-cynical
+pride.&nbsp; He was no great general, no leader, of no importance in
+the ranks.&nbsp; But he was of the army, and partook in a minute degree
+in those victories that belonged to the past.&nbsp; It was his habit
+thus to pay a visit to Toledo Cathedral whensoever his journeys led
+him to Castile.&nbsp; It was, moreover, his simple custom to attend
+the early mass which is here historical; and, indeed, to walk through
+the church, grey and cool, with the hush that seems to belong only to
+buildings of stupendous age, is in itself a religious service.</p>
+<p>Concha was passing across the nave, hat in hand, a gaunt, ill-clad,
+and somewhat pathetic figure, when he caught sight of Sir John Pleydell.&nbsp;
+The Englishman paused involuntarily and looked at the Spaniard.&nbsp;
+Concha bowed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We met,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;for a moment in the garden
+of General Vincente&rsquo;s house at Ronda.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;True,&rsquo; answered Sir John.&nbsp; &lsquo;Are you leaving
+the Cathedral?&nbsp; We might walk a little way together.&nbsp; One
+cannot talk idly - here.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused and looked up at the great oak screen - at the towering
+masonry.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; answered Concha gravely.&nbsp; &lsquo;One cannot
+talk idly here.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concha held back the great leathern <i>porti&egrave;re</i>, and the
+Englishman passed out.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;This is a queer country, and you are a queer people,&rsquo;
+he said presently.&nbsp; &lsquo;When I was at Ronda I met a certain
+number of persons - I can count them on my fingers.&nbsp; General Vincente,
+his daughter, Se&ntilde;ora Barenna, Se&ntilde;orita Barenna, the Englishman
+Conyngham, yourself, Se&ntilde;or Concha.&nbsp; I arrived in Toledo
+yesterday morning; in twenty-four hours I have caught sight of all the
+persons mentioned, here in Toledo.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And here, in Toledo, is another of whom you have not caught
+sight,&rsquo; said Concha.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes; Se&ntilde;or Larralde.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is he here?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said Concha.</p>
+<p>They walked on in silence for some minutes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What are we all doing here, Padre?&rsquo; inquired Sir John,
+with his cold laugh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What are you doing here, se&ntilde;or?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John did not answer at once.&nbsp; They were walking leisurely.&nbsp;
+The streets were deserted, as indeed the streets of Toledo usually are.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am putting two and two together,&rsquo; the great lawyer
+answered at length.&nbsp; &lsquo;I began doing so in idleness, and now
+I have become interested.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&nbsp; I have become interested.&nbsp; They say, Padre,
+that a pebble set in motion at the summit of a mountain may gather other
+pebbles and increase in bulk and speed until, in the form of an avalanche,
+it overwhelms a city in the valley.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, se&ntilde;or.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And I have conceived the strange fancy that Frederick Conyngham,
+when he first came to this country, set such a pebble in motion at the
+summit of a very high mountain.&nbsp; It has been falling and falling
+silently ever since, and it is gaining in bulk.&nbsp; And you, and General
+Vincente, and Estella Vincente, and Se&ntilde;orita Barenna, and Frederick
+Conyngham, and in a minor degree myself, are on the slope in the track
+of the avalanche, and are sliding down behind it.&nbsp; And the General
+and Estella, and yourself and Conyngham, are trying to overtake it and
+stop it.&nbsp; And, reverendo, in the valley below is the monarchy of
+Spain - the Bourbon cause.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Father Concha, remembering his favourite maxim that no flies enter
+a shut mouth, was silent.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The pebble was a letter,&rsquo; said Sir John.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And Larralde has it,&rsquo; he added after a pause.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;And that is why you are all in Toledo - why the air is thick
+with apprehension, and why all Spain seems to pause and wait breathlessly.&nbsp;
+Will the avalanche be stopped, or will it not?&nbsp; Will the Bourbons
+- than whom history has known no more interesting and more unsatisfactory
+race, except our own Stuarts - will the Bourbons fall, Se&ntilde;or
+Padre?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; said Concha, whose furrowed face and pessimistic
+glance betrayed nothing.&nbsp; &lsquo;Ah!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You will not tell me, of course.&nbsp; You know much that
+you will not tell me, and I merely ask you from curiosity.&nbsp; You
+perhaps know one thing, and that I wish to learn from you - not out
+of curiosity, but because I, too, would fain overtake the avalanche
+and stop it.&nbsp; I am no politician, se&ntilde;or, though of course
+I have my views.&nbsp; When a man has reached my age, he knows assuredly
+that politics merely mean self-aggrandisement, and nothing else.&nbsp;
+No - the Bourbons may fall; Spain may follow the lead of France and
+make an exhibition of herself before the world as a Republic.&nbsp;
+I am indifferent to these events.&nbsp; But I wish to do Frederick Conyngham
+a good turn, and I ask you to tell me where I shall find Larralde -
+you who know everything, Se&ntilde;or Padre.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concha reflected while they walked along on the shady side of the
+narrow street.&nbsp; It happened to be the street where the saddlers
+live, and the sharp sound of their little hammers on leather and wood
+came from almost every darkened doorway.&nbsp; The Padre had a wholesome
+fear of Esteban Larralde, and an exaggerated estimation of that schemer&rsquo;s
+ability.&nbsp; He was a humble-minded old man, and ever hesitated to
+pit his own brain against that of another.&nbsp; He knew that Sir John
+was a cleverer man than Larralde, deeper versed in that side of human
+nature where the seams are and the knots and the unsightly stitches;
+older, more experienced, and probably no more scrupulous.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the priest, &lsquo;I can tell you that.&nbsp;
+Larralde lodges in the house of a malcontent, one Lamberto, a scribbling
+journalist, who is hurt because the world takes him at its own valuation
+and not at his.&nbsp; The house is next to the little synagogue in the
+Calle de Madrid, a small stationer&rsquo;s shop, where one may buy the
+curse of this generation - pens and paper.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thank you,&rsquo; said Sir John, civilly and simply.&nbsp;
+This man has no doubt been ill-painted, but some may have seen that
+with different companions he wore a different manner.&nbsp; He was,
+as all successful men are, an unconscious actor, and in entering into
+the personality of the companion of the moment he completely sank his
+own.&nbsp; He never sought to be all things to all men, and yet he came
+near to the accomplishment of that hard task.&nbsp; Sir John was not
+a sympathetic man; he merely mistook life for a court of justice, and
+arraigned all human nature in the witness-box, with the inward conviction
+that this should by rights be exchanged for the felon&rsquo;s dock.</p>
+<p>With Concha he was as simple, as direct, and as unsophisticated as
+the old priest himself, and now took his leave without attempting to
+disguise the fact that he had accomplished a foreset purpose.</p>
+<p>Without difficulty he found the small stationer&rsquo;s shop next
+to the synagogue in the Calle de Madrid, and bade the stationer - a
+spectacled individual with upright hair and the air of seeking something
+in the world which is not usually behind a counter - take his card to
+Se&ntilde;or Larralde.&nbsp; At first the stationer pretended ignorance
+of the name, but on discovering that Sir John had not sufficient Spanish
+to conduct a conversation of intrigue, disappeared into a back room,
+whence emanated a villanous smell of cooking.</p>
+<p>While Sir John waited in the little shop, Father Concha walked to
+the Plazuela de l&rsquo;Iglesia Vieja, which small square, overhanging
+the Tagus and within reach of its murmuring voice, is deserted except
+at midday, when the boys play at bull-fighting and a few workmen engage
+in a grave game of bowls.&nbsp; Concha sat, book in hand, opened honestly
+at the office of the day and hour, and read no word.&nbsp; Instead,
+he stared across the gorge at the brown bank of land which commands
+the city and renders it useless as a fortress in the days of modern
+artillery.&nbsp; He sat and stared grimly, and thought perhaps of those
+secret springs within the human heart that make one man successful and
+unhappy, while another, possessing brains and ability and energy, fails
+in life, yet is perhaps the happier of the two.&nbsp; For it had happened
+to Father Concha, as it may happen to writer and reader at any moment,
+to meet one who in individuality bears a resemblance to that self which
+we never know and yet are ever conscious of.</p>
+<p>Sir John Pleydell, a few hundred yards away, obeyed the shopman&rsquo;s
+invitation to step upstairs with something approaching alacrity.</p>
+<p>Larralde was seated at a table strewn with newspapers and soiled
+by cigarette ash.&nbsp; He had the unkempt and pallid look of one who
+has not seen the sun or breathed fresh air for days.&nbsp; For, as Concep&ccedil;ion
+had said, this was a conspirator who preferred to lurk in friendly shelter
+while others played the bolder game at the front.&nbsp; Larralde had,
+in fact, not stirred abroad for nearly a week.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, se&ntilde;or,&rsquo; he said, with a false air of bravado.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;How fares it with your little undertaking?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That,&rsquo; replied Sir John, &lsquo;is past - and paid for.&nbsp;
+And I have another matter for your consideration.&nbsp; Conyngham is
+not, after all, the man I seek.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir John&rsquo;s manner had changed.&nbsp; He spoke as one having
+authority.&nbsp; And Larralde shrugged his shoulders, remembering a
+past payment.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; he said, rolling a cigarette with a fine air of
+indifference.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;On the one hand,&rsquo; continued Sir John judicially, &lsquo;I
+come to make you an offer which can only be beneficial to you; on the
+other hand, Se&ntilde;or Larralde, I know enough to make things particularly
+unpleasant for you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Larralde raised his eyebrows and sought the matchbox.&nbsp; His thoughts
+seemed to amuse him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have reason to assume that a certain letter is now in your
+possession again.&nbsp; I do not know the contents of this letter, and
+I cannot say that I am at all interested in it.&nbsp; But a friend of
+mine is particularly anxious to have possession of it for a short space
+of time.&nbsp; I have, unasked, taken upon myself the office of intermediary.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Larralde&rsquo;s eyes flashed through the smoke.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are about to offer me money; be careful, se&ntilde;or,&rsquo;
+he said hotly, and Sir John smiled.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Be careful, that it is enough,&rsquo; he suggested.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Keep your grand airs for your fellows, Se&ntilde;or Larralde.&nbsp;
+Yes, I am about to offer you two hundred pounds - say three thousand
+pesetas - for the loan of that letter for a few hours only.&nbsp; I
+will guarantee that it is read by one person only, and that a lady.&nbsp;
+This lady will probably glance at the first lines, merely to satisfy
+herself as to the nature of its contents.&nbsp; Three thousand pesetas
+will enable you to escape to Cuba if your schemes fail.&nbsp; If you
+succeed, three thousand pesetas will always be of use, even to a member
+of a Republican Government.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Larralde reflected.&nbsp; He had lately realised the fact that the
+Carlist cause was doomed.&nbsp; There is a time in the schemes of men,
+and it usually comes just before the crisis, when the stoutest heart
+hesitates and the most reckless conspirator thinks of his retreat.&nbsp;
+Esteban Larralde had begun to think of Cuba during the last few days,
+and the mention of that haven for Spanish failures almost unnerved him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In a week,&rsquo; suggested Sir John again, &lsquo;it may
+be - well - settled one way or the other.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Larralde glanced at him sharply.&nbsp; This Englishman was either
+well-informed or very cunning.&nbsp; He seemed to have read the thought
+in Larralde&rsquo;s mind.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No doubt,&rsquo; went on the Englishman, &lsquo;you have divined
+for whom I want the letter and who will read it.&nbsp; We have both
+mistaken our man.&nbsp; We both owe Conyngham a good turn - I, in reparation,
+you, in gratitude; for he undoubtedly saved the Se&ntilde;orita Barenna
+from imprisonment for life.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Larralde shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Each man,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;must fight for himself.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And the majority of us for a woman as well,&rsquo; amended
+Sir John.&nbsp; &lsquo;At least, in Spain, chivalry is not dead.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Larralde laughed.&nbsp; He was vain, and Sir John knew it.&nbsp;
+He had a keen sight for the breach in his opponent&rsquo;s armour.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have put your case well,&rsquo; said the Spaniard patronisingly,
+&lsquo;and I do not see why, at the end of a week, I should not agree
+to your proposal.&nbsp; It is, as you say, for the sake of a woman.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Precisely.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Larralde leant back in his chair, remembering the legendary gallantry
+of his race, and wearing an appropriate expression.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For a woman,&rsquo; he repeated with an eloquent gesture.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Precisely.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then I will do it, se&ntilde;or.&nbsp; I will do it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For two hundred pounds?&rsquo; inquired Sir John coldly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As you will,&rsquo; answered the Spaniard, with a noble indifference
+to such sordid matters.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXIV.&nbsp; PRIESTCRAFT.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p><i>&lsquo;No man I fear can effect great benefits for his country
+without some sacrifice of the minor virtues.&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>The Se&ntilde;ora Barenna was a leading social light in Toledo, insomuch
+as she never refused an invitation.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One has one&rsquo;s duties towards society,&rsquo; she would
+say with a sigh.&nbsp; &lsquo;Though the saints know that I take no
+pleasure in these affairs.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Then she put on her best Seville mantilla and bustled off to some
+function or another, where she talked volubly and without discretion.</p>
+<p>Julia had of late withdrawn more and more from that life of continued
+and mild festivity of which it is to be feared the existence of many
+women is composed.&nbsp; This afternoon she sat alone in the great gloomy
+house in Toledo, waiting for Larralde.&nbsp; For she, like thousands
+of her sisters, loved an unworthy object - <i>faute de mieux</i> - with
+open eyes and a queer philosophy that bade her love Larralde rather
+than love none.&nbsp; She had lately spent a large part of her existence
+in waiting for Larralde, who, indeed, was busy enough at this time,
+and rarely stirred abroad while the sun was up.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Julia,&rsquo; said Se&ntilde;ora Barenna to Concha, &lsquo;is
+no longer a companion to me.&nbsp; She does not even attempt to understand
+my sensitive organisation.&nbsp; She is a mere statue, and thinks of
+nothing but politics.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For her, Madame, as for all women, there would be no politics
+if there were no politicians,&rsquo; the priest replied.</p>
+<p>This afternoon Julia was more restless than ever.&nbsp; Larralde
+had not been to see her for many days, and had only written a hurried
+note from time to time in answer to her urgent request, telling her
+that he was well and in no danger.</p>
+<p>She now no longer knew whether he was in Toledo or not, but had sufficient
+knowledge of the schemes in which he was engaged to be aware of the
+fact that these were coming to a crisis.&nbsp; Esteban Larralde had
+indeed told her more than was either necessary or discreet, and it was
+his vanity that led him into this imprudence.&nbsp; We are all ready
+enough to impart information which will show our neighbours that we
+are more important than we appear.</p>
+<p>After a broiling day the sun was now beginning to lose a little of
+his terrific power, and, in the shade of the patio upon which the windows
+of Julia&rsquo;s room opened, the air was quite cool and pleasant.&nbsp;
+A fountain plashed continuously in a little basin that had been white
+six centuries ago, when the Moors had brought the marble across the
+Gulf of Lyons to build it.&nbsp; The very sound of the water was a relief
+to overstrained nerves, and seemed to diminish the tension of the shimmering
+atmosphere.</p>
+<p>Julia was alone, and barely made pretence to read the book she held
+in her hand.&nbsp; From her seat she could see the bell suspended on
+the opposite wall of the courtyard, of which the deep voice at any time
+of day or night had the power of stirring her heart to a sudden joy.&nbsp;
+At last the desired sound broke the silence of the great house, and
+Julia stood breathless at the window while the servant leisurely crossed
+the patio and threw open the great door, large enough to admit a carriage
+and pair.&nbsp; It was not Larralde, but Father Concha, brought hither
+by a note he had received from Sir John Pleydell earlier in the afternoon.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I shall have the letter in a week from now,&rsquo; the Englishman
+had written.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Which will be too late,&rsquo; commented Concha pessimistically.</p>
+<p>The se&ntilde;ora was out, they told him, but the se&ntilde;orita
+had remained at home.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is the se&ntilde;orita I desire to see.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And Julia, at the window above, heard the remark with a sinking heart.&nbsp;
+The air seemed to be weighted with the suggestion of calamity.&nbsp;
+Concha had the manner of one bringing bad news.&nbsp; She forgot that
+this was his usual mien.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, my child,&rsquo; he said, coming into the room a minute
+later and sitting down rather wearily.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What?&rsquo; she asked, her two hands at her breast.</p>
+<p>He glanced at her beneath his brows.&nbsp; The wind was in the north-east,
+dry and tingling.&nbsp; The sun had worn a coppery hue all day.&nbsp;
+Such matters affect women and those who are in mental distress.&nbsp;
+After such a day as had at last worn to evening, the mind is at a great
+tension, the nerves are strained.&nbsp; It is at such times that men
+fly into sudden anger and whip out the knife.&nbsp; At such times women
+are reckless, and the stories of human lives take sudden turns.</p>
+<p>Concha knew that he had this woman at a disadvantage.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What?&rsquo; he echoed.&nbsp; &lsquo;I wish I knew.&nbsp;
+I wish at times I was no priest.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Because I could help you better.&nbsp; Sometimes it is the
+man and not the priest who is the truest friend.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why do you speak like this?&rsquo; she cried.&nbsp; &lsquo;Is
+there danger?&nbsp; What has happened?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You know best, my child, if there is danger; you know what
+is likely to happen.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Julia stood looking at him with hard eyes - the eyes of one in mortal
+fear.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have always been my friend,&rsquo; she said slowly, &lsquo;my
+best friend.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&nbsp; A woman&rsquo;s lover is never her best friend.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Has anything happened to Esteban?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The priest did not answer at once, but paused, reflecting, and dusting
+his sleeve, where there was always some snuff requiring attention at
+such moments.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know so little,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;I am no politician.&nbsp;
+What can I say?&nbsp; What can I advise you when I am in the dark?&nbsp;
+And the time is slipping by - slipping by.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I cannot tell you,&rsquo; she answered, turning away and looking
+out of the window.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You cannot tell the priest - tell the man.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Then, suddenly, she reached the end of her endurance.&nbsp; Standing
+with her back towards him, she told her story, and Concha listened with
+a still, breathless avidity as one who, having long sought knowledge,
+finds it at last when it seemed out of reach.&nbsp; The little fountain
+plashed in the courtyard below; a frog in the basin among the water-lilies
+croaked sociably while the priest and the beautiful woman in the room
+above made history.&nbsp; For it is not only in kings&rsquo; palaces
+nor yet in Parliaments that the story of the world is shaped.</p>
+<p>Concha spoke no word, and Julia, having begun, left nothing unsaid,
+but told him every detail in a slow mechanical voice, as if bidden thereto
+by a stronger will than her own.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He is all the world to me,&rsquo; she said simply, in conclusion.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes; and the happiest women are those who live in a small
+world.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>A silence fell upon them.&nbsp; The old priest surreptitiously looked
+at his watch.&nbsp; He was essentially a man of action.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My child,&rsquo; he said, rising, &lsquo;when you are an old
+woman with children to harass you and make your life worth living, you
+will probably look back with thankfulness to this moment.&nbsp; For
+you have done that which was your only chance of happiness.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why do you always help me?&rsquo; she asked, as she had asked
+a hundred times.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Because happiness is so rare that I hate to see it wasted,&rsquo;
+he answered, going towards the door with a grim laugh.</p>
+<p>He passed out of the room and crossed the patio slowly.&nbsp; Then,
+when the great door had closed behind him, he gathered up the skirts
+of his cassock and hurried down the narrow street.&nbsp; In such thoroughfares
+as were deserted he ran with the speed and endurance of a spare, hard-living
+man.&nbsp; Woman-like, Julia had, after all, done things by half.&nbsp;
+She had timed her confession too late.</p>
+<p>At the hotel they told the Padre that General Vincente was at dinner
+and could not be disturbed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He sees no one,&rsquo; the servant said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You do not know who I am,&rsquo; said Concha, in an irony
+which, under the circumstances, he alone could enjoy.&nbsp; Then he
+passed up the stairs and bade the waiter begone.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But I carry the General&rsquo;s dessert,&rsquo; protested
+the man.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said Concha half to himself, &lsquo;I have that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Vincente was indeed at table with Estella.&nbsp; He looked up as
+the priest entered, fingering a cigarette delicately.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How soon can you take the road?&rsquo; asked Concha abruptly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ten minutes - the time for a cup of coffee,&rsquo; was the
+answer, given with a pleasant laugh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then order your carriage.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Vincente looked at his old friend, and the smile never left his lips,
+though his eyes were grave enough.&nbsp; It was hard to say whether
+aught on earth could disturb this man&rsquo;s equanimity.&nbsp; Then
+the General rose and went to the window which opened upon the courtyard.&nbsp;
+In the quiet corner near the rain-tank, where a vine grows upon trellis-work,
+the dusty travelling-carriage stood, and upon the step of it, eating
+a simple meal of bread and dried figs, sat the man who had the reputation
+of being the fastest driver in Spain.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In ten minutes, my good Manuel,&rsquo; said the General.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Bueno,&rsquo; grumbled the driver, with his mouth full - a
+man of few words.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is it to go far?&rsquo; asked the General, turning on his
+heel and addressing Concha.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A long journey.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To take the road, Manuel,&rsquo; cried Vincente, leaning out.&nbsp;
+He closed the window before resuming his seat.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And now, have you any more orders?&rsquo; he asked with a
+gay carelessness.&nbsp; &lsquo;I counted on sleeping in a bed to-night.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You will not do that,&rsquo; replied Concha, &lsquo;when you
+hear my news.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But first you must promise me not to make use of the information
+I give you against any suspected persons - to take, in fact, only preventive
+measures.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have only to name it, my friend.&nbsp; Proceed.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The old priest paused and passed his hand across his brow.&nbsp;
+He was breathless still, and looked worn.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;a very grave matter.&nbsp; I
+have not had much experience in such things, for my path has always
+lain in small parochial affairs - dealings with children and women.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella was already pouring some wine into a glass.&nbsp; With a
+woman&rsquo;s instinct she saw that the old man was overwrought and
+faint.&nbsp; It was a Friday, and in his simple way there was no more
+austere abstinent than Father Concha, who had probably touched little
+food throughout the long hot day.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Take your time, my friend; take your time,&rsquo; said the
+General, who never hurried and was never too late.&nbsp; &lsquo;A pinch
+of snuff now - it stimulates the nerves.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is,&rsquo; said Concha at length - breaking a biscuit in
+his long bony fingers and speaking unembarrassedly with his mouth full
+- &rsquo;it is that I have by the merest accident lighted upon a matter
+of political importance.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General nodded, and held his wine up to the light.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There are matters of much political importance,&rsquo; he
+said, &lsquo;in the air just now.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A plot,&rsquo; continued Concha, &lsquo;spreading over all
+Spain; the devil is surely in it, and I know the Carlists are.&nbsp;
+A plot, believe me, to assassinate and rob and kidnap.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the General with his tolerant little smile.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Yes, my dear Padre.&nbsp; Some men are so bloodthirsty; is it
+not so?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;This plot is directed against the little Queen; against the
+Queen Regent; against many who are notable Royalists occupying high
+posts in the Government or the army.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He glanced at Estella, and then looked meaningly at the General,
+who could scarcely fail to comprehend.&nbsp; &lsquo;Let us deal with
+the Queen and the Queen Regent,&rsquo; said Vincente; &lsquo;the others
+are probably able to take care of themselves.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;None can guard himself against assassination.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General seemed for a moment inclined to dispute this statement,
+but shrugged his shoulders and finally passed it by.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Queen,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;What of her?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>In response, Concha took a newspaper from his pocket and spread it
+out on the table.&nbsp; After a brief search up and down the ill-printed
+columns, he found the desired paragraph, and read aloud:</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Queen is in Madrid.&nbsp; The Queen Regent journeys from
+Seville to rejoin her daughter in the capital, prosecuting her journey
+by easy stages and accompanied by a small guard.&nbsp; Her Majesty sleeps
+at Ciudad Real to-night, and at Toledo to-morrow night.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;This,&rsquo; said Concha, folding the newspaper, &lsquo;is
+a Carlist and revolutionary rag whose readers are scarcely likely to
+be interested for a good motive in the movements of the Queen Regent.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;True, my dear Padre - true,&rsquo; admitted Vincente, half
+reluctantly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Many kiss hands they would fain see chopped off.&nbsp; In
+the streets and on the Plaza I have seen many reading this newspaper
+and talking over it with unusual interest.&nbsp; Like a bad lawyer,
+I am giving the confirmation of the argument before the argument itself.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No matter - no matter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah! but we have no time to do things ill or carelessly,&rsquo;
+said the priest.&nbsp; &lsquo;My story is a long one, but I will tell
+it as quickly as I can.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Take your time,&rsquo; urged the General soothingly.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;This great plot, you say, which is to spread over all Spain -
+&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is for to-morrow night, my friend.&rsquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXV.&nbsp; SWORDCRAFT.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p><i>&lsquo;Rien n&rsquo;est plus courageux qu&rsquo;un coeur patient,
+rien n&rsquo;est plus s&ucirc;r de soi qu&rsquo;un &eacute;sprit doux.&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>The General set down his glass, and a queer light came into his eyes,
+usually so smiling and pleasant.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&nbsp; Then you are right, my friend.&nbsp; Tell us your
+story as quickly as possible.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It appears,&rsquo; said Concha, &lsquo;that there has been
+in progress for many months a plot to assassinate the Queen Regent and
+to seize the person of the little Queen, expelling her from Spain, and
+bringing in, not Don Carlos, who is a spent firework, but a Republic
+- a more dangerous firework, that usually bursts in the hands of those
+that light it.&nbsp; This plot has been finally put into shape by a
+letter - &rsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused, tapped on the table with his bony fingers, and glanced
+at Estella.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A letter which has been going the round of all the malcontents
+in the Peninsula.&nbsp; Each faction-leader, to show that he has read
+it and agrees to obey its commands, initials the letter.&nbsp; It has
+then been returned to an intermediary, who sends it to the next - never
+by post, because the post is watched - always by hand, and usually by
+the hand of a person innocent of its contents.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; murmured the General absently, and there was a
+queer little smile on Estella&rsquo;s lips.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To think,&rsquo; cried Concha, with a sudden fire less surprising
+in Spain than in England, &lsquo;to think that we have all seen it -
+have touched it!&nbsp; Name of a saint!&nbsp; I had it under my hand
+in the hotel at Algeciras, and I left it on the table.&nbsp; And now
+it has been the round, and all the initials are placed upon it, and
+it is for to-morrow night.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Where have you learnt this?&rsquo; asked the General in a
+voice that made Estella look at him.&nbsp; She had never seen him as
+his enemies had seen him, and even they confessed that he was always
+visible enough in action.&nbsp; Perhaps there was another man behind
+the personality of this deprecating, pleasant-spoken little sybarite
+- a man who only appeared (oh <i>rara avis</i>!) when he was wanted.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No matter,&rsquo; replied Concha, in a voice as hard and sharp.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No; after all, it is of no matter, so long as your information
+is reliable.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You may stake your life on that,&rsquo; said Concha, and remembered
+the words ever after.&nbsp; &lsquo;It has been decided to make this
+journey from Seville to Madrid the opportunity of assassinating the
+Queen Regent.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It will not be the first time they have tried,&rsquo; put
+in the General.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No.&nbsp; But this time they will succeed, and it is to be
+here - to-morrow night - in Toledo.&nbsp; After the Queen Regent&rsquo;s
+death, and in the confusion that will supervene, the little Queen will
+disappear, and then upon the rubbish-heap will spring up the mushrooms
+as they did in France; and this rubbish-heap, like the other, will foul
+the whole air of Europe.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He shook his head pessimistically till the long, wispy grey hair
+waved from side to side, and his left hand, resting on the wrist-bone
+on the table, made an indescribable gesture that showed a f&oelig;tid
+air tainted by darksome growths.</p>
+<p>There was a silence in the room broken by no outside sound but the
+chink of champed bits as the horses stood in their traces below.&nbsp;
+Indeed, the city of Toledo seemed strangely still this evening, and
+the very air had a sense of waiting in it.&nbsp; The priest sat and
+looked at his lifelong friend, his furrowed face the incarnation of
+cynical hopelessness.&nbsp; &lsquo;What is, is worst,&rsquo; he seemed
+to say.&nbsp; His yellow, wise old eyes watched the quick face with
+the air of one who, having posed an insoluble problem, awaits with a
+sarcastic humour the admission of failure.</p>
+<p>General Vincente, who had just finished his wine, wiped his moustache
+delicately with his table-napkin.&nbsp; He was thinking - quickly, systematically,
+as men learn to think under fire.&nbsp; Perhaps, indeed, he had the
+thoughts half matured in his mind - as the greatest general the world
+has seen confessed that he ever had - that he was never taken quite
+by surprise.&nbsp; Vincente smiled as he thought: a habit he had acquired
+on the field, where a staff, and perhaps a whole army, took its cue
+from his face and read the turn of fortune there.&nbsp; Then he looked
+up straight at Estella, who was watching him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Can you start on a journey, now - in five minutes?&rsquo;
+he asked.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; she answered, rising and going towards the door.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Have you a white mantilla among your travelling things?&rsquo;
+he asked again.</p>
+<p>Estella turned at the doorway and nodded.&nbsp; &lsquo;Yes,&rsquo;
+she said again.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then take it with you, and a cloak, but no heavy luggage.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella closed the door.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You can come with us?&rsquo; said the General to Concha, half
+command, half interrogation.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If you wish it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You may be wanted.&nbsp; I have a plan - a little plan,&rsquo;
+and he gave a short laugh.&nbsp; &lsquo;It may succeed.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He went to a side table, where some cold meats still stood, and,
+taking up a small chicken daintily with a fork, he folded it in a napkin.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It will be Saturday,&rsquo; he said simply, &lsquo;before
+we have reached our journey&rsquo;s end, and you will be hungry.&nbsp;
+Have you a pocket?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Has a priest a pocket?&rsquo; asked Concha, with a grim humour,
+and he slipped the provisions into the folds of his cassock.&nbsp; He
+was still eating a biscuit hurriedly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I believe you have no money?&rsquo; said the General suddenly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have only enough,&rsquo; admitted the old man, &lsquo;to
+take me back to Ronda; whither, by the way, my duty calls me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I think not.&nbsp; Your Master can spare you for a while;
+my mistress cannot do without you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>At this moment Estella came back into the room ready for her journey.&nbsp;
+The girl had changed of late.&nbsp; Her face had lost a little roundness
+and had gained exceedingly in expression.&nbsp; Her eyes, too, were
+different.&nbsp; That change had come to them which comes to all women
+between the ages of twenty and thirty, quite irrespective of their state.&nbsp;
+A certain restlessness, or a quiet content, are what one usually sees
+in a woman&rsquo;s face.&nbsp; Estella&rsquo;s eyes wore that latter
+look, which seems to indicate a knowledge of the meaning of life and
+a contentment that it should be no different.</p>
+<p>Vincente was writing at the table.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We shall want help,&rsquo; he said, without looking up.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I am sending for a good man.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And he smiled as he shook the small sand-castor over the paper.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;May one ask,&rsquo; said Concha, &lsquo;where we are going?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We are going to Ciudad Real, my dear friend, since you are
+so curious.&nbsp; But we shall come back - we shall come back.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He was writing another despatch as he spoke, and at a sign from him
+Estella went to the door and clapped her hands, the only method of summoning
+a servant in general use at that time in Spain.&nbsp; The call was answered
+by an orderly, who stood at attention in the doorway for a full five
+minutes while the General wrote further orders in his neat, small calligraphy.&nbsp;
+There were half a dozen letters in all - curt military despatches without
+preamble and without mercy.&nbsp; For this soldier conducted military
+matters in a singularly domestic way, planning his campaigns by the
+fireside and bringing about the downfall of an enemy while sitting in
+his daughter&rsquo;s drawing-room.&nbsp; Indeed, Estella&rsquo;s blotting-book
+bore the impress of more than one death warrant or an order as good
+as such, written casually on her stationery and with her pen.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Will you have the goodness to despatch these at once?&rsquo;
+was the message taken by the orderly to the General&rsquo;s aide-de-camp,
+and the gallopers, who were always in readiness, smiled as they heard
+the modest request.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It will be pleasant to travel in the cool of the evening,
+provided that one guards against a chill,&rsquo; said the General, making
+his final preparations.&nbsp; &lsquo;I require but a moment to speak
+to my faithful aide-de-camp, and then we embark.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The moon was rising as the carriage rattled across the Bridge of
+Alcantara, and Larralde, taking the air between Wamba&rsquo;s Gate and
+the little fort that guards the entrance to the city, recognised the
+equipage as it passed him.&nbsp; He saw also the outline of Concha&rsquo;s
+figure in the darkest corner of the carriage, with his back to the horses,
+his head bowed in meditation.&nbsp; Estella he saw and recognised, while
+two mounted attendants clattering in the rear of the carriage testified
+by their presence to the fact that the General had taken the road again.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is well,&rsquo; said Larralde to himself.&nbsp; &lsquo;They
+are all going back to Ronda, and Julia will be rid of their influence.&nbsp;
+Ronda will serve as well as Toledo so far as Vincente is concerned.&nbsp;
+But I will wait to make sure that they are not losing sight of him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>So Se&ntilde;or Larralde, cloaked to the eyebrows, leant gracefully
+against the wall, and, like many another upon the bridge after that
+breathless day, drank in the cool air that rose from the river.&nbsp;
+Presently - indeed, before the sound of the distant wheels was quite
+lost - two horsemen, cloaked and provided with such light luggage as
+the saddle can accommodate, rode leisurely through the gateway and up
+the incline that makes a short cut to the great road running southward
+to Ciudad Real.&nbsp; Larralde gave a little nod of self-confidence
+and satisfaction, as one who, having conceived and built up a great
+scheme, is pleased to see each component part of it act independently,
+and slip into its place.</p>
+<p>The General&rsquo;s first thought was for Estella&rsquo;s comfort,
+and he utilised the long hill which they had to ascend on leaving the
+town to make such arrangements as space would allow for their common
+ease.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You must sleep, my child,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;We
+cannot hope to reach Ciudad Real before midday to-morrow, and it is
+as likely as not that we shall have but a few hours&rsquo; rest there.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And Estella, who had travelled vast distances over vile roads so
+long as her memory went back, who had never known what it is to live
+in a country that is at peace, leant back in her corner and closed her
+eyes.&nbsp; Had she really been disposed to sleep, however, she could
+scarcely have done it, for the General&rsquo;s solicitude manifested
+itself by a hundred little devices for her greater repose.&nbsp; For
+her comfort he made Concha move.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;An old traveller like you must shift for yourself,&rsquo;
+he said gaily.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No need to seek shelter for an old ox,&rsquo; replied Concha,
+moving into the other corner, where he carefully unfolded his pocket-handkerchief
+and laid it over his face, where his long nose, protruding, caused it
+to fall into fantastic folds.&nbsp; He clasped his hands upon his hat,
+which lay on his knee, and, leaning back, presently began to snore gently
+and regularly - a peaceful, sleep-inducing sound, and an excellent example.&nbsp;
+The General, whose sword seemed to take up half the carriage, still
+watched Estella, and if the air made her mantilla flutter, drew up the
+window with the solicitude of a lover and a maternal noiselessness.&nbsp;
+Then, with one hand on hers, and the other grasping his sword, he leant
+back, but did not close his eyes.</p>
+<p>Thus they travelled on through the luminous night.&nbsp; The roads
+were neither worse nor better than they are to-day in Spain - than they
+were in England in the Middle Ages - and their way lay over the hill
+ranges that lie between the watersheds of the Tagus and the Guadiana.&nbsp;
+At times they passed through well-tended valleys, where corn and olives
+and vines seemed to grow on the same soil, but for the greater part
+of the night they ascended and descended the upper slopes, where herds
+of goats, half awakened as they slept in a ring about their guardian,
+looked at them with startled eyes.&nbsp; The shepherds and goatherds,
+who, like those of old, lay cloaked upon the ground, and tended their
+flocks by night, did not trouble to raise their heads.</p>
+<p>Concha alone slept, for the General had a thousand thoughts that
+kept him awake and bright-eyed, while Estella knew from her father&rsquo;s
+manner and restlessness that these were no small events that now stirred
+Spain, and seemed to close men&rsquo;s mouths, so that near friends
+distrusted one another, and brother was divided against brother.&nbsp;
+Indeed, others were on the road that night, and horsemen passed the
+heavy carriage from time to time.</p>
+<p>In the early morning a change of horses was effected at a large inn
+near the summit of a pass above Malagon, and here an orderly, who seemed
+to recognise the General, was climbing into the saddle as the Vincentes
+quitted their carriage and passed into the common room of the venta
+for a hasty cup of coffee.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is the Queen&rsquo;s courier,&rsquo; said the innkeeper
+grandly, &lsquo;who takes the road before her Majesty in order to secure
+horses.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah,&rsquo; said the General, breaking his bread and dropping
+it into his cup.&nbsp; &lsquo;Is that so?&nbsp; The Queen Regent, you
+mean?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Queen or Queen Regent, she requires four horses this evening,
+Excellency - that is all my concern.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;True, my friend; true.&nbsp; That is well said.&nbsp; And
+the horses will be forthcoming, no doubt.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They will be forthcoming,&rsquo; said the man.&nbsp; &lsquo;And
+the Excellency&rsquo;s carriage is ready.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>In the early morning light they drove on, now descending towards
+the great valley of the Guadiana, and at midday, as Vincente had foreseen,
+gained a sight of the ancient city of Ciudad Real lying amid trees below
+them.&nbsp; Ciudad Real is less interesting than its name, and there
+is little that is royal about its dirty streets and ill-kept houses.&nbsp;
+No one gave great heed to the travelling-carriage, for this is a great
+centre where travellers journeying east or west, north or south, must
+needs pause for a change of horses.&nbsp; At the inn there were vacant
+rooms, and that hasty welcome accorded to the traveller at wayside houses
+where none stay longer than they can help.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said the landlord, in answer to the General&rsquo;s
+query.&nbsp; &lsquo;We are not busy, though we expect a lady who will
+pass the hour of the siesta here and then proceed northward.&rsquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXVI.&nbsp; WOMANCRAFT.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p><i>&lsquo;Il est rare que la t&ecirc;te des rois soit faite &agrave;
+la mesure de leur couronne.&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>In the best room of the inn where Vincente and his tired companions
+sought a few hours&rsquo; rest there sat alone, and in thought, a woman
+of middle age.&nbsp; Somewhat stout, she yet had that air which arouses
+the attention without being worthy of the name of beauty.&nbsp; This
+lady had doubtless swayed men&rsquo;s hearts by a word or a glance,
+for she still carried herself with assurance, and a hundred little details
+of her dress would have told another woman that she still desired to
+please.&nbsp; She wore a white mantilla.</p>
+<p>The hour of the siesta was over, and after the great heat of the
+day a cool air was swinging down on the bosom of the river to the parched
+lowlands.&nbsp; It stirred the leaves of a climbing heliotrope which
+encircled the open windows, and wafted into the ill-furnished room a
+scent of stable-yard and dust.</p>
+<p>The lady, sitting with her chin resting in the palm of her small
+white hand, seemed to have lately roused herself from sleep, and now
+had the expectant air of one who awaits a carriage and is about to set
+out on a long journey.&nbsp; Her eyes were dark and tired-looking, and
+their expression was not that of a good woman.&nbsp; A sensual man is
+usually weak, but women are different; and this face, with its faded
+complexion and tired eyes, this woman of the majestic presence and beautiful
+hands, was both strong and sensual.&nbsp; This, in a word, was a Queen
+who never forgot that she was a woman.&nbsp; As it was said of the Princess
+Christina, so it has been spoken of the Queen, that many had killed
+themselves for hopeless love of her.&nbsp; For this was the most dangerous
+of the world&rsquo;s creatures - a royal coquette.&nbsp; Such would
+our own Queen Bess have been had not God, for the good of England, given
+her a plain face and an ungainly form.&nbsp; For surely the devil is
+in it when a woman can command both love and men.&nbsp; Queen Christina,
+since the death of a husband who was years older than herself (and,
+as some say, before that historic event), had played a woman&rsquo;s
+game with that skill which men only half recognise, and had played it
+with the additional incentive that behind her insatiable vanity lay
+the heavier stake of a crown.</p>
+<p>She was not the first to turn the strong current of man&rsquo;s passion
+to her own deliberate gain - nay, ninety-nine out of a hundred women
+do it.&nbsp; But the majority only play for a suburban villa and a few
+hundred pounds a year; Queen Christina of Spain handled her cards for
+a throne and the continuance of an ill-starred dynasty.</p>
+<p>As she sat in the hotel chamber in Ciudad Real - that forlornest
+of royal cities - her face wore the pettish look of one who, having
+passed through great events, having tasted of great passions and moved
+amid the machinery of life and death, finds the ordinary routine of
+existence intolerably irksome.&nbsp; Many faces wear such a look in
+this country; every second beautiful face in London has it.&nbsp; And
+these women - heaven help them - find the morning hours dull, because
+every afternoon has not its great event and every evening the excitement
+of a social function.</p>
+<p>The Queen was travelling incognita, and that fact alone robbed her
+progress of a sense of excitement.&nbsp; She had to do without the shout
+of the multitude - the passing admiration of the man in the street.&nbsp;
+She knew that she was yet many hours removed from Madrid, where she
+had admirers, and the next best possession - enemies.&nbsp; Ciudad Real
+was intolerably dull and provincial.&nbsp; A servant knocked at the
+door.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;General Vincente, your Majesty, craves the favour of a moment.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; exclaimed the Queen, the light returning to her
+eyes, a faint colour flushing her cheek.&nbsp; &lsquo;In five minutes
+I will receive him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And there is no need to say how the Queen spent those minutes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Your Majesty,&rsquo; said the General, bending over her hand,
+which he touched with his lips, &lsquo;I have news of the greatest importance.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The suggestion of a scornful smile flickered for a moment in the
+royal eyes.&nbsp; It was surely news enough for any man that she was
+a woman - beautiful still - possessing still that intangible and fatal
+gift of pleasing.&nbsp; The woman slowly faded from her eyes as they
+rested on the great soldier&rsquo;s face, and the Queen it was who,
+with a gracious gesture, bade him be seated.&nbsp; But the General remained
+standing.&nbsp; He alone perhaps of all the men who had to deal with
+her - of all those military puppets with whom she played her royal game
+- had never crossed that vague boundary which many had overstepped to
+their own inevitable undoing.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It concerns your Majesty&rsquo;s life,&rsquo; said Vincente
+bluntly, and calm in the certainty of his own theory that good blood,
+whether it flow in the veins of man or woman, assuredly carries a high
+courage.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; said the Queen Regent, whose humour still inclined
+towards those affairs which interested her before the affairs of State.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;But with men such as you about me, my dear General, what need
+I fear?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Treachery, Madame,&rsquo; he answered, with his sudden smile
+and a bow.&nbsp; &lsquo;Treachery.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She frowned.&nbsp; When a Queen stoops to dalliance a subject must
+not be too practical.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&nbsp; What is it that concerns my life?&nbsp; Another
+plot?&rsquo; she inquired shortly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Another plot, but one of greater importance than those that
+exist in the republican caf&eacute;s of every town in your Majesty&rsquo;s
+kingdom.&nbsp; This is a widespread conspiracy, and I fear that many
+powerful persons are concerned in it; but that, your Majesty, is not
+my department nor concern.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What is your concern, General?&rsquo; she asked, looking at
+him over her fan.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To save your Majesty&rsquo;s life to-night.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To-night!&rsquo; she echoed, her coquetry gone.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To-night.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But how and where?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Assassination, Madame, in Toledo.&nbsp; You are three hours
+late in your journey.&nbsp; But all Toledo will be astir awaiting you,
+though it be till dawn.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The Queen Regent closed her fan slowly.&nbsp; She was, as the rapid
+events of her reign and regency have proved, one of those women who
+rise to the occasion.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then one must act at once,&rsquo; she said.</p>
+<p>The General bowed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What have you done?&rsquo; she asked.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have sent to Madrid for a regiment that I know; they are
+as my own children.&nbsp; I have killed so many of them that the remainder
+love me.&nbsp; I have travelled from Toledo to meet your Majesty on
+the road, or here.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what means have you of preventing this thing?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have brought the means with me, Madame.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Troops?&rsquo; asked the Queen doubtfully, knowing where the
+canker-worm lay hidden.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A woman and a priest, Madame.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And - &rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And I propose that your Majesty journey to Madrid in my carriage,
+attended only by my orderlies, by way of Aranjuez.&nbsp; You will be
+safe in Madrid, where the Queen will require her mother&rsquo;s care.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&nbsp; And the remainder of your plan?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will travel back to Toledo in your Majesty&rsquo;s carriage
+with the woman and the priest and your bodyguard - just as your Majesty
+is in the habit of travelling.&nbsp; Toledo wants a fight; nothing else
+will satisfy them.&nbsp; They shall have it - before dawn.&nbsp; The
+very best I have to offer them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And General Vincente gave a queer, cheery little laugh, as if he
+were arranging a practical joke.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But the fight will be round my carriage - &rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Possibly.&nbsp; I would rather that it took place in the Calle
+de la Ciudad, or around the Casa del Ayuntamiento, where your Majesty
+is expected to sleep to-night.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And these persons - this woman who risks her life to save
+mine - who is she?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My daughter,&rsquo; answered the General gravely.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;She is here - in the hotel now?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General bowed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have heard that she is beautiful,&rsquo; said the Queen,
+with a quick glance towards her companion.&nbsp; &lsquo;How is it that
+you have never brought her to Court, you who come so seldom yourself?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Vincente made no reply.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;However, bring her to me now.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;She has travelled far, Madame, and is not prepared for presentation
+to her Queen.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;This is no time for formalities.&nbsp; She is about to run
+a great risk for my sake, a greater risk than I could ever ask her to
+run.&nbsp; Present her as one woman to another, General.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>But General Vincente bowed gravely and made no reply.&nbsp; The colour
+slowly rose to the Queen Regent&rsquo;s face - a dull red.&nbsp; She
+opened her fan, closed it again, and sat with furtive downcast eyes.&nbsp;
+Suddenly she looked up and met his gaze.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You refuse,&rsquo; she said, with an insolent air of indifference.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;You think that I am unworthy to - meet your daughter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I think only of the exigency of the moment,&rsquo; was his
+reply.&nbsp; &lsquo;Every minute we lose is a gain to our enemies.&nbsp;
+If our trick is discovered Aranjuez will be no safer for your Majesty
+than is Toledo.&nbsp; You must be safely in Madrid before it is discovered
+in Toledo that you have taken the other route, and that the person they
+have mistaken for you is in reality my daughter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But she may be killed,&rsquo; exclaimed the Queen.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We may all be killed, Madame,&rsquo; he replied lightly.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I beg that you will start at once in my carriage with your chaplain
+and the holy lady who is doubtless travelling with you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The Queen glanced sharply at him.&nbsp; It was known that although
+her own life was anything but exemplary, she loved to associate with
+women who, under the cloak of religion and an austere virtue, intrigued
+with all parties and condoned the Queen&rsquo;s offences.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I cannot understand you,&rsquo; she said, with that sudden
+lapse into familiarity which had led to the undoing of more than one
+ambitious courtier.&nbsp; &lsquo;You seem to worship the crown and despise
+the head it rests on.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So long as I serve your Majesty faithfully - &rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But you have no right to despise me,&rsquo; she interrupted
+passionately.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If I despised you, should I be here now - should I be doing
+you this service?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do not know.&nbsp; I tell you I do not understand you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And the Queen looked hard at the man who, for this very reason, interested
+one who had all her life dealt and intrigued with men of obvious motive
+and unblushing ambition.</p>
+<p>So strong is a ruling passion that even in sight of death (for the
+Queen Regent knew that Spain was full of her enemies and rendered callous
+to bloodshed by a long war) vanity was alert in this woman&rsquo;s breast.&nbsp;
+Even while General Vincente, that unrivalled strategist, detailed his
+plans, she kept harking back to the question that puzzled her, and but
+half listened to his instructions.</p>
+<p>Those desirous of travelling without attracting attention in Spain
+are wise to time their arrival and departure for the afternoon.&nbsp;
+At this time, while the sun is yet hot, all shutters are closed, and
+the business of life, the haggling in the market-place, the bustle of
+the barrack yard, the leisurely labour of the fields, are suspended.&nbsp;
+It was about four o&rsquo;clock - indeed, the city clocks were striking
+that hour - when the two carriages in the inn yard at Ciudad Real were
+made ready for the road.&nbsp; Father Concha, who never took an active
+part in passing incidents while his old friend and comrade was near,
+sat in a shady corner of the patio and smoked a cigarette.&nbsp; An
+affable ostler had in vain endeavoured to engage him in conversation.&nbsp;
+Two small children had begged of him, and now he was left in meditative
+solitude.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In a short three minutes,&rsquo; said the ostler, &lsquo;and
+the Excellencies can then depart.&nbsp; In which direction, reverendo,
+if one may ask?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One may always ask, my friend,&rsquo; replied the priest.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Indeed, the holy books are of opinion that it cannot be overdone.&nbsp;
+That chin strap is too tight.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, I see the reverendo knows a horse.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And an ass,&rsquo; added Concha.</p>
+<p>At this moment the General emerged from the shadow of the staircase,
+which was open and of stone.&nbsp; He was followed by Estella, as it
+would appear, and they hurried across the sunlighted patio, the girl
+carrying her fan to screen her face.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are you rested, my child?&rsquo; asked Concha at the carriage
+door.</p>
+<p>The lady lowered the fan for a moment and met his eyes.&nbsp; A quick
+look of surprise flashed across Concha&rsquo;s face and he half bowed.&nbsp;
+Then he repeated his question in a louder voice:</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are you rested, my child, after our long journey?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thank you, my father, yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And the ostler watched with open-mouthed interest.</p>
+<p>The other carriage had been drawn up to that side of the courtyard
+where the open stairway was, and here also the bustle of departure and
+a hurrying female form, anxious to gain the shade of the vehicle, were
+discernible.&nbsp; It was all done so quickly, with such a military
+completeness of detail, that the carriages had passed through the great
+doorway and the troopers - merely a general&rsquo;s escort - had clattered
+after them before the few onlookers had fully realised that these were
+surely travellers of some note.</p>
+<p>The ostler hurried to the street to watch them go.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They are going to the north,&rsquo; he said to himself, as
+he saw the carriages turn in the direction of the river and the ancient
+Puerta de Toledo.&nbsp; &lsquo;They go to the north - and assuredly
+the General has come to conduct her to Toledo.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Strange to say, although it was the hour of rest, many shutters in
+the narrow street were open, and more than one peeping face was turned
+towards the departing carriages.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXVII.&nbsp; A NIGHT JOURNEY.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p><i>&lsquo;Let me but bear your love, I&rsquo;ll bear your cares.&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>At the cross-roads on the northern side of the river the two carriages
+parted company, the dusty equipage of General Vincente taking the road
+to Aranjuez that leads to the right and mounts steadily through olive
+groves.&nbsp; The other carriage - which, despite its plain and sombre
+colours, still had an air of grandeur and almost of royalty, with its
+great wheels and curved springs - turned to the left and headed for
+Toledo.&nbsp; Behind it clattered a dozen troopers, picked men, with
+huge swinging swords and travel-stained clothes.&nbsp; The dust rose
+in a cloud under the horses&rsquo; feet and hovered in the sullen air.&nbsp;
+There was no breath of wind, and the sun shone through a faint haze
+which seemed only to add to the heat.</p>
+<p>Concha lowered the window and thrust forward his long inquiring nose.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What is it?&rsquo; asked the General.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thunder - I smell it.&nbsp; We shall have a storm to-night.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+He looked out mopping his brow.&nbsp; &lsquo;Name of a saint! how thick
+the air is.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It will be clear before the morning,&rsquo; said Vincente
+the optimist.</p>
+<p>And the carriage rattled on towards the city of strife, where Jew,
+Goth and Roman, Moor and Inquisitor, have all had their day.&nbsp; Estella
+was silent, drooping with fatigue.&nbsp; The General alone seemed unmoved
+and heedless of the heat - a man of steel, as bright and ready as his
+own sword.</p>
+<p>There is no civilised country in the world so bare as Spain, and
+no part of the Peninsula so sparsely populated as the Castiles.&nbsp;
+The road ran for the most part over brown and barren uplands, with here
+and there a valley where wheat and olives and vineyards graced the lower
+slopes.&nbsp; The crying need of all nature was for shade; for the ilex
+is a small-leaved tree giving a thin shadow with no cool depths amid
+the branches.&nbsp; All was brown and barren and parched.&nbsp; The
+earth seemed to lie fainting and awaiting the rain.&nbsp; The horses
+trotted with extended necks and open mouths, their coats wet with sweat.&nbsp;
+The driver - an Andalusian, with a face like a Moorish pirate - kept
+encouraging them with word and rein, jerking and whipping only when
+they seemed likely to fall from sheer fatigue and sun-weariness.&nbsp;
+At last the sun began to set in a glow like that of a great furnace,
+and the reflection lay over the land in ruddy splendour.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; said Concha, looking out, &lsquo;it will be a great
+storm - and it will soon come.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Vast columns of cloud were climbing up from the sunset into a sullen
+sky, thrown up in spreading mares&rsquo; tails by a hundred contrary
+gusts of wind, as if there were explosive matter in the great furnace
+of the west.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nature is always on my side,&rsquo; said Vincente, with his
+chuckling laugh.&nbsp; He sat, watch in hand, noting the passage of
+the kilometres.</p>
+<p>At last the sun went down behind a distant line of hill - the watershed
+of the Tagus - and immediately the air was cool.&nbsp; Without stopping,
+the driver wrapped his cloak round him, and the troopers followed his
+example.&nbsp; A few minutes later a cold breeze sprung up suddenly,
+coming from the north and swirling the dust high in the air.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is well,&rsquo; said Vincente, who assuredly saw good in
+everything; &lsquo;the wind comes first, and therefore the storm will
+be short.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>As he spoke the thunder rolled among the hills.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is almost like guns,&rsquo; he added, with a queer look
+in his eyes suggestive of some memory.</p>
+<p>Then, preceded by a rushing wind, the rain came, turning to hail,
+and stopping suddenly in a breathless pause, only to recommence with
+a renewed and splashing vigour.&nbsp; Concha drew up the windows, and
+the water streamed down them in a continuous ripple.&nbsp; Estella,
+who had been sleeping, roused herself.&nbsp; She looked fresh, and her
+eyes were bright with excitement.&nbsp; She had brought home with her
+from her English school that air of freshness and a dainty vigour which
+makes Englishwomen different from all other women in the world, and
+an English schoolgirl one of the brightest, purest, and sweetest of
+God&rsquo;s creatures.</p>
+<p>Concha looked at her with his grim smile - amused at a youthfulness
+which could enable her to fall asleep at such a time and wake up so
+manifestly refreshed.</p>
+<p>A halt was made at a roadside venta, where the travellers partook
+of a hurried meal.&nbsp; Darkness came on before the horses were sufficiently
+rested, and by the light of an ill-smelling lamp the General had his
+inevitable cup of coffee.&nbsp; The rain had now ceased, but the sky
+remained overcast and the night was a dark one.&nbsp; The travellers
+took their places in the carriage, and again the monotony of the road,
+the steady trot of the horses, the sing-song words of encouragement
+of their driver, monopolised the thoughts of sleepy minds.&nbsp; It
+seemed to Estella that life was all journeys, and that she had been
+on the road for years.&nbsp; The swing of the carriage, the little varieties
+of the road, but served to add to her somnolence.&nbsp; She only half
+woke up when, about ten o&rsquo;clock, a halt was made to change horses,
+and the General quitted the carriage for a few minutes to talk earnestly
+with two horsemen, who were apparently awaiting their arrival.&nbsp;
+No time was lost here, and the carriage went forward with an increased
+escort.&nbsp; The two new-comers rode by the carriage, one on either
+side.</p>
+<p>When Estella woke up, the moon had risen and the carriage was making
+slow progress up a long hill.&nbsp; She noticed that a horseman was
+on either side, close by the carriage window.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who is that?&rsquo; she asked.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Conyngham,&rsquo; replied the General.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You sent for him?&rsquo; inquired Estella, in a hard voice.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella was wakeful enough now, and sat upright, looking straight
+in front of her.&nbsp; At times she glanced towards the window, which
+was now open, where the head of Conyngham&rsquo;s charger appeared.&nbsp;
+The horse trotted steadily, with a queer jerk of the head and that willingness
+to do his best which gains for horses a place in the hearts of all who
+have to do with them.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Will there be fighting?&rsquo; asked Estella suddenly.</p>
+<p>The General shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One cannot call it fighting.&nbsp; There may be a disturbance
+in the streets,&rsquo; he answered.</p>
+<p>Concha, quiet in his corner, with his back to the horses, watched
+the girl, and saw that her eyes were wide with anxiety now - quite suddenly.&nbsp;
+She, who had never thought of fear till this moment.&nbsp; She moved
+uneasily in her seat, fidgeting as the young ever do when troubled.&nbsp;
+It is only with years that we learn to bear a burden quietly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who is that?&rsquo; she asked shortly, pointing to the other
+window, which was closed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Concep&ccedil;ion Vara - Conyngham&rsquo;s servant,&rsquo;
+replied the General, who for some reason was inclined to curtness in
+his speech.</p>
+<p>They were approaching Toledo, and passed through a village from time
+to time, where the caf&eacute;s were still lighted up, and people seemed
+to be astir in the shadow of the houses.&nbsp; At last, in the main
+thoroughfare of a larger village within a stage of Toledo, a final halt
+was made to change horses.&nbsp; The street, dimly lighted by a couple
+of oil lamps swinging from gibbets at the corners of a crossroad, seemed
+to be peopled by shadows surreptitiously lurking in doorways.&nbsp;
+There was a false air of quiet in the houses, and peeping eyes looked
+out from behind the bars that covered every window, for even modern
+Spanish houses are barred as if for a siege, and in the ancient villages
+every man&rsquo;s house is indeed his castle.</p>
+<p>The driver had left the box, and seemed to be having some trouble
+with the ostlers and stable-helps; for his voice could be heard raised
+in anger and urging them to greater haste.</p>
+<p>Conyngham, motionless in the saddle, touched his horse with his heel,
+advancing a few paces so as to screen the window.&nbsp; Concep&ccedil;ion,
+on the other side, did the same, so that the travellers in the interior
+of the vehicle saw but the dark shape of the horses and the long cloaks
+of their riders.&nbsp; They could perceive Conyngham quickly throw back
+his cape in order to have a free hand.&nbsp; Then there came the sound
+of scuffling feet and an indefinable sense of strife in the very air.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But we will see - we will see who is in the carriage!&rsquo;
+cried a shrill voice, and a hoarse shout from many bibulous throats
+confirmed the desire.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Quick!&rsquo; said Conyngham&rsquo;s voice.&nbsp; &lsquo;Quick
+- take your reins - never mind the lamps.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And the carriage swayed as the man leapt to his place.&nbsp; Estella
+made a movement to look out of the window, but Concha had stood up against
+it, opposing his broad back alike to curious glances or a knife or a
+bullet.&nbsp; At the other window the General, better versed in such
+matters, held the leather cushion upon which he had been sitting across
+the sash.&nbsp; With his left hand he restrained Estella.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Keep still,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;Sit back.&nbsp; Conyngham
+can take care of himself.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The carriage swayed forward, and a volley of stones rattled on it
+like hail.&nbsp; It rose jerkily on one side, and bumped over some obstacle.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One who has his quietus,&rsquo; said Concha; &lsquo;these
+royal carriages are heavy.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The horses were galloping now.&nbsp; Concha sat down rubbing his
+back.&nbsp; Conyngham was galloping by the window, and they could see
+his spur flashing in the moonlight as he used it.&nbsp; The reins hung
+loose, and both his hands were employed elsewhere, for he had a man
+half across the saddle in front of him, who held to him with one arm
+thrown round his neck, while the other was raised and a gleam of steel
+was at the end of it.&nbsp; Concep&ccedil;ion, from the other side,
+threw a knife over the roof of the carriage - he could hit a cork at
+twenty paces but he missed this time.</p>
+<p>The General, from within, leant across Estella, sword in hand, with
+gleaming eyes.&nbsp; But Conyngham seemed to have got the hold he desired,
+for his assailant came suddenly swinging over the horse&rsquo;s neck,
+and one of his flying heels crashed through the window by Concha&rsquo;s
+head, making that ecclesiastic swear like any layman.&nbsp; The carriage
+was lifted on one side again, and bumped heavily.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Another,&rsquo; said Concha, looking for broken glass in the
+folds of his cassock.&nbsp; &lsquo;That is a pretty trick of Conyngham&rsquo;s.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And the man is a horseman,&rsquo; added the General, sheathing
+his sword - &rsquo;a horseman.&nbsp; It warms the heart to see it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Then he leant out of the window and asked if any were hurt.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am afraid, Excellency, that I hurt one,&rsquo; answered
+Vara.&nbsp; &lsquo;Where the neck joins the shoulder.&nbsp; It is a
+pretty spot for the knife - nothing to turn a point.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He rubbed a sulphur match on the leg of his trouser, and lighted
+a cigarette as he rode along.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;On our side no accidents,&rsquo; continued Vara, with a careless
+grandeur, &lsquo;unless the reverendo received a kick in the face.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The reverendo received a stone in the small of the back,&rsquo;
+growled Concha pessimistically, &lsquo;where there was already a corner
+of lumbago.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham, standing in his stirrups, was looking back.&nbsp; A man
+lay motionless on the road, and beyond, at the cross-roads, another
+was riding up a hill to the right at a hand gallop.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is the road to Madrid,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion, noting
+the direction of the Englishman&rsquo;s glance.</p>
+<p>The General, leaning out of the carriage window, was also looking
+back anxiously.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They have sent a messenger to Madrid, Excellency, with the
+news that the Queen is on the road to Toledo,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is well,&rsquo; answered Vincente, with a laugh.</p>
+<p>As they journeyed, although it was nearly midnight, there appeared
+from time to time, and for the most part in the neighbourhood of a village,
+one who seemed to have been awaiting their passage, and immediately
+set out on foot or horseback by one of the shorter bridle-paths that
+abound in Spain.&nbsp; No one of these spies escaped the notice of Concep&ccedil;ion,
+whose training amid the mountains of Andalusia had sharpened his eyesight
+and added keenness to every sense.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is like a cat walking down an alley full of dogs,&rsquo;
+he muttered.</p>
+<p>At last the lights of Toledo hove in sight, and across the river
+came the sound of the city clocks tolling the hour.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Midnight,&rsquo; said Concha.&nbsp; &lsquo;And all respectable
+folk are in their beds.&nbsp; At night all cats are grey.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>No one heeded him.&nbsp; Estella was sitting upright, bright-eyed
+and wakeful.&nbsp; The General looked out of the window at every moment.&nbsp;
+Across the river they could see lights moving, and many houses that
+had been illuminated were suddenly dark.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;See,&rsquo; said the General, leaning out of the window and
+speaking to Conyngham, &lsquo;they have heard the sound of our wheels.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>At the farther end of the Bridge of Alcantara, on the road which
+now leads to the railway station, two horsemen were stationed, hidden
+in the shadow of the trees that border the pathway.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Those should be Guardias Civiles,&rsquo; said Concep&ccedil;ion,
+who had studied the ways of those gentry all his life.&nbsp; &lsquo;But
+they are not.&nbsp; They have horses that have never been taught to
+stand still.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>As he spoke the men vanished, moving noiselessly in the thick dust
+which lay on the Madrid road.</p>
+<p>The General saw them go - and smiled.&nbsp; These men carried word
+to their fellows in Madrid for the seizure of the little Queen.&nbsp;
+But before they could reach the capital the Queen Regent herself would
+be there - a woman in a thousand, of inflexible nerve, of infinite resource.</p>
+<p>The carriage rattled over the narrow bridge which rings hollow to
+the sound of wheels.&nbsp; It passed under the gate that Wamba built
+and up the tree-girt incline to the city.&nbsp; The streets were deserted,
+and no window showed a light.&nbsp; A watchman in his shelter, at the
+corner by the synagogue, peered at them over the folds of his cloak,
+and noting the clank of scabbard against spur, paid no further heed
+to a traveller who took the road with such outward signs of authority.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is still enough - and quiet,&rsquo; said Concha, looking
+out.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As quiet as a watching cat,&rsquo; replied Vincente.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII.&nbsp; THE CITY OF STRIFE.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>&nbsp;&lsquo;What
+lot is mine<br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Whose foresight preaches
+peace, my heart so slow<br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To feel it!&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>Through these quiet streets the party clattered noisily enough, for
+the rain had left the rounded stones slippery, and the horses were too
+tired for a sure step.&nbsp; There were no lights at the street corners,
+for all had been extinguished at midnight, and the only glimmer of a
+lamp that relieved the darkness was shining through the stained-glass
+windows of the Cathedral, where the sacred oil burnt night and day.</p>
+<p>The Queen was evidently expected at the Casa del Ayuntamiento, for
+at the approach of the carriage the great doors were thrown open and
+a number of servants appeared in the patio, which was but dimly lighted.&nbsp;
+By the General&rsquo;s orders the small body-guard passed through the
+doors, which were then closed, instead of continuing their way to the
+barracks in the Alcazar.</p>
+<p>This Casa del Ayuntamiento stands, as many travellers know, in the
+Plaza of the same name, and faces the Cathedral, which is without doubt
+the oldest, as it assuredly is the most beautiful, church in the world.&nbsp;
+The mansion-house of Toledo, in addition to some palatial halls which
+are of historic renown, has several suites of rooms used from time to
+time by great personages passing through or visiting the city.&nbsp;
+The house itself is old, as we esteem age in England, while in comparison
+to the buildings around it it is modern.&nbsp; Built, however, at a
+period when beauty of architecture was secondary to power of resistance,
+the palace is strong enough, and General Vincente smiled happily as
+the great doors were closed.&nbsp; He was the last to look out into
+the streets and across the little Plaza del Ayuntamiento, which was
+deserted and looked peaceful enough in the light of a waning moon.</p>
+<p>The carriage door was opened by a lacquey, and Conyngham gave Estella
+his hand.&nbsp; All the servants bowed as she passed up the stairs,
+her face screened by the folds of her white mantilla.&nbsp; There was
+a queer hush in this great house, and in the manner of the servants.&nbsp;
+The cathedral clock rang out the half-hour.&nbsp; The General led the
+way to the room on the first floor that overlooks the Plaza del Ayuntamiento.&nbsp;
+It is a vast apartment, hung with tapestries and pictures such as men
+travel many miles to see.&nbsp; The windows, which are large in proportion
+to the height of the room, open upon a stone balcony, which runs the
+length of the house and looks down upon the Plaza and across this to
+the great fa&ccedil;ade of the Cathedral.&nbsp; Candles, hurriedly lighted,
+made the room into a very desert of shadows.&nbsp; At the far end, a
+table was spread with cold meats and lighted by high silver candelabra.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; said Concha, going towards the supper-table.</p>
+<p>Estella turned, and for the first time met Conyngham&rsquo;s eyes.&nbsp;
+His face startled her.&nbsp; It was so grave.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Were you hurt?&rsquo; she asked sharply.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not this time, se&ntilde;orita.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Then she turned with a sudden laugh towards her father.&nbsp; &lsquo;Did
+I play my part well?&rsquo; she asked.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, my child.&rsquo;&nbsp; And even he was grave.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Unless I am mistaken,&rsquo; he continued, glancing at the
+shuttered windows, &lsquo;we have only begun our task.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+He was reading, as he spoke, some despatches which a servant had handed
+to him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There is one advantage in a soldier&rsquo;s life,&rsquo; he
+said, smiling at Conyngham, &lsquo;which is not, I think, sufficiently
+recognised - namely, that one&rsquo;s duty is so often clearly defined.&nbsp;
+At the present moment it is a question of keeping up the deception we
+have practised upon these good people of Toledo sufficiently long to
+enable the Queen Regent to reach Madrid.&nbsp; In order to make certain
+of this we must lead the people to understand that the Queen is in this
+house until, at least, daylight.&nbsp; Given so much advantage, I think
+that her Majesty can reach the capital an hour before any messenger
+from Toledo.&nbsp; Two horsemen quitted the Bridge of Alcantara as we
+crossed it, riding towards Madrid; but they will not reach the capital
+- I have seen to that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused and walked to one of the long windows, which he opened.&nbsp;
+The outer shutters remained closed, and he did not unbar them, but stood
+listening.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;All is still as yet,&rsquo; he said, returning to the table,
+where Father Concha was philosophically cutting up a cold chicken.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;That is a good idea of yours,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;We
+may all require our full forces of mind and body before the dawn.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He drew forward a chair, and Estella, obeying his gesture, sat down
+and so far controlled her feelings as to eat a little.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do queens always feed on old birds such as this?&rsquo; asked
+Concha discontentedly; and Vincente, spreading out his napkin, laughed
+with gay good humour.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Before the dawn,&rsquo; he said to Conyngham, &lsquo;we may
+all be great men, and the good Concha here on the high road to a bishopric.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He would rather be in bed,&rsquo; muttered the priest, with
+his mouth full.</p>
+<p>It was a queer scene, such as we only act in real life.&nbsp; The
+vast room, with its gorgeous hangings, the flickering candles, the table
+spread with delicacies, and the strange party seated at it - Concha
+eating steadily, the General looking round with his domesticated little
+smile, Estella with a new light in her eyes and a new happiness on her
+face, Conyngham, a giant among these southerners, in his dust-laden
+uniform - all made up a picture that none forgot.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They will probably attack this place,&rsquo; said the General,
+pouring out a glass of wine; &lsquo;but the house is a strong one.&nbsp;
+I cannot rely on the regiments stationed at Toledo, and have sent to
+Madrid for cavalry.&nbsp; There is nothing like cavalry - in the streets.&nbsp;
+We can stand a siege - till the dawn.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He turned, looking over his shoulder towards the door; for he had
+heard a footstep unnoticed by the others.&nbsp; It was Concep&ccedil;ion
+Vara who came into the room, coatless, his face grey with dust, adding
+a startling and picturesque incongruity to the scene.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Pardon, Excellency,&rsquo; he said, with that easy grasp of
+the situation which always made an utterly unabashed smuggler of him,
+&lsquo;but there is one in the house whom I think his Excellency should
+speak with.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Se&ntilde;orita Barenna.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General rose from the table.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How did she get in here?&rsquo; he asked sharply.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;By the side door in the Calle de la Ciudad.&nbsp; The keeper
+of that door, Excellency, is a mule.&nbsp; The se&ntilde;orita forced
+him to admit her.&nbsp; The sex can do so much,&rsquo; he added, with
+a tolerant shrug of the shoulders.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And the other - this Larralde?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion raised his hand with outspread fingers, and shook
+it slowly from side to side from the wrist, with the palm turned towards
+his interlocutor - a gesture which seemed to indicate that the subject
+was an unpleasant, almost an indelicate, one.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Larralde, Excellency,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;is one of those
+who are never found at the front.&nbsp; He will not be in Toledo to-night
+- that Larralde.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Where is the Se&ntilde;orita Barenna?&rsquo; asked the General.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;She is downstairs - commanding his Excellency&rsquo;s soldiers
+to let her pass.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You go down, my friend, and bring her here.&nbsp; Then take
+that door yourself.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion bowed ceremoniously and withdrew.&nbsp; He might
+have been an ambassador, and his salutation was worthy of an Imperial
+Court.</p>
+<p>A moment later Julia Barenna came into the room, her dark eyes wide
+with terror, her face pale and drawn.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Where is the Queen Regent?&rsquo; she asked, looking from
+one face to the other, and seeing all her foes assembled as if by magic
+before her.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Her Majesty is on the road between Aranjuez and Madrid - in
+safety, my dear Julia,&rsquo; replied the General soothingly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But they think she is here.&nbsp; The people are in the streets.&nbsp;
+Look out of the window.&nbsp; They are in the Plaza.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know it, my dear,&rsquo; said the General.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They are armed - they are going to attack this house.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am aware of it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Their plan is to murder the Queen.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So we understand,&rsquo; said the General gently.&nbsp; He
+had a horror of anything approaching sensation or a scene, a feeling
+which Spaniards share with Englishmen.&nbsp; &lsquo;That is the Queen
+for the time being,&rsquo; added Vincente, pointing to Estella.</p>
+<p>Julia stood looking from one to the other - a self-contained woman
+made strong by love.&nbsp; For there is nothing in life or human experience
+that raises and strengthens man or woman so much as a great and abiding
+love.&nbsp; But Julia Barenna was driven and almost panic-stricken.&nbsp;
+She held herself in control by an effort that was drawing lines in her
+face never to be wiped out.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But you will tell them?&nbsp; I will do it.&nbsp; Let me go
+to them.&nbsp; I am not afraid.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No one must leave this house now,&rsquo; said the General.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;You have come to us, my dear, you must now throw in your lot
+with ours.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But Estella must not take this risk,&rsquo; exclaimed Julia.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Let me do it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And some woman&rsquo;s instinct sent her to Estella&rsquo;s side
+- two women alone in that great house amid this man&rsquo;s work, this
+strife of reckless politicians.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And you, and Se&ntilde;or Conyngham,&rsquo; she cried, &lsquo;you
+must not run this great risk.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is what we are paid for, my dear Julia,&rsquo; answered
+the General, holding out his arm and indicating the gold stripes upon
+it.</p>
+<p>He walked to the window and opened the massive shutters, which swung
+back heavily.&nbsp; Then he stepped out on to the balcony without fear
+or hesitation.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;See,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;the square is full of them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He came back into the room, and Conyngham, standing beside him, looked
+down into the moonlit Plaza.&nbsp; The square was, indeed, thronged
+with dark and silent shadows, while others, stealing from the doorways
+and narrow alleys with which Toledo abounds, joined the groups with
+stealthy steps.&nbsp; No one spoke, though the sound of their whispering
+arose in the still night air like the murmur of a breeze through reeds.&nbsp;
+A hundred faces peered upwards through the darkness at the two intrepid
+figures on the balcony.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And these are Spaniards, my dear Conyngham,&rsquo; whispered
+the General.&nbsp; &lsquo;A hundred of them against one woman.&nbsp;
+Name of God!&nbsp; I blush for them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The throng increased every moment, and withal the silence never lifted,
+but brooded breathlessly over the ancient town.&nbsp; Instead of living
+men, these might well have been the shades of the countless and forgotten
+dead who had come to a violent end in the streets of a city where Peace
+has never found a home since the days of Nebuchadnezzar.&nbsp; Vincente
+came back into the room, leaving shutter and window open.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They cannot see in,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;the building is
+too high.&nbsp; And across the Plaza there is nothing but the Cathedral,
+which has no windows accessible without ladders.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused, looking at his watch.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They are in doubt,&rsquo; he said, speaking to Conyngham.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;They are not sure that the Queen is here.&nbsp; We will keep
+them in doubt for a short time.&nbsp; Every minute lost by them is an
+inestimable gain to us.&nbsp; That open window will whet their curiosity,
+and give them something to whisper about.&nbsp; It is so easy to deceive
+a crowd.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He sat down and began to peel a peach.&nbsp; Julia looked at him,
+wondering wherein this man&rsquo;s greatness lay, and yet perceiving
+dimly that, against such as he, men like Esteban Larralde could do nothing.</p>
+<p>Concha, having supped satisfactorily, was now sitting back in his
+chair seeking for something in the pockets of his cassock.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is to be presumed,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;that one may
+smoke - even in a palace.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And under their gaze he quietly lighted a cigarette with the deliberation
+of one in whom a long and solitary life had bred habits only to be broken
+at last by death.</p>
+<p>Presently the General rose and went to the window again.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They are still doubtful,&rsquo; he said, returning, &lsquo;and
+I think their numbers have decreased.&nbsp; We cannot allow them to
+disperse.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused, thinking deeply.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My child,&rsquo; he said suddenly to Estella, &lsquo;you must
+show yourself on the balcony.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella rose at once; but Julia held her back.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; she said; &lsquo;let me do it.&nbsp; Give me the
+white mantilla.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>There was a momentary silence while Estella freed herself from her
+cousin&rsquo;s grasp.&nbsp; Conyngham looked at the woman he loved while
+she stood, little more than a child, with something youthful and inimitably
+graceful in the lines of her throat and averted face.&nbsp; Would she
+accept Julia&rsquo;s offer?&nbsp; Conyngham bit his lip and awaited
+her decision.&nbsp; Then, as if divining his thought, she turned and
+looked at him gravely.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; she said; &lsquo;I will do it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She went towards the window.&nbsp; Her father and Conyngham had taken
+their places, one on each side, as if she were the Queen indeed.&nbsp;
+She stood for a moment on the threshold, and then passed out into the
+moonlight, alone.&nbsp; Immediately there arose the most terrifying
+of all earthly sounds - the dull, antagonistic roar of a thousand angry
+throats.&nbsp; Estella walked to the front of the balcony and stood,
+with an intrepidity which was worthy of the royal woman whose part she
+played, looking down on the upturned faces.&nbsp; A red flash streaked
+the darkness of a far corner of the square, and a bullet whistled through
+the open window into the woodwork of a mirror.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come back,&rsquo; whispered General Vincente.&nbsp; &lsquo;Slowly,
+my child - slowly.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella stood for a moment looking down with a royal insolence, then
+turned, and with measured steps approached the window.&nbsp; As she
+passed in she met Conyngham&rsquo;s eyes, and that one moment assuredly
+made two lives worth living.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXIX.&nbsp; MIDNIGHT AND DAWN.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;I
+have set my life upon a cast<br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+I will stand the hazard of the die.&rsquo;</i></p>
+<p>&lsquo;Excellency,&rsquo; reported a man who entered the room at
+this moment, &lsquo;they are bringing carts of fuel through the Calle
+de la Ciudad to set against the door and burn it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To set against which door, my honest friend?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The great door on the Plaza, Excellency; the other is an old
+door of iron.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And they cannot burn it or break it open?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, Excellency.&nbsp; And, besides, there are loopholes in
+the thickness of the wall at the side.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The General smiled on this man as being after his own heart.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One may not shoot to-night, my friend.&nbsp; I have already
+given the order.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But one may prick them with the sword, Excellency?&rsquo;
+suggested the trooper, with a sort of suppressed enthusiasm.</p>
+<p>The General shrugged his shoulders, wisely tolerant.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh yes,&rsquo; he answered, &lsquo;I suppose one may prick
+them with the sword.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham, who had been standing half in and half out of the open
+window, listening to this conversation, now came forward.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I think,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;that I can clear the Plaza
+from time to time if you give me twenty men.&nbsp; We can thus gain
+time.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Street-fighting,&rsquo; answered the General gravely.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Do you know anything of it?&nbsp; It is nasty work.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know something of it.&nbsp; One has to shout very loud.&nbsp;
+I studied it - at Dublin University.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To be sure - I forgot.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Julia and Estella watched and listened.&nbsp; Their lot had been
+cast in the paths of war, and since childhood they had remembered naught
+else.&nbsp; But neither had yet been so near to the work, nor had they
+seen and heard men talk and plan with a certain grim humour - a curt
+and deliberate scorn of haste or excitement - as these men spoke and
+planned now.&nbsp; Conyngham and Concep&ccedil;ion Vara were altered
+by these circumstances - there was a light in their eyes which women
+rarely see, but the General was the same little man of peace and of
+a high domestic virtue, who seemed embarrassed by a sword which was
+obviously too big for him.&nbsp; Yet in all their voices there rang
+alike a queer note of exultation.&nbsp; For man is a fighting animal,
+and from St. Paul down to the humblest little five-foot-one recruit,
+would find life a dull affair were there no strife in it.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the General, after a moment&rsquo;s reflection,
+&lsquo;that is a good idea, and will gain time.&nbsp; But let them first
+bring their fuel and set it up.&nbsp; Every moment is a gain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>At this instant some humorist in the crowd threw a stone in at the
+open window.&nbsp; The old priest picked up the missile and examined
+it curiously.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is fortunate,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;that the stones are
+fixed in Toledo.&nbsp; In Xeres they are loose, and are always in the
+air.&nbsp; I wonder if I can hit a citizen.&rsquo;&nbsp; And he threw
+the stone back.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Close the shutters,&rsquo; said the General.&nbsp; &lsquo;Let
+us avoid arousing ill-feeling.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The priest drew the jalousies together, but did not quite shut them.&nbsp;
+Vincente stood and looked out through the aperture at the moonlit square
+and the dark shadows moving there.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I wish they would shout,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;It is
+unnatural.&nbsp; They are like children.&nbsp; When there is noise there
+is little mischief.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Then he remained silent for some minutes, watching intently.&nbsp;
+All in the room noted his every movement.&nbsp; At length he turned
+on his heel.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Go, my friend,&rsquo; he said to Conyngham.&nbsp; &lsquo;Form
+your men in the Calle de la Ciudad, and charge round in line.&nbsp;
+Do not place yourself too much in advance of your men, or you will be
+killed, and remember - the point!&nbsp; Resist the temptation to cut
+- the point is best.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He patted Conyngham on the arm affectionately, as if he were sending
+him to bed with a good wish, and accompanied him to the door.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I knew,&rsquo; he said, returning to the window and rubbing
+his hands together, &lsquo;that that was a good man the first moment
+I saw him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He glanced at Estella, and then, turning, opened another window,
+setting the shutters ajar so as to make a second point of observation.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My poor child,&rsquo; he whispered, as she went to the window
+and looked out, &lsquo;it is an ill-fortune to have to do with men whose
+trade this is.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Estella smiled - a little whitely - and said nothing.&nbsp; The moon
+was now shining from an almost cloudless sky.&nbsp; The few fleecy remains
+of the storm sailing towards the east only added brightness to the night.&nbsp;
+It was almost possible to see the faces of the men moving in the square
+below, and to read their expressions.&nbsp; The majority stood in a
+group in the centre of the Plaza, while a daring few, reckoning on the
+Spanish aversion to firearms, ran forward from time to time and set
+a bundle of wood or straw against the door beneath the balcony.</p>
+<p>Some, who appeared to be the leaders, looked up constantly and curiously
+at the windows, wondering if any resistance would be made.&nbsp; Had
+they known that General Vincente was in that silent house they would
+probably have gone home to bed, and the crowd would have dispersed like
+smoke.</p>
+<p>Suddenly there arose a roar to the right hand of the square where
+the Calle de la Ciudad was situated, and Conyngham appeared for a moment
+alone, running towards the group, with the moonlight flashing on his
+sword.&nbsp; At his heels an instant later a single line of men swung
+round the corner and charged across the square.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Dear, dear,&rsquo; muttered the General; &lsquo;too quick,
+my friend, too quick!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>For Conyngham was already among the crowd, which broke and surged
+back towards the Cathedral.&nbsp; He paused for a moment to draw his
+sword out of a dark form that lay upon the ground, as a cricketer draws
+a stump.&nbsp; He had, at all events, remembered the point.&nbsp; The
+troopers swept across the square like a broom, sending the people as
+dust before them, and leaving the clean, moonlit square behind.&nbsp;
+They also left behind one or two shadows, lying stark upon the around.&nbsp;
+One of these got upon its knees and crawled painfully away, all one-sided,
+like a beetle that has been trodden underfoot.&nbsp; Those watching
+from the windows saw with a gasp of horror that part of him - part of
+an arm - had been left behind, and a sigh of relief went up when he
+stopped crawling and lay quite still.</p>
+<p>The troopers were now retreating slowly towards the Calle de la Ciudad.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Be careful, Conyngham,&rsquo; shouted the General from the
+balcony.&nbsp; &lsquo;They will return.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And as he spoke a rattling fire was opened upon them from the far
+corner of the square, where the crowd had taken refuge in the opening
+of the Calle del Arco.&nbsp; Immediately, the people, having noted that
+the troopers were few in number, charged down upon them.&nbsp; The men
+fought in line, retreating step by step, their swords gleaming in the
+moonlight.&nbsp; Estella, hearing footsteps in the room behind her,
+turned in time to see her father disappearing through the doorway.&nbsp;
+Concep&ccedil;ion Vara, coatless, as he loved to work, his white shirtsleeves
+fluttering as his arm swung, had now joined the troopers, and was fighting
+by Conyngham&rsquo;s side.</p>
+<p>Estella and Julia were out on the balcony now, leaning over and forgetting
+all but the breathless interest of battle.&nbsp; Concha stood beside
+them, muttering and cursing like any soldier.</p>
+<p>They saw Vincente appear at the corner of the Calle de la Ciudad
+and throw away his scabbard as he ran.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Now, my children!&rsquo; he cried in a voice that Estella
+had never heard before, which rang out across the square, and was answered
+by a yell that was nothing but a cry of sheer delight.&nbsp; The crowd
+swayed back as if before a gust of wind, and the General, following
+it, seemed to clear a space for himself as a reaper clears away the
+standing corn before him.&nbsp; It was, however, only for a moment.&nbsp;
+The crowd surged back, those in front against their will, and on to
+the glittering steel - those behind shouting encouragement.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Name of God!&rsquo; shouted Concha, and was gone.&nbsp; They
+saw him a minute later appear in the square, having thrown aside his
+cassock.&nbsp; He made a strange lean figure of a man with his knee-breeches
+and dingy purple stockings, his grey flannel shirt, and the moonlight
+shining on his tonsured head.&nbsp; He fought without skill, and heedless
+of danger, swinging a great sword that he had picked up from the hand
+of a fallen trooper, and each blow that he got home killed its victim.&nbsp;
+The metal of the man had suddenly shown itself after years of suppression.&nbsp;
+This, as Vincente had laughingly said, was no priest, but a soldier.&nbsp;
+Concep&ccedil;ion, in the thick of it, using the knife now with a deadly
+skill, looked over his shoulder and laughed.</p>
+<p>Suddenly the crowd swayed.&nbsp; The faint sound of a distant bugle
+came to the ears of all.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is nothing,&rsquo; shouted Concha, in English.&nbsp; &lsquo;It
+is nothing.&nbsp; It is I who sent the bugler round.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And his great sword whistled into a man&rsquo;s brain.&nbsp; In another
+moment the square was empty, for the politicians who came to murder
+a woman had had enough steel.&nbsp; The sound of the bugle, intimating,
+as they supposed, the arrival of troops, completed the work of demoralisation
+which the recognition of General Vincente had begun.</p>
+<p>The little party - the few defenders of the Casa del Ayuntamiento
+- were left in some confusion in the Plaza, and Estella saw with a sudden
+cold fear that Conyngham and Concha were on their knees in the midst
+of a little group of hesitating men.&nbsp; It was Concha who rose first
+and held up his hand to the watchers on the balcony, bidding them stay
+where they were.&nbsp; Then Conyngham rose to his feet slowly, as one
+bearing a burden.&nbsp; Estella looked down in a sort of dream, and
+saw her lover carrying her father towards the house, her mind only half
+comprehending, in that semi-dreamlike reception of sudden calamity which
+is one of Heaven&rsquo;s deepest mercies.</p>
+<p>It was Concep&ccedil;ion who came into the room first, his white
+shirt dyed with blood in great patches like the colour on a piebald
+horse.&nbsp; A cut in his cheek was slowly dripping.&nbsp; He went straight
+to a sofa covered in gorgeous yellow satin, and set the cushions in
+order.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Se&ntilde;orita,&rsquo; he said, and spread out his hands.&nbsp;
+The tears were in his eyes, &lsquo;Half of Spain,&rsquo; he added, &lsquo;would
+rather that it had been the Queen - and the world is poorer.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>A moment later Concha came into the room dragging on his cassock.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My child, we are in God&rsquo;s hand,&rsquo; he said, with
+a break in his gruff voice.</p>
+<p>And then came the heavy step of one carrying sorrow.</p>
+<p>Conyngham laid his burden on the sofa.&nbsp; General Vincente was
+holding his handkerchief to his side, and his eyes, which had a thoughtful
+look, saw only Estella&rsquo;s face.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have sent for a doctor,&rsquo; said Conyngham.&nbsp; &lsquo;Your
+father is wounded.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said Vincente immediately; &lsquo;but I am in
+no pain, my dear child.&nbsp; There is no reason, surely, for us to
+distress ourselves.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He looked round and smiled.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And this good Conyngham,&rsquo; he added, &lsquo;carried me
+like a child.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Julia was on her knees at the foot of the sofa, her face hidden in
+her hands.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My dear Julia,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;why this distress?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Because all of this is my doing,&rsquo; she answered, lifting
+her drawn and terror-stricken face.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, no!&rsquo; said Vincente, with a characteristic pleasantry.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;You take too much upon yourself.&nbsp; All these things are written
+down for us beforehand.&nbsp; We only add the punctuation - delaying
+a little or hurrying a little.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>They looked at him silently, and assuredly none could mistake the
+shadows that were gathering on his face.&nbsp; Estella, who was holding
+his hand, knelt on the floor by his side, quiet and strong, offering
+silently that sympathy which is woman&rsquo;s greatest gift.</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion, who perhaps knew more of this matter than any
+present, looked at Concha and shook his head.&nbsp; The priest was buttoning
+his cassock, and began to seek something in his pocket.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Your breviary?&rsquo; whispered Concep&ccedil;ion; &lsquo;I
+saw it lying out there - among the dead.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is a comfort to have one&rsquo;s duty clearly defined,&rsquo;
+said the General suddenly, in a clear voice.&nbsp; He was evidently
+addressing Conyngham.&nbsp; &lsquo;One of the advantages of a military
+life.&nbsp; We have done our best, and this time we have succeeded.&nbsp;
+But - it is only deferred.&nbsp; It will come at length, and Spain will
+be a republic.&nbsp; It is a failing cause - because, at the head of
+it, is a bad woman.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham nodded, but no one spoke.&nbsp; No one seemed capable of
+following his thoughts.&nbsp; Already he seemed to look at them as from
+a distance, as if he had started on a journey and was looking back.&nbsp;
+During this silence there came a great clatter in the streets, and a
+sharp voice cried &lsquo;Halt!&rsquo;&nbsp; The General turned his eyes
+towards the window.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The cavalry,&rsquo; said Conyngham, &lsquo;from Madrid.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I did not expect - them,&rsquo; said Vincente slowly, &lsquo;before
+the dawn.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The sound of the horses&rsquo; feet and the clatter of arms died
+away as the troop passed on towards the Calle de la Ciudad, and the
+quiet of night was again unbroken.</p>
+<p>Then Concha, getting down on to his knees, began reciting from memory
+the office - which, alas! he knew too well.</p>
+<p>When it was finished, and the gruff voice died away, Vincente opened
+his eyes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Every man to his trade,&rsquo; he said, with a little laugh.</p>
+<p>Then suddenly he made a grimace.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A twinge of pain,&rsquo; he said deprecatingly, as if apologising
+for giving them the sorrow of seeing it.&nbsp; &lsquo;It will pass -
+before the dawn.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Presently he opened his eyes again and smiled at Estella, before
+he moved with a tired sigh and turned his face towards that Dawn which
+knows no eventide.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXX.&nbsp; THE DAWN OF PEACE.</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>&lsquo;Quien no ama, no vive.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The fall of Morella had proved to be, as many anticipated, the knell
+of the Carlist cause.&nbsp; Cabrera, that great general and consummate
+leader, followed Don Carlos, who had months earlier fled to France.&nbsp;
+General Espartero - a man made and strengthened by circumstances - was
+now at the height of his fame, and for the moment peace seemed to be
+assured to Spain.&nbsp; It was now a struggle between Espartero and
+Queen Christina.&nbsp; But with these matters the people of Spain had
+little to do.&nbsp; Such warfare of the council-chamber and the boudoir
+is carried on quietly, and the sound of it rarely reaches the ear, and
+never the heart, of the masses.&nbsp; Politics, indeed, had been the
+daily fare of the Spaniards for so long that their palates were now
+prepared to accept any sop so long as it was flavoured with peace.&nbsp;
+Aragon was devastated, and the northern provinces had neither seed nor
+labourers for the coming autumn.&nbsp; The peasants who, having lost
+faith in Don Carlos, rallied round Cabrera, now saw themselves abandoned
+by their worshipped leader, and turned hopelessly enough homewards.&nbsp;
+Thus gradually the country relapsed into quiet, and empty garners compelled
+many to lay aside the bayonet and take up the spade who, having tasted
+the thrill of battle, had no longer any taste for the ways of peace.</p>
+<p>Frederick Conyngham was brought into sudden prominence by the part
+he played in the disturbance at Toledo - which disturbance proved, as
+history tells, to be a forerunner of the great revolution a year later
+in Madrid.&nbsp; Promotion was at this time rapid, and the Englishman
+made many strides in a few months.&nbsp; Jealousy was so rife among
+the Spanish leaders, Christinos distrusted so thoroughly the reformed
+Carlists, that one who was outside these petty considerations received
+from both sides many honours on the sole recommendation of his neutrality.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And besides,&rsquo; said Father Concha, sitting in the sunlight
+on his church steps at Ronda, reading to the barber, and the shoemaker,
+and other of his parishioners, the latest newspaper, &lsquo;and besides
+- he is clever.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He paused, slowly taking a pinch of snuff.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Where the river is deepest it makes least noise,&rsquo; he
+added.</p>
+<p>The barber wagged his head after the manner of one who will never
+admit that he does not understand an allusion.&nbsp; And before any
+could speak the clatter of horses in the narrow street diverted attention.&nbsp;
+Concha rose to his feet.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; he said, and went forward to meet Conyngham, who
+was riding with Concep&ccedil;ion at his side.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So you have come, my son,&rsquo; he said, shaking hands.&nbsp;
+He looked up into the Englishman&rsquo;s face, which was burnt brown
+by service under a merciless sun.&nbsp; Conyngham looked lean and strong,
+but his eyes had no rest in them.&nbsp; This was not a man who had all
+he wanted.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are you come to Ronda, or are you passing through?&rsquo;
+asked the priest.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To Ronda.&nbsp; As I passed the Casa Barenna I made inquiries.&nbsp;
+The ladies are in the town, it appears.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes; they are with Estella in the house you know - unless
+you have forgotten it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; answered Conyngham getting out of the saddle.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;No; I have forgotten nothing.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Concep&ccedil;ion came forward and led the horse away.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will walk to the Casa Vincente.&nbsp; Have you the time
+to accompany me?&rsquo; said Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have always time - for my neighbour&rsquo;s business,&rsquo;
+replied Concha.&nbsp; And they set off together.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You walk stiffly,&rsquo; said Concha.&nbsp; &lsquo;Have you
+ridden far?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;From Osuna - forty miles since daybreak.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are in a hurry.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, I am in a hurry.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Without further comment he extracted from inside his smart tunic
+a letter - the famous letter in a pink envelope - which he handed to
+Concha.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the priest, turning it over.&nbsp; &lsquo;You
+and I first saw this in the Hotel de la Marina at Algeciras, when we
+were fools not to throw it into the nearest brazier.&nbsp; We should
+have saved a good man&rsquo;s life, my friend.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He handed the letter back, and thoughtfully dusted his cassock where
+it was worn and shiny with constant dusting, so that the snuff had nought
+to cling to.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And you have got it - at last.&nbsp; Holy saints - these Englishmen!&nbsp;
+Do you always get what you want, my son?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not always,&rsquo; replied Conyngham, with an uneasy laugh.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;But I should be a fool not to try.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Assuredly,&rsquo; said Concha, &lsquo;assuredly.&nbsp; And
+you have come to Ronda - to try?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>They walked on in silence, on the shady side of the street, and presently
+passed and saluted a priest - one of Concha&rsquo;s colleagues in this
+city of the South.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There walks a tragedy,&rsquo; said Concha, in his curt way.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Inside every cassock there walks a tragedy - or a villain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>After a pause it was Concha who again broke the silence.&nbsp; Conyngham
+seemed to be occupied with his own thoughts.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And Larralde - ?&rsquo; said the priest.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I come from him - from Barcelona,&rsquo; answered Conyngham,
+&lsquo;where he is in safety.&nbsp; Catalonia is full of such as he.&nbsp;
+Sir John Pleydell, before leaving Spain, bought this letter for two
+hundred pounds - a few months ago - when I was a poor man and could
+not offer a price for it.&nbsp; But Larralde disappeared when the plot
+failed, and I have only found him lately in Barcelona.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In Barcelona?&rsquo; echoed Concha.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes; where he can take a passage to Cuba, and where he awaits
+Julia Barenna.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; said Concha, &lsquo;so he also is faithful - because
+life is not long, my son.&nbsp; That is the only reason.&nbsp; How wise
+was the great God when He made a human life short! &lsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have a letter,&rsquo; continued Conyngham, &lsquo;from Larralde
+to the Se&ntilde;orita Barenna.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So you parted friends in Barcelona - after all - when his
+knife has been between your shoulders?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;God bless you, my son!&rsquo; said the priest, in Latin, with
+his careless, hurried gesture of the Cross.</p>
+<p>After they had walked a few paces he spoke again.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I shall go to Barcelona with her,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;and
+marry her to this man.&nbsp; When one has no affairs of one&rsquo;s
+own there always remain - for old women and priests - the affairs of
+one&rsquo;s neighbour.&nbsp; Tell me - &rsquo; he paused and looked
+fiercely at him under shaggy brows - &rsquo;tell me why you came to
+Spain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You want to know who and what I am - before we reach the Calle
+Mayor?&rsquo; said Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know what you are, <i>amigo mio</i>, better than yourself,
+perhaps.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>As they walked through the narrow streets Conyngham told his simple
+history, dwelling more particularly on the circumstances preceding his
+departure from England, and Concha listened with no further sign of
+interest than a grimace or a dry smile here and there.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The mill gains by going, and not by standing still,&rsquo;
+he said, and added, after a pause, &lsquo;But it is always a mistake
+to grind another&rsquo;s wheat for nothing.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>They were now approaching the old house in the Calle Mayor, and Conyngham
+lapsed into a silence which his companion respected.&nbsp; They passed
+under the great doorway into the patio, which was quiet and shady at
+this afternoon hour.&nbsp; The servants, of whom there are a multitude
+in all great Spanish houses, had apparently retired to the seclusion
+of their own quarters.&nbsp; One person alone was discernible amid the
+orange trees and in the neighbourhood of the murmuring fountain.&nbsp;
+She was asleep in a rocking-chair, with a newspaper on her lap.&nbsp;
+She preferred the patio to the garden, which was too quiet for one of
+her temperament.&nbsp; In the patio she found herself better placed
+to exchange a word with those engaged in the business of the house,
+to learn, in fact, from the servants the latest gossip, to ask futile
+questions of them, and to sit in that idleness which will not allow
+others to be employed.&nbsp; In a word, this was the Se&ntilde;ora Barenna,
+and Concha, seeing her, stood for a moment in hesitation.&nbsp; Then,
+with a signal to Conyngham, he crept noiselessly across the tessellated
+pavement to the shadow of the staircase.&nbsp; They passed up the broad
+steps without sound and without awaking the sleeping lady.&nbsp; In
+the gallery above, the priest paused and looked down into the courtyard,
+his grim face twisted in a queer smile.&nbsp; Then, at the woman sitting
+there - at life and all its illusions, perhaps - he shrugged his shoulders
+and passed on.</p>
+<p>In the drawing-room they found Julia, who leapt to her feet and hurried
+across the floor when she saw Conyngham.&nbsp; She stood looking at
+him breathlessly, her whole history written in her eyes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; she whispered, as if he had called her.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Yes - what is it?&nbsp; Have you come to tell me - something?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have come to give you a letter, se&ntilde;orita,&rsquo;
+he answered, handing her Larralde&rsquo;s missive.&nbsp; She held out
+her hand, and never took her eyes from his face.</p>
+<p>Concha walked to the window - the window whence the Alcalde of Ronda
+had seen Conyngham hand Julia Barenna another letter.&nbsp; The old
+priest stood looking down into the garden, where, amid the feathery
+foliage of the pepper trees and the bamboos, he could perceive the shadow
+of a black dress.&nbsp; Conyngham also turned away, and thus the two
+men who held this woman&rsquo;s happiness in the hollow of their hands
+stood listening to the crisp rattle of the paper as she tore the envelope
+and unfolded her lover&rsquo;s letter.&nbsp; A great happiness and a
+great sorrow are alike impossible of realisation.&nbsp; We only perceive
+their extent when their importance has begun to wane.</p>
+<p>Julia Barenna read the letter through to the end, and it is possible
+(for women are blind in such matters) failed to perceive the selfishness
+in every line of it.&nbsp; Then, with the message of happiness in her
+hand, she returned to the chair she had just quitted, with a vague wonder
+in her mind, and the very human doubt that accompanies all possession,
+as to whether the price paid has not been too high.</p>
+<p>Concha was the first to move.&nbsp; He turned and crossed the room
+towards Conyngham.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I see,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;Estella in the garden.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And they passed out of the room together, leaving Julia Barenna alone
+with her thoughts.&nbsp; On the broad stone balcony Concha paused.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will stay here,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; He looked over the
+balustrade.&nbsp; Se&ntilde;ora Barenna was still asleep.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do not awake her,&rsquo; he whispered.&nbsp; &lsquo;Let all
+sleeping things sleep.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Conyngham passed down the stairs noiselessly, and through the doorway
+into the garden.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And at the end - the Gloria is chanted,&rsquo; said Concha,
+watching him go.</p>
+<p>The scent of the violets greeted Conyngham as he went forward beneath
+the trees planted there in the Moslems&rsquo; day.&nbsp; The running
+water murmured sleepily as it hurried in its narrow channel towards
+the outlet through the grey wall, whence it leapt four hundred feet
+into the Tajo below.</p>
+<p>Estella was seated in the shade of a gnarled fig tree, where tables
+and chairs indicated the Spanish habit of an out-of-door existence.&nbsp;
+She rose as he came towards her, and met his eyes gravely.&nbsp; A gleam
+of sun glancing through the leaves fell on her golden hair, half hidden
+by the mantilla, and showed that she was pale with some fear or desire.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Se&ntilde;orita,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;I have brought you
+the letter.&rsquo;&nbsp; He held it out, and she took it, turning over
+the worn envelope absent-mindedly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have not read it myself, and am permitted to give it to
+you on one condition - namely, that you destroy it as soon as you have
+read it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She looked at it again.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It contains the lives of many men - their lives and the happiness
+of those connected with them,&rsquo; said Conyngham.&nbsp; &lsquo;That
+is what you hold in your hand, se&ntilde;orita - as well as my life
+and happiness.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>She raised her dark eyes to his for a moment, and their tenderness
+was not of earth or of this world at all.&nbsp; Then she tore the envelope
+and its contents slowly into a hundred pieces, and dropped the fluttering
+papers into the stream pacing in its marble bed towards the Tajo and
+the oblivion of the sea.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There - I have destroyed the letter,&rsquo; she said, with
+a thoughtful little smile.&nbsp; Then, looking up, she met his eyes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I did not want it.&nbsp; I am glad you gave it to me.&nbsp;
+It will make a difference to our lives.&nbsp; Though - I never wanted
+it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Then she came slowly towards him.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines4"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
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+</pre></body>
+</html>
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