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diff --git a/old/kdrt10h.htm b/old/kdrt10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ce3ad84 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/kdrt10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7568 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>In Kedar's Tents</title> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">In Kedar's Tents, by Henry Seton Merriman</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of In Kedar's Tents, by Henry Seton Merriman +(#2 in our series by Henry Seton Merriman) + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +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] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII +</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’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. ONE SOWETH.<br />II. ANOTHER REAPETH.<br />III. LIKE SHIPS UPON THE SEA.<br />IV. LE PREMIER PAS.<br />V. CONTRABAND.<br />VI. AT RONDA.<br />VII. IN A MOORISH GARDEN.<br />VIII. THE LOVE LETTER.<br />IX. A WAR OF WIT.<br />X. THE CITY OF DISCONTENT.<br />XI. A TANGLED WEB.<br />XII. ON THE TOLEDO ROAD.<br />XIII. A WISE IGNORAMUS.<br />XIV. A WEIGHT OF EVIDENCE.<br />XV. AN ULTIMATUM.<br />XVI. IN HONOUR.<br />XVII. IN MADRID.<br />XVIII. IN TOLEDO.<br />XIX. CONCEPÇION TAKES THE ROAD.<br />XX. ON THE TALAVERA ROAD.<br />XXI. A CROSS-EXAMINATION.<br />XXII. REPARATION.<br />XXIII. LARRALDE’S PRICE.<br />XXIV. PRIESTCRAFT.<br />XXV. SWORDCRAFT.<br />XXVI. WOMANCRAFT.<br />XXVII. A NIGHT JOURNEY.<br />XXVIII. THE CITY OF STRIFE.<br />XXIX. MIDNIGHT AND DAWN.<br />XXX. 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>‘If it be a duty to respect other men’s claims, so +also is it a duty to maintain our own.’</i></p> +<p>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.</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. 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.</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. 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.</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. +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</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. 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.</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. With this dangerous material Geoffrey Horner proposed +to play his game.</p> +<p>Suddenly a voice was raised.</p> +<p>‘Mates,’ it cried, at the cross-roads, ‘let’s +go and smash Pleydell’s windows!’</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. 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.</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. 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. 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.</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. 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.</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. 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, <i>débonnaire</i>, +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘What is that?’ asked Alfred Pleydell, standing up.</p> +<p>‘The Chartists,’ said Sir John.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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. ‘</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. +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.</p> +<p>‘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. +‘</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>Alfred was at the door leading through to the servants’ quarters, +and his summons brought several men from the pantry and kitchens.</p> +<p>‘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!’</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. 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</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. 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:</p> +<p>‘Alfred! Alfred!’</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. +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.</p> +<p>Alfred Pleydell lay quite still on the lawn in front of his father’s +house.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER II. ANOTHER REAPETH.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>‘Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt.’</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. 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>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.</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’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.</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. 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.</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>‘Faith, it’s Horner!’ said Conyngham. ‘Where +are you from?’</p> +<p>‘The North.’</p> +<p>‘Ah - sit down. What have you been doing up there - tub-thumping?’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Edith all right?’ he asked carelessly.</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>‘And - the little chap?’</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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:</p> +<p>‘What is it?’</p> +<p>‘I don’t know yet; ruin, I think.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, you’re a lonely devil.’</p> +<p>Conyngham looked at his friend with inquiry in his gay eyes.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘You have nobody depending on you,’ said Horner with +the irritability of sorrow.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘I do not want it, thanks,’ replied the other. +‘Seventeen hundred would be no good to me. ‘</p> +<p>He paused, biting his under lip and staring with hard eyes into the +fire.</p> +<p>‘Read that,’ 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’s +house.</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ he commented, ‘the usual thing. Brave +words followed by a cowardly deed. What in the name of fortune +you were doing in that <i>galère</i> 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.”’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Gad!’ he exclaimed in a whisper.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘And if he dies,’ said Conyngham at length.</p> +<p>‘Exactly so,’ 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. +Thus they remained for some minutes.</p> +<p>‘What are you thinking about?’ asked Horner at length.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘“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.”’</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. 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>‘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!’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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’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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘I couldn’t let you do it.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Horner sat silent, and after a moment Conyngham went on.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Horner shuffled in his seat. This was nothing but detection +of the thoughts that had passed through his own mind.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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>‘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.</p> +<p>Conyngham went on to set forth his plans, which with characteristic +rapidity of thought he evolved as he spoke.</p> +<p>‘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 - ’</p> +<p>He stopped, meeting a queer look in Horner’s eyes, who sat +leaning forward and searching his face with jealous glance.</p> +<p>‘I was wondering,’ said the other, with a pale smile, +‘if you were ever in love with Edith.’</p> +<p>‘No, my good soul, I was not,’ answered Conyngham, with +perfect carelessness, ‘though I knew her long before you did.’</p> +<p>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.</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. +They talked on indifferent topics for some time. Then the new-comer +said jerkily:</p> +<p>‘Heard the news?’</p> +<p>‘No,’ answered Conyngham.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Is that so?’ he said gravely. ‘Then I’m +off.’</p> +<p>‘What do you mean?’ asked the journalist with a quick +look - the man had the manner of a ferret.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>He turned slowly on Horner, who had recovered himself, but still +had his hand over his face.</p> +<p>‘Got any money, Geoff?’ he asked.</p> +<p>‘Yes, I have twenty pounds if you want it,’ answered +the other in a hoarse voice.</p> +<p>‘I do want it - badly.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘You had better go too,’ said the Irishman. ‘You +two are going in the same direction, I know.’</p> +<p>Horner rose, and, half laughing, Conyngham pushed him towards the +door.</p> +<p>‘See him home, Blake,’ he said. ‘Horner has +the blues to-night.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER III. LIKE SHIPS UPON THE SEA.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>‘No one can be more wise than destiny.’</i></p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>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.</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’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.</p> +<p>‘The ladies will be less trouble than the empty casks, at all +events,’ said Conyngham, ‘because they will keep below.’</p> +<p>The sailor shook his head forebodingly and took an heroic pinch of +snuff.</p> +<p>‘One’s as capable of carrying mischief as the other,’ +he muttered in the bigoted voice of a married teetotaller.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘There’s a boat leaving the quay now,’ he added. +‘Seems she’s lumbered up forr’ard wi’ women’s +hamper.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>bête noire</i> no less dreaded - seemed +to flurry the brined spirit of the Granville’s’ 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. +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.</p> +<p>‘<i>À moi</i>!’ 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.</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. 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:</p> +<p>‘Courage, mesdames! I will be with you in a moment.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Madame may rest assured that there is no danger,’ said +Conyngham.</p> +<p>‘Monsieur is an Englishman - ’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Thank you, mademoiselle, but I am making good progress now. +Can you see the ship?’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ she answered, ‘it is quite close. +They are also showing lights to guide us.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Is monsieur a sailor?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘But you are travelling in the “Granville.”’</p> +<p>‘Yes; I am travelling in the “Granville.”’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘I am no relation to Zebedee,’ said Conyngham with a +gay laugh. ‘Madame may rest assured of that.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Thank you, madame,’ said Conyngham gravely.</p> +<p>‘And at a fitter time I hope to be able to tender him my thanks.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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 ‘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.</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>‘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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER IV. LE PREMIER PAS.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>‘Be as one that knoweth and yet holdeth his tongue.’</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. +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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Body of Bacchus!’ said the priest, with a pinch of snuff +poised before his long nose, ‘an Englishman - see his gold watch +chain.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>No one offered to assist Conyngham. In Spain the onlooker keeps +his hands in his pockets.</p> +<p>‘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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘The Padre has a hungry look,’ reflected Conyngham. +‘Think I’ll invite him to dinner.’</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. 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>‘You know the Captain-General Vincente of Ronda?’ he +asked.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘I have a letter to General Vincente, and must go to Ronda +as soon as possible. These are stirring times in Spain.’</p> +<p>The man’s bland face suddenly assumed an air of cunning, and +he glanced over his shoulder to see that none overheard.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘But here in the South there are no Carlists.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Then you have other guests?’ inquired Conyngham.</p> +<p>‘But. . . yes - always. In Algeciras there are always +travellers. Noblemen - like his Excellency - for pleasure. +Others - for commerce, the Government - the politics.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>He turned and shook a lean finger at the innkeeper, who was backing +towards the door with many bows.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Conyngham nodded, and laughed frankly.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>He shook his head and moved towards the open window.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</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. He tasted the wine critically.</p> +<p>‘It might be worse,’ he said. ‘I beg you +to excuse it not being better.’</p> +<p>There was something simple in the old man’s manner that won +Conyngham’s regard.</p> +<p>‘The wine is excellent,’ he said. ‘It is +my welcome to Spain.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘I am not exactly a traveller for pleasure, my father.’</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ and Concha drummed idly on the table with his fingers.</p> +<p>‘I left England in haste,’ added Conyngham lightly.</p> +<p>‘Ah!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said the priest thoughtfully, ‘Ronda is +sixty miles from here - across the mountains.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>The priest rose and emptied his glass.</p> +<p>‘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.</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. 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.</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. +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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘’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.’</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. +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.</p> +<p>‘A love letter,’ said Conyngham bluntly.</p> +<p>The Spaniard looked at him and shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Conyngham laughed and held out his hand for the letter.</p> +<p>‘It is insufficiently addressed,’ he said practically. +‘How shall I find the lady?’</p> +<p>‘Her name is Barenna, the Señorita Barenna; that is +sufficient in Ronda.’</p> +<p>Conyngham took up the letter and examined it. ‘It is +of importance?’ he said.</p> +<p>‘Of the utmost.’</p> +<p>‘And of value?’</p> +<p>‘Of the greatest value in the world to me.’</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>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, yes,’ answered Conyngham carelessly, ‘if you +like.’</p> +<p>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.’</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>‘There!’ he said. ‘Adios. My name is +Larralde, but that is of no consequence. Adios!’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER V. CONTRABAND.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>‘What rights are his that dares not strike for them?’</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. 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘These the horses?’ he inquired.</p> +<p>Concepçion Vara spread out his hands. ‘They have +no equal in Andalusia,’ he said.</p> +<p>‘Then I am sorry for Andalusia,’ answered Conyngham with +a pleasant laugh.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Who is this?’ said Conyngham. ‘Some friend +of yours? Tell him to keep his distance, for I don’t care +for his appearance.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</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>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Conyngham laughed.</p> +<p>‘No,’ he answered, ‘I am not anxious to kill any +man, but each must take care of himself in these times.’</p> +<p>‘Not against an honest smuggler.’</p> +<p>‘Are these smugglers?’</p> +<p>‘They speak as such. I know them no more than does his +Excellency.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘He is killed!’ said Concepçion, throwing down +his cigarette. ‘Mother of God! these Guardias Civiles!’</p> +<p>The two guards came clambering down the face of the rock. Concepçion +glanced at his late companion writhing in the sharpness of death.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘They will shoot me too, but not now.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘A la longa,’ he said with a grim smile. ‘In +the long run, Antonio.’</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>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ answered Conyngham.</p> +<p>The old soldier looked from one to the other.</p> +<p>‘That may be,’ he said, ‘but he sleeps in Ronda +prison to-night. To-morrow the Captain-General will see to it.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</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 Concepçion to lead the +way.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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. +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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER VI. AT RONDA.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>‘Le plus grand art d’un habile homme est celui de +savoir cacher son habileté.’</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. 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>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Are you General Vincente?’ asked Conyngham.</p> +<p>‘Yes - why not?’ And in truth the tone of the Englishman’s +voice had betrayed a scepticism which warranted the question.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>He laughed and shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>‘The guide, Antonio something-or-other, died, as I understand.’</p> +<p>‘Well, yes; if you choose to put it that way,’ 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>‘And the other man? Seemed a nice enough fellow. . .’ +inquired Conyngham.</p> +<p>The General raised one gloved hand as if to fend off some approaching +calamity.</p> +<p>‘He died this morning - at six o’clock.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Of the same complaint?’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, thanks,’ answered Conyngham, suppressing a desire +to laugh.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ answered Conynghamn. ‘Rather thought +of it - if you will have me.’</p> +<p>The General glanced up at his stalwart companion with a measuring +eye.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘A great pity,’ answered Conyngham, taking the opportunity +at last afforded him of getting a word in.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</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. It was a large gloomy house with a +patio devoid of fountain and even of the usual orange trees in green +boxes.</p> +<p>‘Through there is the garden - most pleasant and shady,’ +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. 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>‘The señorita?’ inquired the General.</p> +<p>‘The señorita is in the garden, Excellency,’ answered +one with the air of a courtier.</p> +<p>‘Then let us go there at once,’ 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. +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.</p> +<p>‘Come,’ said he, ‘let us look for Estella.’</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. 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.</p> +<p>‘Estella, here is a guest: Mr. Conyngham, one of the brave +Englishmen who remember Spain in her time of trouble.’</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. 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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘And must have found it dull and grey enough compared with +Spain,’ said Conyngham.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>He left Conyngham, and walked slowly on with one hand at his daughter’s +waist.</p> +<p>‘I was very happy in England,’ said Estella to Conyngham, +who walked at her other side; ‘but happier still to get home to +Spain.’</p> +<p>Her voice was rather low, and Conyngham had an odd sensation of having +heard it before.</p> +<p>‘Why did you leave your home?’ 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>‘We have troubles in England also - political troubles,’ +he said, after a pause.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>He broke off with a little laugh, and looked towards his daughter.</p> +<p>‘In the evening Estella reads them to me. And it was +on account of the Chartists that you left England?’</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>‘Ah, you are a Chartist, Mr. Conyngham.’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ admitted the Englishman after a pause, and he +glanced at Estella.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER VII. IN A MOORISH GARDEN.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>‘When love is not a blasphemy, it is a religion.’</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. 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.</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. 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.</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. +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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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. 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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</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. 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.</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. +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 +<i>savoir-faire</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘Do all your countrymen take life thus gaily?’ she asked +Conyngham one day; ‘surely it is a more serious affair than you +think it.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Have you always found it so?’</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>‘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.</p> +<p>‘And yet you say you remember your father’s death?’</p> +<p>‘He made a joke to the doctor, señorita, and was not +afraid.’</p> +<p>Estella smiled in a queer way, and then looked grave again.</p> +<p>‘And you have always been poor, you say, sometimes almost starving?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>He laughed again, and slipped his hand into his jacket pocket.</p> +<p>‘See here,’ he said, ‘your father’s recommendation +to General Espartero in a confidential letter.’</p> +<p>But the envelope he produced was that pink one which the man called +Larralde had given him at Algeciras.</p> +<p>‘No - it is not that,’ he said, searching in another +pocket. ‘Ah! here it is - addressed to General Espartero, +Duke of Vittoria.’</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. +The greatest names are those that men have made for themselves. +Conyngham replaced the two letters in his pocket and almost immediately +asked:</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Julia Barenna is my cousin. Her mother was my mother’s +sister. Do you know them, Señor Conyngham?’</p> +<p>‘Oh no,’ answered Conyngham, truthfully enough. +‘I met a man who knows them. Do they live in Ronda?’</p> +<p>‘No; their house is on the Cordova road, about half a league +from the Customs station.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘And three days ago you did not know of our existence,’ +she said.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>And she looked straight in front of her in order to avoid his eyes.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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’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.</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. 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.</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>‘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.’</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 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.</p> +<p>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.</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. +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>‘A lucky meeting, Señor Englishman,’ he said; +‘who would have expected to see you here?’</p> +<p>‘I have lost my way.’</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ And the grim face relaxed into a smile. +‘Lost your way?’</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>‘Then it is lucky that I have met you. It is so easy +to lose one’s way - when one is young.’</p> +<p>He raised his hand to the horse’s bridle.</p> +<p>‘You are most certainly going in the wrong direction,’ +he said; ‘I will lead you right.’</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>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, it is one of his horses. Then you know the General?’</p> +<p>‘We were boys together,’ answered the Padre; ‘and +there were some who said that he should have been the priest and I the +soldier.’</p> +<p>The old man gave a little laugh.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII. THE LOVE LETTER.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>‘I must mix myself with action lest I wither by despair.’</i></p> +<p>‘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.’</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. 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.</p> +<p>‘Old lady seems to have stood it well,’ commented the +Englishman in his mind.</p> +<p>‘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 - !’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘No,’ answered Estella, with a momentary twinkle in her +grave, dark eyes; ‘this is Mr. Conyngham - my aunt, Señora +Barenna, and my cousin Julia.’</p> +<p>The ladies bowed.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘No, señora,’ answered Conyngham with perfect +gravity; ‘I have nothing to sell.’</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. +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.</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ Señora Barenna was saying, ‘Father +Concha is very angry with the English. What a terrible man! +You do not know him, Señor Conyngham?’</p> +<p>‘I think I have met him, señora.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Surely madame can have no sins,’ said Conyngham pleasantly.</p> +<p>‘Not now,’ said Señora Barenna with a deep sigh. +‘When I was young it was different.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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 - ’</p> +<p>‘You will have a penance,’ interrupted Miss Julia Barenna +quietly, ‘from Father Concha for talking politics.’</p> +<p>‘But how will he know?’ asked Señora Barenna sharply; +and the two young ladies laughed.</p> +<p>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?’</p> +<p>‘No, señora,’ replied Conyngham hastily; ‘no; +and if I were, I should never understand Spanish politics.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘And he is, no doubt, right.’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Without the hope of reward?’</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>‘There may be, señorita - a few,’ answered Conyngham +with a laugh, ‘but not in my country. They must all be in +Spain.’</p> +<p>She smiled and shook her head in doubt. But it was a worn smile.</p> +<p>The Englishman turned away and looked through the trees. He +was wondering how he could get speech with Julia alone for a moment.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Yes, señorita, I think it must be the most beautiful +garden in the world.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>Julia had risen, and was moving towards the exit of the little grove +in which they found themselves. Conyngham had never been seated.</p> +<p>‘Are the violets in bloom, Estella? I must see them,’ +said the visitor. ‘We have none at home, where all is dry +and parched.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Señorita, I have a letter for you.’</p> +<p>‘Not yet - wait!’</p> +<p>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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>He laughed and felt in his pocket.</p> +<p>‘Yes!’ she whispered. ‘Quickly - now.’</p> +<p>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.</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>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Quick!’ whispered Julia. ‘Let us turn back.’</p> +<p>She wheeled round, and Conyngham did the same.</p> +<p>‘Julia!’ they heard General Vincente call in his gentle +voice.</p> +<p>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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>‘Julia,’ said the General, ‘the Alcalde desires +to speak with you.’</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>‘Mr. Conyngham,’ continued the General, ‘this is +our brave Mayor, in whose hands rests the well-being of the people of +Ronda.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>The General smiled and raised a deprecating shoulder.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘A letter!’ exclaimed Julia. ‘Surely the +Alcalde presumes. He takes too much upon himself.’ +The official stepped forward.</p> +<p>‘Señorita,’ he said, ‘I must be allowed +to take that risk. Did this gentleman give you a letter three +minutes ago?’</p> +<p>Julia laughed and shrugged her shoulders.</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>‘May I ask the nature of the letter?’</p> +<p>‘It was a love letter.’</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>‘A love letter from a gentleman you have never seen before?’ +he said with a forced laugh.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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. 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.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Since the señorita has done me the honour of confessing +it, I must ask you to believe it,’ answered Conyngham steadily +and coldly.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER IX. A WAR OF WIT.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>‘La discrétion est l’art du mensonge.’</i></p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>He laughed, and slipped his hand within Conyngham’s arm.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>And he turned aside to arrange his sword, which dragged on the ground.</p> +<p>‘Tell her, my dear Conyngham, to let the old gentleman read +the letter.’</p> +<p>‘But it is nothing to do with me, General.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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!’</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>‘Alcalde,’ said General Vincente, ‘the incident +is past, as we say in the diplomatic service; a lemonade now?’</p> +<p>‘No, General, the incident is not past, and I will not have +a lemonade.’</p> +<p>‘Oh!’ exclaimed General Vincente in gentle horror.</p> +<p>‘Yes, this young lady must give me the letter, or I call in +my men.’</p> +<p>‘But your men could not touch a lady, my dear Alcalde.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>And Conyngham indicated the exact spot with his riding-whip.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘A prospective aide-de-camp of General Espartero.’</p> +<p>At the mention of the great name the Mayor of Ronda became beautifully +less and half bowed to Conyngham.</p> +<p>‘I must do my duty,’ he said with the stubbornness of +a small mind.</p> +<p>‘And what do you conceive that to be, my dear Alcalde?’ +inquired the General.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>She made a little signal to Conyngham not to interfere.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘My dear Julia,’ protested the General, ‘you who +are so sensible - ’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>The Alcalde made Conyngham a profound bow and proceeded to conduct +Julia and her indignant mother to their carriage.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>Estella turned and walked away by herself.</p> +<p>‘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 - <i>la beauté du diable</i>, eh! +But on so short an acquaintance - rather rapid, rather rapid!’</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>‘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.’</p> +<p>He closed the letter and looked at Conyngham. ‘If that +is what you want,’ he added.</p> +<p>‘Yes, that is what I want.’</p> +<p>The General nodded and rose, pausing to brush a few grains of dust +from his dapper riding-breeches.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>Conyngham expressed his readiness to do as the General proposed.</p> +<p>‘When shall I start for Madrid?’ he asked.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘No,’ laughed Conyngham, ‘scarcely, considering +that I have not yet bought the saddle or the horse.’</p> +<p>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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>He shrugged his shoulders and waved away the slight with the magnanimity +of one who can forgive and forget.</p> +<p>‘I take the road to-morrow; but our contract ceased at Ronda. +I had no intention of taking you on.’</p> +<p>‘You are not satisfied with me?’ inquired Concepçion, +offering his interlocutor the cigarette he had just made.</p> +<p>‘Oh, yes.’</p> +<p>‘Buen! We take the road together.’</p> +<p>‘Then there is nothing more to be said?’ inquired Conyngham +with a good-natured laugh.</p> +<p>‘Nothing, except the hour at which your Excellency starts.’</p> +<p>‘Six o’clock,’ put in General Vincente quietly. +‘Let me see, your name is Concepçion Vara.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, Excellency - of Algeciras.’</p> +<p>‘It is well. Then serve this gentleman well, or else +- ’ The General paused, and laughed in his most deprecating +manner.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘You will doubtless wish to pack your portmanteau,’ said +the General rather breathlessly, as he hurried along with small steps +beside Conyngham.</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ answered the Englishman ingenuously, ‘yes, +of course.’</p> +<p>‘Then I will not detain you,’ said General Vincente. +‘I have affairs at headquarters. We meet at dinner, of course.’</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. 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.</p> +<p>‘I am going to-morrow morning,’ 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>‘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.’</p> +<p>She drew a deep breath and sat motionless.</p> +<p>‘How many women does an Englishman love at once?’ she +asked coldly at length.</p> +<p>‘Only one, señorita.’</p> +<p>He stood looking at her for a moment. Then she rose and walked +past him into the house.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER X. THE CITY OF DISCONTENT.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>‘En paroles ou en actions, être discret, c’est +s’abstenir.’</i></p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Before General Vincente one could not explain oneself,’ +said Concepçion, urging his horse to keep pace with the trot +of Conyngham’s huge mount.</p> +<p>‘Ah!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘As long as you are pleased, Señor Vara,’ said +Conyngham, ‘I am sure I can but feel honoured. You know +I have no money.’</p> +<p>The Spaniard shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Very,’ acquiesced Conyngham. ‘It is only +when pay-day comes that things will get complicated.’</p> +<p>Concepçion laughed.</p> +<p>‘You are a caballero after my own heart,’ he said. +‘We shall enjoy ourselves in Madrid. I see that.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘As well that as any other, Excellency.’</p> +<p>‘What do you mean?’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘But you engaged to guide me to Madrid.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</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>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</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. 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. 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>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Go on,’ cried the Spaniard; ‘it is no business +of ours. The police are behind.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>It was addressed to Colonel Monreal at No. 84 Plaza de Cadiz.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>He shook his head forebodingly as he loosened his girths and called +for water for the horses.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘When I have delivered my letter,’ replied Conyngham, +‘we shall eat with a lighter heart.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘For where, señor?’</p> +<p>‘For Ronda.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘And his Excellency?’ inquired Concepçion.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Concepçion nodded his head with much philosophy.</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘That you can, Excellency,’ replied the man, with a palm +already half extended to receive a gratuity.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</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. 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.</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. He inquired of a bystander what this might be.</p> +<p>‘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.</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’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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XI. A TANGLED WEB.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>‘Wherein I am false, I am honest - not true to be true.’</i></p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Well, they have swords,’ persisted the lady.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Ah, that Alcalde!’ she whispered between her teeth.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said Concha, crossing his legs and looking at +his companion with a queer cynicism. ‘Young people mostly +pass that way.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘But,’ he said reassuringly, ‘Julia is a match +for the Alcalde, you may rest assured of that.’</p> +<p>Señora Barenna turned with a gesture of her plump hand indicative +of bewilderment.</p> +<p>‘I do not understand her. She laughs at the soldiers +- the policemen, I mean. She laughs at me. She laughs at +everything.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Why did you send for me?’ he asked.</p> +<p>‘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 - ’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Do you wish me to see Julia?’ asked Concha abruptly.</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>He shook his lean finger in the official’s face and walked +on unchallenged.</p> +<p>‘May I come in?’ he said, tapping at the door; and Julia’s +voice bade him enter.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Let me see, I had a love letter - was it from Don Carlos? +At all events, I have lost it!’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>Julia looked worn and eager. Her eyes seemed to search his +face for news.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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. +She shrugged her shoulders and gave a sharp sigh.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>He shook his head and drummed upon the table with his dirty fingers.</p> +<p>‘Thank you,’ answered the girl with her defiant little +laugh, ‘but I can manage my own affairs.’</p> +<p>The priest nodded reflectively.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ said the girl indifferently.</p> +<p>‘General Vincente.’</p> +<p>Julia changed colour and her eyelids flickered for a moment as she +looked out of the open window.</p> +<p>‘A good friend,’ continued Concha, ‘but - ’</p> +<p>He finished the phrase with an eloquent little gesture of the hand. +At this moment they both heard the sound of an approaching carriage.</p> +<p>‘He is coming now,’ said Concha. ‘He is driving, +so Estella is with him.’</p> +<p>‘Estella is of course jealous.’</p> +<p>The priest looked at her with a slow wise smile and said nothing.</p> +<p>‘She - ’ began Julia, and then closed her lips - true +to that <i>esprit de sexe</i> 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.</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>‘It is the reverendo who visits the señorita,’ +they heard the voice of the sentinel explain deprecatingly.</p> +<p>The priest rose and went to the door, which he opened.</p> +<p>‘Only as a friend,’ he said. ‘Come in, General.’</p> +<p>General Vincente entered the room followed by Estella. He nodded +to Concha and kissed his niece affectionately.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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. 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.</p> +<p>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.</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’s work as this, slowly rubbed +his bony hands together, at a loss and incompetent to meet the urgency +of the moment.</p> +<p>‘Our guest left us yesterday morning,’ said the General, +‘and of course the Alcalde placed no hindrance on his departure.’</p> +<p>He did not look at Julia, who drew a deep breath and glanced at Estella.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘No,’ she put in composedly.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘I have no letter,’ said Julia quietly, with her level +red lips set hard.</p> +<p>‘Not in your possession, but perhaps concealed in some place +near at hand - unless it is destroyed.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Yes - yes,’ said the Padre, snuff-box in hand. +‘Blown over - of course.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Yes - if you like,’ answered Julia.</p> +<p>The General’s joy knew no bounds.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>With a laugh and a nod he went towards the door. ‘Blown +over, my dear Concha,’ he said over his shoulder.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XII. ON THE TOLEDO ROAD.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>‘Une bonne intention est une échelle trop courte.’</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. 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. 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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 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.</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 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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 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.</p> +<p>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.</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. +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.</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. 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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘He will change his attitude when it becomes apparent who I +am,’ he muttered.</p> +<p>But Conyngham’s first word would appear to suggest that Esteban +Larralde was a much less impressive person than he considered himself.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Who would have expected to meet you here?’ went on Conyngham +jovially.</p> +<p>‘It is not so surprising as you think.’</p> +<p>‘Oh!’</p> +<p>There was no mistaking Larralde’s manner, and the Englishman’s +gay blue eyes hardened suddenly and rather surprisingly.</p> +<p>‘No, I have followed you. I want that letter.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Larralde stroked his moustache with a half-furtive air of contempt.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Larralde shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</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. +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.</p> +<p>Conyngham indicated the road with an inviting wave of the hand.</p> +<p>‘Will you go on?’ he asked.</p> +<p>Larralde sat looking at him with glittering eyes, and said nothing.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</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. +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. A WISE IGNORAMUS.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>‘God help me! I know nothing - can but pray.’</i></p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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’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.</p> +<p>‘You saved his life,’ the people said.</p> +<p>‘It was his soul that I was caring for,’ replied the +Padre with his grim smile.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘The Padre,’ said the barber, who was a talker and a +radical, ‘would have the world stand still.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</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. 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. 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.</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. 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. 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.</p> +<p>‘Have I not seen your face before, my child?’ he said.</p> +<p>‘Yes, reverendo. I am of Ronda but have been living in +Xeres.’</p> +<p>‘Ah! then your husband is no doubt a malcontent?’</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. She had +probably been married at fifteen.</p> +<p>‘No, reverendo! He is a thief.’</p> +<p>Concha merely nodded his head. He never had been a man to betray +much pious horror when he heard of ill-doing.</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Ah!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘What Englishman was that?’ inquired Father Concha, brushing +some grains of snuff from his sleeve. ‘What Englishman was +that, my child?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Ah yes! And this Englishman, what was he like?’</p> +<p>‘He was very tall and straight, like a soldier, and had a moustache +quite light in colour, like straw.’</p> +<p>‘Ah yes. The English are so. And he left a letter?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, reverendo.’</p> +<p>‘A rose-coloured letter - ?’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said the woman, looking at him with surprise.</p> +<p>‘And tell me what happened afterwards. I may perhaps +be able to help you, my child, if you tell me all you know.’</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> +<p>‘And - ’</p> +<p>‘And Sebastian ate the dinner, reverendo.’</p> +<p>‘Your husband appears to be a man of action,’ said Concha +with a queer smile. ‘And then - ’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Including the letter which the Englishman had left for the +Colonel?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, reverendo. Sebastian knew that in these times the +papers of a politician may perhaps be sold for money.’</p> +<p>Concha nodded his head reflectively and took a pinch of snuff with +infinite deliberation and enjoyment.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘He always spoke of Madrid, reverendo.’</p> +<p>‘Yes - yes, I can imagine he would.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</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. +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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>‘I have not seen you for nearly a fortnight,’ she said.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘In giving the letter to that scoundrel Conyngham - he has +betrayed us, and Spain is no longer safe for me.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>Larralde gave a short laugh and shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘How?’ asked Julia with a sudden fear that blanched her +face.</p> +<p>Larralde smiled in rather a sickly way and made no answer. +He turned and looked down the avenue.</p> +<p>‘I see Father Concha approaching,’ he said; ‘let +us go towards the house.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV. A WEIGHT OF EVIDENCE.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>‘The woman who loves you is at once your detective and accomplice.’</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 +Señora Barenna, with her finger at her lips.</p> +<p>‘Hush!’ she said; ‘he is here.’</p> +<p>And from the anxious and excited expression of her face it became +apparent that madame’s nerves were astir.</p> +<p>‘Who is here?’</p> +<p>‘Why, Esteban Larralde, of course.’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>The lady cast her eyes up to heaven and heaved an exaggerated sigh.</p> +<p>‘Ah - what a tragedy life is!’ she whispered, apparently +to the angels, but loud enough for her companion to hear.</p> +<p>‘Or a farce,’ said Concha, ‘according to our reading +of the part. Where is Señor Larralde?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Concha smiled rather grimly.</p> +<p>‘She is not the first to do that,’ he said, ‘and +many have stumbled on the stairs in their haste.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘We are all as God made us,’ said Concha - ’with +embellishments added by the Evil One,’ he added, in a lower tone.</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> +<p>‘I will go with you, since you are determined to go,’ +said Concha.</p> +<p>‘What! And leave Julia here with that terrible man?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘But you say you are fond of Julia.’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said the priest quietly.</p> +<p>‘I wonder why.’</p> +<p>‘So do I,’ he said in a tone that Señora Barenna +never understood.</p> +<p>‘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 - ’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘There is the carriage,’ he said. ‘Let us +hasten to General Vincente - if you wish to see him.’</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. 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. 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘What do you propose to do?’ asked Señora Barenna +breathlessly, for she was stout and agitated and had hurried up the +steps.</p> +<p>‘When, my dear Iñez - when?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>The receiver of the anonymous warning seemed to be amused.</p> +<p>‘A little sweeping, your statements, my dear Iñez. +Is it not so? Now, a lemonade! the afternoon is warm.’</p> +<p>He rose and rang the bell.</p> +<p>‘My nerves,’ whispered the Señora to Concha. +‘My nerves - they are so easily upset.’</p> +<p>‘The liqueurs,’ said the General to the servant with +perfect gravity.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘I will, my dear Iñez; I will. And we will take +a little maraschino, to collect ourselves, eh?’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>Presently the two men conducted her to her carriage, with many reassurances.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘He possessed no money, so he cannot have fallen a victim to +thieves,’ said Concha.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘His movements were not always above suspicion - ’ the +priest closed his snuff-box and laboriously replaced it in the pocket +of his cassock.</p> +<p>‘That letter - it was a queer business!’ and the General +laughed.</p> +<p>‘Most suspicious.’</p> +<p>There was a silence, during which Concha sneezed twice with enjoyment +and more noise than is usually considered necessary.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Ah, that!’ laughed Vincente. ‘Yes, it is +true enough. It is not the first time - a mere incident, that +is all.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Yes - my dear Padre - yes.’</p> +<p>The two grey-headed men looked at each other for a moment in silence.</p> +<p>‘And yet you trust him,’ said Concha.</p> +<p>‘Despite myself, despite my better judgment, my dear friend.’</p> +<p>The priest rose and went to the window which overlooked the garden.</p> +<p>‘Estella is in the garden?’ he asked, and received no +answer.</p> +<p>‘I know what you are thinking,’ said the General. +‘You are thinking that we should do well to tell Estella of these +distressing suspicions.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Vincente shrugged his shoulders and looked rather embarrassed.</p> +<p>‘But a woman,’ went on Concha, ‘cannot afford to +trust a man against her better judgment.’</p> +<p>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.</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>‘It is not bad news that we have, my child.’</p> +<p>Estella glanced at Concha and said nothing. His wise old eyes +rested for a moment on her face with a little frown of anxiety.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Oh no,’ said Estella without much interest.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>There was silence for a few moments, and then Vincente spoke again.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>The General waited for Estella to make some comment, and after a +pause continued</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>Father Concha was brushing invisible grains of snuff from his cassock +sleeve and watching Estella with anxious eyes.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ admitted Estella quietly. ‘Yes.’</p> +<p>She moved towards the door, and there turning looked at Concha.</p> +<p>‘Does the Padre stay to dinner?’ she asked.</p> +<p>‘No, my child, thank you. No; I have affairs at home.’</p> +<p>Estella went out of the room, leaving a queer silence behind her.</p> +<p>Presently Concha rose.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XV. AN ULTIMATUM.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>‘I do believe yourself against yourself.’</i></p> +<p>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.</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>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘It is Señor Conyngham,’ said Estella at once, +in a quiet voice, ‘who has been wounded and six weeks in the hospital.’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said Conyngham. ‘But I am well again +now! And I got my appointment while I was still in the Sisters’ +care.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘How were you wounded?’ he asked.</p> +<p>‘I was stabbed in the back on the Toledo road, ten miles from +here.’</p> +<p>‘Not by a robber - not for your money?’</p> +<p>‘No one ever hated me or cared for me on that account,’ +laughed Conyngham.</p> +<p>‘Then who did it?’ asked General Vincente, unbuttoning +his gloves.</p> +<p>Conyngham hesitated.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘I should like to know who wrote it,’ exclaimed Conyngham, +with a sudden flash of anger in his eyes. The General laughed +pleasantly.</p> +<p>‘So should I,’ he said. ‘Merely as a matter +of curiosity.’</p> +<p>And he turned towards the door, which was opened at this moment by +a servant.</p> +<p>‘A gentleman wishing to see me - an Englishman, as it would +appear,’ he continued, looking at the card.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>The General nodded and left Estella and Conyngham alone in the drawing-room. +Conyngham turned on Estella.</p> +<p>‘So that I have a right to be near you,’ he said, ‘which +is all that I want.’</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>‘Such things are quickly said,’ Estella retorted.</p> +<p>‘Yes - and it takes a long time to prove them.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘I ask no less, señorita.’</p> +<p>‘Then you ask much.’</p> +<p>‘And I give all - though that is little enough.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Is it too little, señorita?’ he asked.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Now that I think of it,’ said Conyngham after a pause, +‘what I give is nothing.’</p> +<p>Estella’s face wore a queer little smile, as of a deeper knowledge.</p> +<p>‘Nothing at all,’ continued the Englishman. ‘For +I have nothing to give, and you know nothing of me.’</p> +<p>‘Three months ago,’ answered Estella, ‘we had never +heard of you - and you had never seen me,’ she added, with a little +laugh.</p> +<p>‘I have seen nothing else since,’ Conyngham replied deliberately; +‘for I have gone about the world a blind man.’</p> +<p>‘In three months one cannot decide matters that affect a whole +lifetime,’ said the girl.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘With some people; but you are hasty and impetuous. My +father said it of you - and he is never mistaken.’</p> +<p>‘Then you do not trust me, señorita?’</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. +She shrugged her shoulders.</p> +<p>‘It is not due to yourself, nor to all who know you in Spain, +if I do,’ she said.</p> +<p>‘All who know me?’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ she continued; ‘Father Concha, Señora +Barenna, my father, and others at Ronda.’</p> +<p>‘Ah! And what leads them to mistrust me?’</p> +<p>‘Your own actions,’ 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>‘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?’</p> +<p>Estella did not answer at once. After a pause she gave an indifferent +jerk of the head.</p> +<p>‘Perhaps,’ she said.</p> +<p>‘If it is possible, I will do it.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘How can I do it?’</p> +<p>She gave a short, hard laugh, which to experienced ears would have +betrayed her instantly.</p> +<p>‘By showing me the letter you wrote to Julia Barenna,’ +she said.</p> +<p>‘I cannot do that.’</p> +<p>‘No,’ she said significantly. A woman fighting +for her own happiness is no sparing adversary.</p> +<p>‘Will nothing else than the sight of that letter satisfy you, +señorita?’</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. For Estella Vincente had +in her veins blood that was counted noble in Spain - the land of a bygone +glory.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Do you want to trust me?’</p> +<p>He had come a little closer to her, and was grave enough now.</p> +<p>‘Why do you ask that?’ she inquired in a low voice.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘You always ask something.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, señorita, from you; but from no one else in the +world.’</p> +<p>He gave a sudden laugh and walked to the window, where he stood looking +at her.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>He broke off, turning to Estella, who was moving towards the door.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Estella smiled a little and resumed her seat. Then the stranger +turned to Conyngham.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘I am for the time General Vincente’s aide-de-camp, and +I am an Englishman,’ answered Conyngham.</p> +<p>The stranger bowed.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Conyngham waited in silence.</p> +<p>‘My name is Sir John Pleydell,’ said the stranger quietly.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI. IN HONOUR.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>‘He makes no friend who never made a foe.’</i></p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>Sir John declined, his manner strikingly cold and reserved beside +the genial <i>empressement</i> 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>The General bowed. Estella glanced at Conyngham, who was smiling.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>The General’s face instantly expressed the utmost concern.</p> +<p>‘My dear sir,’ he murmured.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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>‘The ringleaders of the Newport riots were sentenced to long +terms of imprisonment, which served my purpose excellently.’</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. He moved slightly in his chair, and +seemed to indicate that he had made his first point.</p> +<p>‘I hope,’ he said, addressing Conyngham directly, ‘that +I am not fatiguing you?’</p> +<p>‘Not at all,’ returned the younger Englishman coolly; +‘I am much interested.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Some months ago,’ he went on, ‘these Chartists +attacked my house in the North of England, and killed my son.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>He laughed his unpleasant laugh again and presently went on.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, yes,’ answered Conyngham, ‘I think you will +be able to find him.’</p> +<p>Sir John’s eyes had for a moment a gleam of life in them.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>Sir John Pleydell had paused, and was seeking something in his pocket. +General Vincente preserved his attitude of slightly bored attention.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Conyngham took the paper, and, holding it in his hand, spoke without +moving from the mantelpiece against which he leant.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘You speak like a lawyer,’ said Sir John, with a laugh.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘No,’ answered Conyngham slowly, ‘I did not.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>He paused for a moment to reflect upon this long-drawn-out expiation.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘And how do you propose to get him to England?’ asked +Conyngham.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Certainly,’ said Conyngham, coming forward with a card +in his hand. ‘You could not have come to a better man.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Your insolence,’ he said breathlessly, ‘is only +exceeded by your - daring.’</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. IN MADRID.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>‘Some keepeth silence knowing his time.’</i></p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>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.</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 ‘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.</p> +<p>Father Concha had been in Madrid before, though he rarely boasted +of it, or indeed of any of his travels.</p> +<p>‘The wise man does not hang his knowledge on a hook,’ +he was in the habit of saying.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘But it is a hurricane,’ he muttered; ‘a hurricane.’</p> +<p>With one hand he held his hat, with the other clung to his cloak +and portmanteau.</p> +<p>‘But it will blow the dust from my poor old capa,’ 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. 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.</p> +<p>‘The time to wash off the dust,’ he muttered as he climbed +the narrow stairs, ‘and then to work.’</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. 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.</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. +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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>The man was, indeed, thus occupied when the old priest opened the +door of his room.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Can you read?’</p> +<p>‘No.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Ah, yes! Ah, yes! That may be, reverendo. +But there are others who want it - your love letter.’</p> +<p>‘I offer you, on the part of my friend, a hundred pesetas for +this letter.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘I will come,’ 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. 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.</p> +<p>‘Señor Conyngham!’ he said. ‘What +brings you here?’</p> +<p>And the Englishman turned sharply on his heel.</p> +<p>‘Is that you - Father Concha, of Ronda?’ he asked.</p> +<p>‘No other, my son.’</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>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I remember; and why do you want that letter?’</p> +<p>‘For the sake of Julia Barenna.’</p> +<p>‘Ah! I want it for the sake of Estella Vincente.’</p> +<p>Concha laughed shortly.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> +<p>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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</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’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.</p> +<p>He found Concha busying himself by the bedside, where Sebastian lay +in the unconsciousness of deep drink.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Yes; and of course has the letter.’</p> +<p>‘Of course, amigo.’</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>‘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.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII. IN TOLEDO.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>‘Meddle not with many matters; for if thou meddle much thou +shalt not be innocent.’</i></p> +<p>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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Would you believe it, sir?’ he said, addressing Sir +John in broken English, ‘but I have just escaped a terrible death.’</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>‘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.</p> +<p>‘You must not think that Madrid is always like this,’ +said Larralde. ‘But perhaps you know the city - ’</p> +<p>‘No - this is my first visit.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘There are but few of your countrymen in Madrid at the moment,’ +Larralde had said.</p> +<p>‘I know but one,’ was the guarded reply.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Then a silence fell upon the two men, and over raised glasses they +glanced surreptitiously at each other.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>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.</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>‘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.’</p> +<p>Larralde nodded his head.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>And indeed the day had been busy enough. Señor 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. 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 <i>débris</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 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘We were wondering if you would come,’ she said.</p> +<p>‘I am here - there - everywhere - but I always come back to +the Casa Barenna,’ he said gallantly.</p> +<p>‘You look tired,’ said Julia quietly. ‘Where +are you from?’</p> +<p>‘At the moment I am from Madrid. The city has been wrecked +by a tornado - I myself almost perished.’</p> +<p>He paused, shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>‘What will you?’ he added carelessly. ‘What +is life - a single life - in Spain to-day?’</p> +<p>Julia winced. It is marvellous how an intelligent woman may +blind herself into absolute belief in one man. Señora Barenna +shuddered.</p> +<p>‘Blessed Heaven!’ she whispered. ‘Why does +not someone do something?’</p> +<p>‘One does one’s best,’ answered Larralde, with +his hand at his moustache.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Do you love me?’ he asked suddenly.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Enough to leave Spain for ever and live in another country?’</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>‘Enough to risk something now for my sake?’</p> +<p>‘Enough to risk everything,’ she answered.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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’s servant.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Julia breathed hard.</p> +<p>‘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. +<i>A la guerre comme à la guerre</i>. 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?’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ answered Julia.</p> +<p>‘I want you to write a letter to Conyngham saying that you +are tired of political intrigue.’</p> +<p>‘Heaven knows that would be true enough,’ put in Julia.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘And Estella Vincente?’ inquired Julia.</p> +<p>‘She will forget him in a week,’ laughed Larralde.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX. CONCEPÇION TAKES THE ROAD.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>‘Who knows? the man is proven by the hour.’</i></p> +<p>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.</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’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.</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>‘You have been hurrying and have no regard for the sun,’ +said Estella.</p> +<p>‘You need not find shelter for an old ox,’ replied Concha, +seating himself. ‘It is the young ones that expose themselves +unnecessarily.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ answered Estella quietly, ‘I remember.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘But Julia wishes him no harm,’ said Estella.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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. 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.</p> +<p>‘He has gone,’ said Concha. ‘I have not been +sent to tell you that he is going.’</p> +<p>‘I did not think that you had,’ she answered.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>He paused, tapping his snuffbox, and at that moment the door opened +to admit General Vincente.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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>‘And what news has the Padre?’ he asked, daintily touching +his brow with his pocket-handkerchief.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘No,’ said General Vincente; ‘it arises from Conyngham’s +pestilential habit of acquiring friends wherever he goes.’</p> +<p>The door was opened again, and a servant entered.</p> +<p>‘Excellency,’ he said, ‘a man called Concepçion +Vara, who desires a moment.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Ah! what makes you suspect that, my friend?’</p> +<p>Concepçion waved his hand lightly, as if indicating that the +news had been brought to him by the birds of the air.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>He made this last admission with a face full of pious toleration, +and Father Concha laughed grimly.</p> +<p>‘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 - ?’</p> +<p>‘That the Señor Conyngham has enemies in Spain.’</p> +<p>‘So I understand; but he has also friends?’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Then he is fortunate,’ said the General, with his most +winning smile; ‘why do you come to me, my friend.’</p> +<p>‘I require two men,’ answered Concepçion airily, +‘that is all.’</p> +<p>‘Ah! What sort of men. Guardias Civiles?’</p> +<p>‘The Holy Saints forbid! Honest soldiers, if it please +your Excellency. The Guardia Civil! See you, Excellency.’</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>‘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!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘I will arrange it,’ replied Concepçion, with +an easy shrug of the shoulders. ‘I will arrange it, never +fear.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Since they are friends of his Excellency’s,’ interrupted +Concepçion with much condescension, ‘that suffices.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>The General nodded as he wrote.</p> +<p>‘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 - +’</p> +<p>Concepçion held up his hand.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>He laughed pleasantly, and moved towards the door.</p> +<p>‘Vara,’ said Father Concha.</p> +<p>‘Yes, reverendo.’</p> +<p>‘If I meet your wife in Madrid, what shall I say to her?’</p> +<p>Concepçion turned and looked into the smiling face of the +old priest.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>And he hurried out of the room.</p> +<p>‘If you would make a thief honest, trust him,’ said Concha, +when the door was closed.</p> +<p>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.</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’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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>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.</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>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XX. ON THE TALAVERA ROAD.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>‘Les barrières servent à indiquer où +il faut passer.’</i></p> +<p>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.</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. 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.</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. +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>‘He comes,’ said the elder man at length, as he leisurely +shuffled the greasy cards. ‘I hear his horse’s hoofs.’</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. 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.</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. 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>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</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, Concepçion +waited until the hand was played out before imparting his news.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘There will be six men,’ continued Concepçion. +‘Two on horseback, two on the box, two inside the carriage with +their prisoner - my friend.’</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ said the younger soldier thoughtfully.</p> +<p>Concepçion looked at him.</p> +<p>‘What have you in your mind?’ he asked.</p> +<p>‘I was wondering how three men could best kill six.’</p> +<p>‘Out of six,’ said the older man, ‘there is always +one who runs away. I have found it so in my experience.’</p> +<p>‘And of five there is always one who cannot use his knife,’ +added Concepçion.</p> +<p>Still the younger soldier, who had medals all across his chest, shook +his head.</p> +<p>‘I am afraid,’ he said. ‘I am always afraid +before I fight.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘With me,’ he said, ‘it is afterwards - when all +is over. Then my hand shakes, and the wet trickles down my face.’</p> +<p>He laughed, and spread out his hands.</p> +<p>‘And yet,’ he said gaily, ‘it is the best game +of all - is it not so?’</p> +<p>The troopers shrugged their shoulders. One may have too much +of even the best game.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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>‘A half moon for the knife and a full moon for firearms,’ +he said.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Do you take a hand?’ asked the Castilian, fingering +the cards.</p> +<p>‘No; I have affairs. Continue your game.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘’Tis better,’ said Concepçion, with a meaning +and gallant bow to the hostess. ‘’Tis for my peace +of mind. I am but a man.’</p> +<p>Then he haggled over the price of the supper.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Conyngham!’ he shouted, laying aside that ceremony upon +which he never set great store.</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ answered a voice from within. ‘Is +that you, Concepçion?’</p> +<p>‘Of course; throw them out.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘You have hold of my leg - you, on the other side,’ shouted +Conyngham from the turmoil within.</p> +<p>‘A thousand pardons, señor!’ said the soldier, +and took a new grip of another limb.</p> +<p>Concepçion, holding his man under water, heard the sharp crack +of another head upon the soldier’s kneecap, and knew that all +was well.</p> +<p>‘That is all?’ he inquired.</p> +<p>‘That is all,’ replied the soldier, who did not seem +at all nervous now. ‘And we have killed no one.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>And a sudden silence reigned upon the box.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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 Concepçion patted his foe kindly on the back.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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>‘Whom have you with you?’ asked Conyngham.</p> +<p>‘Two honest soldiers of General Vincente’s division. +You see, señor, you have good friends.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I see that.’</p> +<p>‘One of them,’ said Concepçion meaningly, ‘is +at Toledo at the moment, journeying after you.</p> +<p>‘Ah!’</p> +<p>‘The Señor Pleydell.’</p> +<p>‘Then we will go back to meet him.’</p> +<p>‘I thought so,’ said Concepçion.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI. A CROSS-EXAMINATION.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>‘Wherein I am false I am honest - not true to be true.’</i></p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Sing,’ said the older soldier, ‘if it is in your +lungs. For us - we prefer to travel silent.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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. 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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>‘It is,’ said Concepçion, ‘an English Excellency +and his suite.’</p> +<p>‘We have another such in the house,’ answered the sleepy +doorkeeper, ‘though he travels with but one servant.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Yes, I should like to speak to Señor Pleydell.’</p> +<p>‘And I,’ said Concepçion, turning round with a +brush in his hand, ‘should like a moment’s conversation +with Señor Larralde.’</p> +<p>‘Ah!’</p> +<p>‘Yes, Excellency, he is in this matter too. But the Señor +Larralde is so modest - so modest! He always remains in the background.’</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. 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.</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. +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.</p> +<p>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.</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>‘The waiter has set my breakfast near to yours,’ said +Conyngham, unconcernedly seating himself.</p> +<p>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.</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. 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>‘I have in my long experience found that all men may be divided +into two classes,’ he said acidly.</p> +<p>‘Fools and knaves?’ suggested Conyngham.</p> +<p>‘You have practised at the Bar,’ parenthetically.</p> +<p>Conyngham shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>‘Unsuccessfully - anybody can do that.’</p> +<p>‘Which are you - a fool or a knave?’ asked Sir John.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Mistakes,’ said Sir John sceptically. In dealing +with the seamy side of life men come to believe that it is all stitches.</p> +<p>‘Which they may pass the rest of their lives in regretting.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Of course.’</p> +<p>‘To have mixed yourself in such an affair at all?’</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</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>‘Such mistakes have to be paid for - and the law assesses the +price.’</p> +<p>Conyngham shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>‘It is easy enough to say you are sorry - the law can make +no allowance for regret.’</p> +<p>Conyngham turned his attention to his breakfast, deeming it useless +to continue the topic.</p> +<p>‘It was a mistake to attend the meeting at Durham - you admit +that?’ continued Sir John.</p> +<p>‘Yes - I admit that, if it is any satisfaction to you.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘That is a mere matter of opinion.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Conyngham made no answer.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I admit you have a good case against me, but you have +not caught me yet.’</p> +<p>Sir John Pleydell looked at him coldly.</p> +<p>‘You do not even take the trouble to deny the facts I have +named.’</p> +<p>‘Why should I, when they are true?’ asked Conyngham carelessly.</p> +<p>Sir John Pleydell leant back in his chair.</p> +<p>‘I have classified you,’ he said with a queer laugh.</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ answered Conyngham, suddenly uneasy.</p> +<p>‘Yes - as a fool.’</p> +<p>He leant forward with a deprecating gesture of his thin white hand.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Conyngham slowly stirred his coffee. He was meditating.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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 <i>viâ</i> +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.’</p> +<p>He sat back again with a queer smile.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Thank you.’</p> +<p>‘You do not want to go home to England?’ suggested Sir +John, whose ear was as quick as his eye.</p> +<p>‘No, I have affairs in Spain.’</p> +<p>‘Or - perhaps a castle here. Beware of such - I once +had one.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Conyngham was silent. To speak would have been to admit.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII. REPARATION.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>‘Il s’en faut bien que l’innocence trouve autant +de protection que le crime.’</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. 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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>The man was absent about half an hour, and returned with a face that +promised little.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>He was looking idly through the vile panes, when an old priest passed +by, and glanced up beneath shaggy brows.</p> +<p>‘Seen that man before,’ said Sir John.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Concepçion Vara, who was saddling his horse in the stable +yard of the inn, saw the Padre pass.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</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. 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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>‘Madame speaks French?’</p> +<p>‘But yes, señor.’</p> +<p>Madame Barenna glanced towards a chair, which Sir John hastened to +bring forward. He despised her already, and she admired his manner +vastly.</p> +<p>‘I have taken the immense liberty of intruding myself upon +your notice, Madame.’</p> +<p>‘Not to sell me a Bible?’ exclaimed Señora Barenna, +with her fan upheld in warning.</p> +<p>‘A Bible! I believe I have one at home, in England, Madame, +but - ’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Borrow.’</p> +<p>‘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 +- ’</p> +<p>She finished the sentence with a shrug, and an expressive gesture +of the fan.</p> +<p>‘One naturally desires to read them,’ suggested Sir John. +‘The privilege of all Eve’s daughters, Madame.’</p> +<p>Señora Barenna treated the flatterer to what the French call +a <i>fin sourire</i>, and wondered how long Julia would stay away. +This man would pay her a compliment in another moment.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Is it politics?’ asked the lady, with a hasty glance +round the room.</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> +<p>He waved his thin white hand in completion of a suggestion which +made his hearer bridle her stout person.</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘No,’ he said; ‘it is merely a personal matter. +I have a communication to make to my friend General Vincente or to his +daughter.’</p> +<p>‘To Estella?’</p> +<p>‘To the Señorita Estella.’</p> +<p>‘Do you think her beautiful? Some do, you know. +Eyes - I admit - yes, lovely.’</p> +<p>‘I admire the señorita exceedingly.’</p> +<p>‘Ah yes, yes. You have not seen my daughter, have you, +señor? Julia - she rather resembles Estella.’</p> +<p>Señora Barenna paused and examined her fan with a careless +air.</p> +<p>‘Some say,’ she went on, apparently with reluctance, +‘that Julia is - well - has some advantages over Estella. +But <i>I</i> do not, of course. I admire Estella, excessively +- oh yes, yes.’</p> +<p>And the señora’s dark eyes searched Sir John’s +face. They might have found more in sculptured marble.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Not in words, Madame - not more in England than elsewhere.’</p> +<p>‘Ah,’ 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 señora’s +silent invitation.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, he will doubtless descend there. Do you know Frederick +Conyngham, señor?’</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>She paused and, closing her fan, leant forward in an attitude of +intense confidence and secrecy.</p> +<p>‘And how about his little affair?’ she whispered.</p> +<p>‘His little affair, Madame?’</p> +<p>‘De coeur,’ explained the lady, tapping her own breast +with an eloquent fan.</p> +<p>‘Estella,’ she whispered after a pause.</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ said Sir John, as if he knew too much about it +to give an opinion. And he took his leave.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Then the señorita,’ said Sir John, following +his companion along the dimly-lighted passage, ‘has her father’s +pleasant faculty of forgetting any little <i>contretemps</i> of the +past?’</p> +<p>‘Ask her,’ exclaimed the General in his cheery way. +‘Ask her.’ 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’s +presence in the hotel.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘It is surely unnecessary,’ said Estella, rather coldly.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Sir John took the chair which the General brought forward.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘And where is it?’ asked Sir John.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII. LARRALDE’S PRICE.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>‘It is as difficult to be entirely bad as it is to be entirely +good.’</i></p> +<p>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.</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. 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.</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. +The Englishman paused involuntarily and looked at the Spaniard. +Concha bowed.</p> +<p>‘We met,’ he said, ‘for a moment in the garden +of General Vincente’s house at Ronda.’</p> +<p>‘True,’ answered Sir John. ‘Are you leaving +the Cathedral? We might walk a little way together. One +cannot talk idly - here.’</p> +<p>He paused and looked up at the great oak screen - at the towering +masonry.</p> +<p>‘No,’ answered Concha gravely. ‘One cannot +talk idly here.’</p> +<p>Concha held back the great leathern <i>portière</i>, and the +Englishman passed out.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘And here, in Toledo, is another of whom you have not caught +sight,’ said Concha.</p> +<p>‘Ah?’</p> +<p>‘Yes; Señor Larralde.’</p> +<p>‘Is he here?’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said Concha.</p> +<p>They walked on in silence for some minutes.</p> +<p>‘What are we all doing here, Padre?’ inquired Sir John, +with his cold laugh.</p> +<p>‘What are you doing here, señor?’</p> +<p>Sir John did not answer at once. They were walking leisurely. +The streets were deserted, as indeed the streets of Toledo usually are.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Ah!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, señor.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Father Concha, remembering his favourite maxim that no flies enter +a shut mouth, was silent.</p> +<p>‘The pebble was a letter,’ said Sir John.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ said Concha, whose furrowed face and pessimistic +glance betrayed nothing. ‘Ah!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.</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’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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>Sir John Pleydell, a few hundred yards away, obeyed the shopman’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. 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.</p> +<p>‘Well, señor,’ he said, with a false air of bravado. +‘How fares it with your little undertaking?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Sir John’s manner had changed. He spoke as one having +authority. And Larralde shrugged his shoulders, remembering a +past payment.</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ he said, rolling a cigarette with a fine air of +indifference.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Larralde raised his eyebrows and sought the matchbox. His thoughts +seemed to amuse him.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Larralde’s eyes flashed through the smoke.</p> +<p>‘You are about to offer me money; be careful, señor,’ +he said hotly, and Sir John smiled.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘In a week,’ suggested Sir John again, ‘it may +be - well - settled one way or the other.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Larralde shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>‘Each man,’ he said, ‘must fight for himself.’</p> +<p>‘And the majority of us for a woman as well,’ amended +Sir John. ‘At least, in Spain, chivalry is not dead.’</p> +<p>Larralde laughed. He was vain, and Sir John knew it. +He had a keen sight for the breach in his opponent’s armour.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Precisely.’</p> +<p>Larralde leant back in his chair, remembering the legendary gallantry +of his race, and wearing an appropriate expression.</p> +<p>‘For a woman,’ he repeated with an eloquent gesture.</p> +<p>‘Precisely.’</p> +<p>‘Then I will do it, señor. I will do it.’</p> +<p>‘For two hundred pounds?’ inquired Sir John coldly.</p> +<p>‘As you will,’ answered the Spaniard, with a noble indifference +to such sordid matters.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV. PRIESTCRAFT.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>‘No man I fear can effect great benefits for his country +without some sacrifice of the minor virtues.’</i></p> +<p>The Señora Barenna was a leading social light in Toledo, insomuch +as she never refused an invitation.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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. 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 - <i>faute de mieux</i> - 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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘For her, Madame, as for all women, there would be no politics +if there were no politicians,’ the priest replied.</p> +<p>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.</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. 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.</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’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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘I shall have the letter in a week from now,’ the Englishman +had written.</p> +<p>‘Which will be too late,’ commented Concha pessimistically.</p> +<p>The señora was out, they told him, but the señorita +had remained at home.</p> +<p>‘It is the señorita I desire to see.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Ah, my child,’ he said, coming into the room a minute +later and sitting down rather wearily.</p> +<p>‘What?’ she asked, her two hands at her breast.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>Concha knew that he had this woman at a disadvantage.</p> +<p>‘What?’ he echoed. ‘I wish I knew. +I wish at times I was no priest.’</p> +<p>‘Why?’</p> +<p>‘Because I could help you better. Sometimes it is the +man and not the priest who is the truest friend.’</p> +<p>‘Why do you speak like this?’ she cried. ‘Is +there danger? What has happened?’</p> +<p>‘You know best, my child, if there is danger; you know what +is likely to happen.’</p> +<p>Julia stood looking at him with hard eyes - the eyes of one in mortal +fear.</p> +<p>‘You have always been my friend,’ she said slowly, ‘my +best friend.’</p> +<p>‘Yes. A woman’s lover is never her best friend.’</p> +<p>‘Has anything happened to Esteban?’</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>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘I cannot tell you,’ she answered, turning away and looking +out of the window.</p> +<p>‘You cannot tell the priest - tell the man.’</p> +<p>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.</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>‘He is all the world to me,’ she said simply, in conclusion.</p> +<p>‘Yes; and the happiest women are those who live in a small +world.’</p> +<p>A silence fell upon them. The old priest surreptitiously looked +at his watch. He was essentially a man of action.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Why do you always help me?’ she asked, as she had asked +a hundred times.</p> +<p>‘Because happiness is so rare that I hate to see it wasted,’ +he answered, going towards the door with a grim laugh.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>At the hotel they told the Padre that General Vincente was at dinner +and could not be disturbed.</p> +<p>‘He sees no one,’ the servant said.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘But I carry the General’s dessert,’ protested +the man.</p> +<p>‘No,’ said Concha half to himself, ‘I have that.’</p> +<p>Vincente was indeed at table with Estella. He looked up as +the priest entered, fingering a cigarette delicately.</p> +<p>‘How soon can you take the road?’ asked Concha abruptly.</p> +<p>‘Ten minutes - the time for a cup of coffee,’ was the +answer, given with a pleasant laugh.</p> +<p>‘Then order your carriage.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘In ten minutes, my good Manuel,’ said the General.</p> +<p>‘Bueno,’ grumbled the driver, with his mouth full - a +man of few words.</p> +<p>‘Is it to go far?’ asked the General, turning on his +heel and addressing Concha.</p> +<p>‘A long journey.’</p> +<p>‘To take the road, Manuel,’ cried Vincente, leaning out. +He closed the window before resuming his seat.</p> +<p>‘And now, have you any more orders?’ he asked with a +gay carelessness. ‘I counted on sleeping in a bed to-night.’</p> +<p>‘You will not do that,’ replied Concha, ‘when you +hear my news.’</p> +<p>‘Ah!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘You have only to name it, my friend. Proceed.’</p> +<p>The old priest paused and passed his hand across his brow. +He was breathless still, and looked worn.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>The General nodded, and held his wine up to the light.</p> +<p>‘There are matters of much political importance,’ he +said, ‘in the air just now.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said the General with his tolerant little smile. +‘Yes, my dear Padre. Some men are so bloodthirsty; is it +not so?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.’</p> +<p>‘None can guard himself against assassination.’</p> +<p>The General seemed for a moment inclined to dispute this statement, +but shrugged his shoulders and finally passed it by.</p> +<p>‘The Queen,’ he said. ‘What of her?’</p> +<p>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:</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘True, my dear Padre - true,’ admitted Vincente, half +reluctantly.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘No matter - no matter.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Take your time,’ urged the General soothingly. +‘This great plot, you say, which is to spread over all Spain - +’</p> +<p>‘Is for to-morrow night, my friend.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV. SWORDCRAFT.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>‘Rien n’est plus courageux qu’un coeur patient, +rien n’est plus sûr de soi qu’un ésprit doux.’</i></p> +<p>The General set down his glass, and a queer light came into his eyes, +usually so smiling and pleasant.</p> +<p>‘Ah! Then you are right, my friend. Tell us your +story as quickly as possible.’</p> +<p>‘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 - ’</p> +<p>He paused, tapped on the table with his bony fingers, and glanced +at Estella.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ murmured the General absently, and there was a +queer little smile on Estella’s lips.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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 <i>rara avis</i>!) when he was wanted.</p> +<p>‘No matter,’ replied Concha, in a voice as hard and sharp.</p> +<p>‘No; after all, it is of no matter, so long as your information +is reliable.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘It will not be the first time they have tried,’ put +in the General.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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 fœtid +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. +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Can you start on a journey, now - in five minutes?’ +he asked.</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ she answered, rising and going towards the door.</p> +<p>‘Have you a white mantilla among your travelling things?’ +he asked again.</p> +<p>Estella turned at the doorway and nodded. ‘Yes,’ +she said again.</p> +<p>‘Then take it with you, and a cloak, but no heavy luggage.’</p> +<p>Estella closed the door.</p> +<p>‘You can come with us?’ said the General to Concha, half +command, half interrogation.</p> +<p>‘If you wish it.’</p> +<p>‘You may be wanted. I have a plan - a little plan,’ +and he gave a short laugh. ‘It may succeed.’</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>‘It will be Saturday,’ he said simply, ‘before +we have reached our journey’s end, and you will be hungry. +Have you a pocket?’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘I believe you have no money?’ said the General suddenly.</p> +<p>‘I have only enough,’ admitted the old man, ‘to +take me back to Ronda; whither, by the way, my duty calls me.’</p> +<p>‘I think not. Your Master can spare you for a while; +my mistress cannot do without you.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>Vincente was writing at the table.</p> +<p>‘We shall want help,’ he said, without looking up. +‘I am sending for a good man.’</p> +<p>And he smiled as he shook the small sand-castor over the paper.</p> +<p>‘May one ask,’ said Concha, ‘where we are going?’</p> +<p>‘We are going to Ciudad Real, my dear friend, since you are +so curious. But we shall come back - we shall come back.’</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. 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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. 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.</p> +<p>‘An old traveller like you must shift for yourself,’ +he said gaily.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>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.</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’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.</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>‘It is the Queen’s courier,’ said the innkeeper +grandly, ‘who takes the road before her Majesty in order to secure +horses.’</p> +<p>‘Ah,’ said the General, breaking his bread and dropping +it into his cup. ‘Is that so? The Queen Regent, you +mean?’</p> +<p>‘Queen or Queen Regent, she requires four horses this evening, +Excellency - that is all my concern.’</p> +<p>‘True, my friend; true. That is well said. And +the horses will be forthcoming, no doubt.’</p> +<p>‘They will be forthcoming,’ said the man. ‘And +the Excellency’s carriage is ready.’</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. 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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI. WOMANCRAFT.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>‘Il est rare que la tête des rois soit faite à +la mesure de leur couronne.’</i></p> +<p>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.</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. 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. 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.</p> +<p>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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘General Vincente, your Majesty, craves the favour of a moment.’</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ exclaimed the Queen, the light returning to her +eyes, a faint colour flushing her cheek. ‘In five minutes +I will receive him.’</p> +<p>And there is no need to say how the Queen spent those minutes.</p> +<p>‘Your Majesty,’ said the General, bending over her hand, +which he touched with his lips, ‘I have news of the greatest importance.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Treachery, Madame,’ he answered, with his sudden smile +and a bow. ‘Treachery.’</p> +<p>She frowned. When a Queen stoops to dalliance a subject must +not be too practical.</p> +<p>‘Ah! What is it that concerns my life? Another +plot?’ she inquired shortly.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘What is your concern, General?’ she asked, looking at +him over her fan.</p> +<p>‘To save your Majesty’s life to-night.’</p> +<p>‘To-night!’ she echoed, her coquetry gone.</p> +<p>‘To-night.’</p> +<p>‘But how and where?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Then one must act at once,’ she said.</p> +<p>The General bowed.</p> +<p>‘What have you done?’ she asked.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘And what means have you of preventing this thing?’</p> +<p>‘I have brought the means with me, Madame.’</p> +<p>‘Troops?’ asked the Queen doubtfully, knowing where the +canker-worm lay hidden.</p> +<p>‘A woman and a priest, Madame.’</p> +<p>‘And - ’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Yes. And the remainder of your plan?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>And General Vincente gave a queer, cheery little laugh, as if he +were arranging a practical joke.</p> +<p>‘But the fight will be round my carriage - ’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘And these persons - this woman who risks her life to save +mine - who is she?’</p> +<p>‘My daughter,’ answered the General gravely.</p> +<p>‘She is here - in the hotel now?’</p> +<p>The General bowed.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>Vincente made no reply.</p> +<p>‘However, bring her to me now.’</p> +<p>‘She has travelled far, Madame, and is not prepared for presentation +to her Queen.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘You refuse,’ she said, with an insolent air of indifference. +‘You think that I am unworthy to - meet your daughter.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘But she may be killed,’ exclaimed the Queen.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘So long as I serve your Majesty faithfully - ’</p> +<p>‘But you have no right to despise me,’ she interrupted +passionately.</p> +<p>‘If I despised you, should I be here now - should I be doing +you this service?’</p> +<p>‘I do not know. I tell you I do not understand you.’</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’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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘In a short three minutes,’ said the ostler, ‘and +the Excellencies can then depart. In which direction, reverendo, +if one may ask?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Ah, I see the reverendo knows a horse.’</p> +<p>‘And an ass,’ added Concha.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Are you rested, my child?’ asked Concha at the carriage +door.</p> +<p>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:</p> +<p>‘Are you rested, my child, after our long journey?’</p> +<p>‘Thank you, my father, yes.’</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. 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.</p> +<p>The ostler hurried to the street to watch them go.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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. A NIGHT JOURNEY.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>‘Let me but bear your love, I’ll bear your cares.’</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. 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.</p> +<p>Concha lowered the window and thrust forward his long inquiring nose.</p> +<p>‘What is it?’ asked the General.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘It will be clear before the morning,’ 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. 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.</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. +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.</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ said Concha, looking out, ‘it will be a great +storm - and it will soon come.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Nature is always on my side,’ said Vincente, with his +chuckling laugh. 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. 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.</p> +<p>‘It is well,’ said Vincente, who assuredly saw good in +everything; ‘the wind comes first, and therefore the storm will +be short.’</p> +<p>As he spoke the thunder rolled among the hills.</p> +<p>‘It is almost like guns,’ 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. 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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Who is that?’ she asked.</p> +<p>‘Conyngham,’ replied the General.</p> +<p>‘You sent for him?’ inquired Estella, in a hard voice.</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Will there be fighting?’ asked Estella suddenly.</p> +<p>The General shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>‘One cannot call it fighting. There may be a disturbance +in the streets,’ 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. +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.</p> +<p>‘Who is that?’ she asked shortly, pointing to the other +window, which was closed.</p> +<p>‘Concepçion Vara - Conyngham’s servant,’ +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 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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Quick!’ said Conyngham’s voice. ‘Quick +- take your reins - never mind the lamps.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Keep still,’ he said. ‘Sit back. Conyngham +can take care of himself.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘One who has his quietus,’ said Concha; ‘these +royal carriages are heavy.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Another,’ said Concha, looking for broken glass in the +folds of his cassock. ‘That is a pretty trick of Conyngham’s.’</p> +<p>‘And the man is a horseman,’ added the General, sheathing +his sword - ’a horseman. It warms the heart to see it.’</p> +<p>Then he leant out of the window and asked if any were hurt.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>He rubbed a sulphur match on the leg of his trouser, and lighted +a cigarette as he rode along.</p> +<p>‘On our side no accidents,’ continued Vara, with a careless +grandeur, ‘unless the reverendo received a kick in the face.’</p> +<p>‘The reverendo received a stone in the small of the back,’ +growled Concha pessimistically, ‘where there was already a corner +of lumbago.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘It is the road to Madrid,’ said Concepçion, noting +the direction of the Englishman’s glance.</p> +<p>The General, leaning out of the carriage window, was also looking +back anxiously.</p> +<p>‘They have sent a messenger to Madrid, Excellency, with the +news that the Queen is on the road to Toledo,’ said Concepçion.</p> +<p>‘It is well,’ 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. 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.</p> +<p>‘It is like a cat walking down an alley full of dogs,’ +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>‘Midnight,’ said Concha. ‘And all respectable +folk are in their beds. At night all cats are grey.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘See,’ said the General, leaning out of the window and +speaking to Conyngham, ‘they have heard the sound of our wheels.’</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>‘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.’</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. 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘It is still enough - and quiet,’ said Concha, looking +out.</p> +<p>‘As quiet as a watching cat,’ replied Vincente.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII. THE CITY OF STRIFE.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i> ‘What +lot is mine<br /> Whose foresight preaches +peace, my heart so slow<br /> To feel it!’</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. 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. +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.</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. +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ said Concha, going towards the supper-table.</p> +<p>Estella turned, and for the first time met Conyngham’s eyes. +His face startled her. It was so grave.</p> +<p>‘Were you hurt?’ she asked sharply.</p> +<p>‘Not this time, señorita.’</p> +<p>Then she turned with a sudden laugh towards her father. ‘Did +I play my part well?’ she asked.</p> +<p>‘Yes, my child.’ And even he was grave.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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>‘Do queens always feed on old birds such as this?’ asked +Concha discontentedly; and Vincente, spreading out his napkin, laughed +with gay good humour.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘He would rather be in bed,’ muttered the priest, with +his mouth full.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Ah!’</p> +<p>‘The Señorita Barenna.’</p> +<p>The General rose from the table.</p> +<p>‘How did she get in here?’ he asked sharply.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘And the other - this Larralde?’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Where is the Señorita Barenna?’ asked the General.</p> +<p>‘She is downstairs - commanding his Excellency’s soldiers +to let her pass.’</p> +<p>‘You go down, my friend, and bring her here. Then take +that door yourself.’</p> +<p>Concepçion bowed ceremoniously and withdrew. 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>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Her Majesty is on the road between Aranjuez and Madrid - in +safety, my dear Julia,’ replied the General soothingly.</p> +<p>‘But they think she is here. The people are in the streets. +Look out of the window. They are in the Plaza.’</p> +<p>‘I know it, my dear,’ said the General.</p> +<p>‘They are armed - they are going to attack this house.’</p> +<p>‘I am aware of it.’</p> +<p>‘Their plan is to murder the Queen.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘But you will tell them? I will do it. Let me go +to them. I am not afraid.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘But Estella must not take this risk,’ exclaimed Julia. +‘Let me do it.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘And you, and Señor Conyngham,’ she cried, ‘you +must not run this great risk.’</p> +<p>‘It is what we are paid for, my dear Julia,’ 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. Then he stepped out on to the balcony without fear +or hesitation.</p> +<p>‘See,’ he said, ‘the square is full of them.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘And these are Spaniards, my dear Conyngham,’ whispered +the General. ‘A hundred of them against one woman. +Name of God! I blush for them.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>He paused, looking at his watch.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>Concha, having supped satisfactorily, was now sitting back in his +chair seeking for something in the pockets of his cassock.</p> +<p>‘It is to be presumed,’ he said, ‘that one may +smoke - even in a palace.’</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>‘They are still doubtful,’ he said, returning, ‘and +I think their numbers have decreased. We cannot allow them to +disperse.’</p> +<p>He paused, thinking deeply.</p> +<p>‘My child,’ he said suddenly to Estella, ‘you must +show yourself on the balcony.’</p> +<p>Estella rose at once; but Julia held her back.</p> +<p>‘No,’ she said; ‘let me do it. Give me the +white mantilla.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘No,’ she said; ‘I will do it.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Come back,’ whispered General Vincente. ‘Slowly, +my child - slowly.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX. MIDNIGHT AND DAWN.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i> ‘I +have set my life upon a cast<br /> And +I will stand the hazard of the die.’</i></p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘To set against which door, my honest friend?’</p> +<p>‘The great door on the Plaza, Excellency; the other is an old +door of iron.’</p> +<p>‘And they cannot burn it or break it open?’</p> +<p>‘No, Excellency. And, besides, there are loopholes in +the thickness of the wall at the side.’</p> +<p>The General smiled on this man as being after his own heart.</p> +<p>‘One may not shoot to-night, my friend. I have already +given the order.’</p> +<p>‘But one may prick them with the sword, Excellency?’ +suggested the trooper, with a sort of suppressed enthusiasm.</p> +<p>The General shrugged his shoulders, wisely tolerant.</p> +<p>‘Oh yes,’ he answered, ‘I suppose one may prick +them with the sword.’</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>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Street-fighting,’ answered the General gravely. +‘Do you know anything of it? It is nasty work.’</p> +<p>‘I know something of it. One has to shout very loud. +I studied it - at Dublin University.’</p> +<p>‘To be sure - I forgot.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Close the shutters,’ said the General. ‘Let +us avoid arousing ill-feeling.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘I wish they would shout,’ he said. ‘It is +unnatural. They are like children. When there is noise there +is little mischief.’</p> +<p>Then he remained silent for some minutes, watching intently. +All in the room noted his every movement. At length he turned +on his heel.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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>‘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.’</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>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</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. At his heels an instant later a single line of men swung +round the corner and charged across the square.</p> +<p>‘Dear, dear,’ muttered the General; ‘too quick, +my friend, too quick!’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>The troopers were now retreating slowly towards the Calle de la Ciudad.</p> +<p>‘Be careful, Conyngham,’ shouted the General from the +balcony. ‘They will return.’</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. 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.</p> +<p>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.</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>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>Suddenly the crowd swayed. The faint sound of a distant bugle +came to the ears of all.</p> +<p>‘It is nothing,’ shouted Concha, in English. ‘It +is nothing. It is I who sent the bugler round.’</p> +<p>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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>A moment later Concha came into the room dragging on his cassock.</p> +<p>‘My child, we are in God’s hand,’ 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. General Vincente was +holding his handkerchief to his side, and his eyes, which had a thoughtful +look, saw only Estella’s face.</p> +<p>‘I have sent for a doctor,’ said Conyngham. ‘Your +father is wounded.’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said Vincente immediately; ‘but I am in +no pain, my dear child. There is no reason, surely, for us to +distress ourselves.’</p> +<p>He looked round and smiled.</p> +<p>‘And this good Conyngham,’ he added, ‘carried me +like a child.’</p> +<p>Julia was on her knees at the foot of the sofa, her face hidden in +her hands.</p> +<p>‘My dear Julia,’ he said, ‘why this distress?’</p> +<p>‘Because all of this is my doing,’ she answered, lifting +her drawn and terror-stricken face.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Your breviary?’ whispered Concepçion; ‘I +saw it lying out there - among the dead.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘The cavalry,’ said Conyngham, ‘from Madrid.’</p> +<p>‘I did not expect - them,’ said Vincente slowly, ‘before +the dawn.’</p> +<p>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.</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>‘Every man to his trade,’ he said, with a little laugh.</p> +<p>Then suddenly he made a grimace.</p> +<p>‘A twinge of pain,’ he said deprecatingly, as if apologising +for giving them the sorrow of seeing it. ‘It will pass - +before the dawn.’</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. THE DAWN OF PEACE.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>‘Quien no ama, no vive.’</p> +<p>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.</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. 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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>He paused, slowly taking a pinch of snuff.</p> +<p>‘Where the river is deepest it makes least noise,’ 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. And before any +could speak the clatter of horses in the narrow street diverted attention. +Concha rose to his feet.</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ he said, and went forward to meet Conyngham, who +was riding with Concepçion at his side.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Are you come to Ronda, or are you passing through?’ +asked the priest.</p> +<p>‘To Ronda. As I passed the Casa Barenna I made inquiries. +The ladies are in the town, it appears.’</p> +<p>‘Yes; they are with Estella in the house you know - unless +you have forgotten it.’</p> +<p>‘No,’ answered Conyngham getting out of the saddle. +‘No; I have forgotten nothing.’</p> +<p>Concepçion came forward and led the horse away.</p> +<p>‘I will walk to the Casa Vincente. Have you the time +to accompany me?’ said Conyngham.</p> +<p>‘I have always time - for my neighbour’s business,’ +replied Concha. And they set off together.</p> +<p>‘You walk stiffly,’ said Concha. ‘Have you +ridden far?’</p> +<p>‘From Osuna - forty miles since daybreak.’</p> +<p>‘You are in a hurry.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I am in a hurry.’</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>‘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.’</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>‘And you have got it - at last. Holy saints - these Englishmen! +Do you always get what you want, my son?’</p> +<p>‘Not always,’ replied Conyngham, with an uneasy laugh. +‘But I should be a fool not to try.’</p> +<p>‘Assuredly,’ said Concha, ‘assuredly. And +you have come to Ronda - to try?’</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘There walks a tragedy,’ said Concha, in his curt way. +‘Inside every cassock there walks a tragedy - or a villain.’</p> +<p>After a pause it was Concha who again broke the silence. Conyngham +seemed to be occupied with his own thoughts.</p> +<p>‘And Larralde - ?’ said the priest.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘In Barcelona?’ echoed Concha.</p> +<p>‘Yes; where he can take a passage to Cuba, and where he awaits +Julia Barenna.’</p> +<p>‘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! ‘</p> +<p>‘I have a letter,’ continued Conyngham, ‘from Larralde +to the Señorita Barenna.’</p> +<p>‘So you parted friends in Barcelona - after all - when his +knife has been between your shoulders?’</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>‘God bless you, my son!’ 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>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘You want to know who and what I am - before we reach the Calle +Mayor?’ said Conyngham.</p> +<p>‘I know what you are, <i>amigo mio</i>, better than yourself, +perhaps.’</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>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ she whispered, as if he had called her. +‘Yes - what is it? Have you come to tell me - something?’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>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.</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. 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. He turned and crossed the room +towards Conyngham.</p> +<p>‘I see,’ he said, ‘Estella in the garden.’</p> +<p>And they passed out of the room together, leaving Julia Barenna alone +with her thoughts. On the broad stone balcony Concha paused.</p> +<p>‘I will stay here,’ he said. He looked over the +balustrade. Señora Barenna was still asleep.</p> +<p>‘Do not awake her,’ he whispered. ‘Let all +sleeping things sleep.’</p> +<p>Conyngham passed down the stairs noiselessly, and through the doorway +into the garden.</p> +<p>‘And at the end - the Gloria is chanted,’ 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’ 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.</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. +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.</p> +<p>‘Señorita,’ he said, ‘I have brought you +the letter.’ He held it out, and she took it, turning over +the worn envelope absent-mindedly.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>She looked at it again.</p> +<p>‘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.’</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. 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>‘There - I have destroyed the letter,’ she said, with +a thoughtful little smile. Then, looking up, she met his eyes.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Then she came slowly towards him.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines4"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, IN KEDAR'S TENTS ***</p> +<pre> + +******This file should be named kdrt10h.htm or kdrt10h.zip****** +Corrected EDITIONS of our EBooks get a new NUMBER, kdrt11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, kdrt10ah.htm + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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