Russell now took from his pocket a bulky parcel, and leaning far inside the niche, he laid it carefully down. Then he held up the torch and allowed its light to fall into the niche, so as to see that all was secure; after which, feeling fully satisfied with his work, and experiencing a great sense of relief, he descended from his perch. Shortly after he extinguished the torch, and then, stretching himself out on the bed beside Harry, he resigned himself to oblivion.



CHAPTER XV.

IN WHICH RUSSELL UNDERGOES AN EXAMINATION.

Early on the following morning Russell was roused from sleep by a messenger, who made a peremptory demand for him to rise and follow. Harry explained that he was wanted by the Carlist chief for examination, and reproached him for not having concealed the bonds the previous night; at which reproachful words Russell showed no signs of dejection, as Harry had expected, but, on the contrary, to his amazement, seemed to have upon his face a slight air of triumph, regarding him with a self-satisfied smile and a cunning leer which puzzled him greatly. This strange and unexpected change in Russell, from terror and despair to peace of mind and jocularity, was a puzzle over which Harry racked his brains for some time, but to no purpose.

Meanwhile Russell was led away. He didn't take up any time with his toilet, for the unfortunate man saw nothing with which he could even wash his face. However, he made no complaint, and for a very good reason, since he could not speak a word of Spanish; and, moreover, he still felt so joyful over his concealment of the treasure, that he was able to bear with considerable equanimity all the lesser ills of life.

In a few minutes he found himself ushered into the presence of the Carlist chief. The latter was seated upon a chest, over which some rugs were spread. Another chest was also there, upon which he signed to Russell to be seated.

"Ye doesn't spake Spanish?" said the chief.

At these words Russell started and stared in surprise. The words were English, with an accent that was not altogether unfamiliar. It seemed a good omen.

"Do you speak English?" he exclaimed.

"A throifle," said the chief. "I had a frind that learned me a few sintincis av it; so I doesn't moind spakin it, as it'll be more convaynient for both av us. Ye must know, thin, that, in the first place, I lamint the necessichood that compils me to arrest the loikes av you, but I've got arders from me military shupariors, an' I've got to obey thim, so I have. It's no use protistin, for I'm only an agint. So I'd loike yez to be honest wid me, an' I'll be the same wid you."

"Why, you speak English first-rate—in fact, splendid," said the delighted Russell. "I never heard a foreigner speak it so well before."

"Sure an' it's aisy enough," said the chief; "as aisy as dhrinkin', whin ye have practice. I've got a farm accint, av coorse, but that's nayther here nor there."

Russell thought that his accent had a little smack of Irish about it, and wondered whether all Spaniards spoke English like that.

"Ye'll excuse me," said the chief, "if I have to ax you a few throiflin interrogations for farrum's sake. I'll now begin. What is your name?"

"Russell."

"Russell—ah! What profession?"

"A gentleman," said Russell, somewhat pompously.

"A gintleman, eh; an' ye live on yer own money?"

"Of course."

"That's right," said the chief, with deep satisfaction. "It's meself that's the proud man this day to meet wid the loikes avyou that's got an indepindint fartune, an' can call his sowl his own. An' have yez been long in Spain, thin?"

"No, only a couple of months."

"Thravellin' for plisure, av coorse," insinuated the chief.

"Yes; I wanted to take a run through the Continent," said Russell, in a grandiose way, as though the "Continent" was something belonging to him; "and I'm also bringing home with me a ward of mine—Miss Westlotorn."

"Ah! an' so the young lady is a ward av yours? I thought she was your daughter."

"No, she's my ward."

"Is she rich?"

"Well, sir, she's comfortable; she's worth about fifty thousand pounds sterling. Now I don't call that rich; I only call it comfortable."

"An' what do yez call rich?" asked the chief, in a tender voice, full of affectionate interest.

"Well, a couple of hundred thousand pounds or so. You see, when I was worth fifty thousand I thought I was somebody, but I soon learned how paltry an amount that is. No, sir; two hundred thousand pounds are necessary to make a rich man, and not a penny less, sir—not a penny, sir."

"Thim's me own sintimints intirely," said the chief; "that shuits me, so it does. I saw by the cut av yez that ye must be a millionnaire at laste—so I did."

"A millionnaire!" said Russell, with affected modesty. "Well, you know, in England that's a big word; but I suppose here in Spain, or anywhere on the Continent, I might be called one."

"I suppose," said the chief, after a pause, "that ye've got an ixtinsive acquaintince wid the nobility an' gintry an' all thira fellers?"

"Yes," said Russell, "I have; and not in England only, but throughout the Continent. Not that I think much of the Continental nobility. Between you and me, I think they're a beggarly lot."

"Thrue for you," said the chief. "Thim's me own sintimints."

"Why, sir," continued Russell, who evidently thought he was making a deep impression, and so went on all the more in his vainglorious boastings, "some of these here Continental nobility ain't worth a brass farthing. Why, sir, there's lots of respectable English merchants—tailors, for instance—and other quiet, unassuming gentlemen, who could buy out these Continental nobles, out and out, over and over again."

"Divil a doubt av that same," said the chief. "Ye know how to ixpriss yourself wid very shuitable sintimints. I'd like to know more av you. I suppose ye've got a passport?"

"A passport?" said Russell. "Well, yes, I believe I did get one;" and fumbling in his pocket, he succeeded in bringing to light that important document. This the chief took, and, without opening it, put it in his own pocket.

"I'll take a luk at it prisintly," said he. "Perhaps ye can tell me about yer frind, the young man that's wid yez. Is he yer son?"

"Son? Oh no; but he's a doosed fine young feller. His name's Rivers."

"Is he rich?"

"Well, he's pretty comfortable, I think. He's in the wine and fruit business, and has an agency at Barcelona."

"Sure an' it's meself that's glad to hear that same," said the chief. "An' can ye tell me anything about that other young man that was shtrivin' to join yer party?"

"That fellow—his name's Ashby."

"Ashby, is it?"

"Yes, and the greatest scoundrel that ever lived—a miserable fortune-hunter, trying to inveigle my ward into a marriage. I came here barely in time to save her. And the only object the infernal scoundrel has now in sneaking after me is to try and get hold of her and get her from me. But he'll find he's got pretty tough work before him. He's got me to deal with this time."

"Is the young gyerrul fond av him?" asked the chief, in a tone of deep anxiety.

"She? Fond of him? Pooh! Nonsense! She's like all girls—likes to have attentions paid her, that's all; and so this poor fool thought she would marry him. Why, the man's an ass! But I guess he's had enough of chasing her by this time. By Jove! there's some satisfaction, after all, in being caught this way, since he's caught too."

Some further conversation followed of the same kind. Russell continued to indulge in a strain of self-glorification, and the chief to ask him questions. By yielding to his silly vanity Russell was preparing the way for results which he little expected. Little did he dream of what was soon to disclose itself. He thought that he was impressing the mind of the Carlist chief with ideas of the greatness, grandeur, power, wealth, and glory of the celebrated Russell whom he had made his prisoner, and hoped in this way to overawe his captor so as to secure good treatment, or even to terrify him into letting him go. He little knew that the chief regarded him merely as a bird to be plucked. In his eyes, the more the feathers the greater the yield. The moment the chief found that his prisoner professed to be a millionnaire, that moment the fate of Russell and his party was sealed. The effect upon the chief was already manifest in part, for every moment he grew more courteous in his manner.

"Sure it's meself," said he, at length, "that's bothered about the accommodations ye have. It's a cowld, damp room that, an' no furniture at all at all."

"Yes," said Russell, "it is rather rough; and for a man that's accustomed to high living and luxurious surroundings it's very bad. I'm dreadful afraid of rheumatiz."

"Don't spake another word about it," said the chief, briskly. "I'll find ye another room where ye'll be as comfortable as the Quane av England. Ye'll have as good a bed as the best."

This sudden offer startled Russell and excited dreadful apprehensions. What would become of his bonds? He hastened now to modify his last words.

"Oh, well," said he, "for that matter, you needn't trouble yourself. I dare say I shall do very well where I am."

"Do very well, is it? What! an' you wid the rheumatiz! Sure to glory an' ye'll not do anything av the kind. I'll get yez another room where ye'll be warrum."

"Oh, but," said Russell, in deep uneasiness, "I like that room, I do, really. I like the view and the—the—the ventilation. It's splendid—in fact it's the finest room to sleep in I ever saw. If you could only let me have a bed to myself—"

"A bed to yerself? Sure an' that's jist what I'm going to give ye—a bed to yerself altogether an' a room too; an' so ye'll have comfort, an' warrunith, an' solichood all comboined."

"But, really," persisted Russell, "my dear sir, all that is quite unnecessary."

"Not a bit av it. Ye'll have the best; an' the room 'll be yours at onct, so it will; an' ye'll not go back to bed again in that frozen hole."

"But I assure you—I assure you," persisted Russell, most earnestly, "it's a noble room—a comfortable room—a splendid room."

"Oh, sure ye're too modest, so ye are," said the chief. "But nivir ye moind—lave it all to me. I'll fix it for ye."

Russell was in deep dejection and anxiety, yet he felt afraid to press the matter too eagerly. To be taken away from the vicinity of his treasure was indeed a crushing blow, yet he dared not object too strongly lest the chief might suspect something. So he could only submit with the best grace possible under the circumstances, and find faint consolation in the thought that the treasure was at least secure.

After a brief silence the chief resumed:

"It's pained I am, so I am, to trouble a gintleman av fartune, but I'm undher the onplisint naycissichood av subjictin' ye to a further examination. It's a mite onplisint at first, but it's nothin' whin yer used to it."

"Another examination?" repeated Russell, with no little uneasiness. "What is that?"

"Oh, it's only an examination av yer apparel, yer clothes, bit by bit."

"My clothes?"

"Yes—to gyard against anythin' bein' concailed about ye."

"But I have nothing concealed, on my honor!"

At this the chief waved his hands deprecatingly.

"Hush!" said he. "Whisht, will ye! don't I know it? begorra meself does. It's all a mere farrum. It's a laygal inactmint that I've got to follow. Discipline must be kept up. Sure an' if I didn't obey the law meself first an' foremost, me own mind 'ud all revolt against me, an' thin where'd I be? But it'll not be anythin'. Sure to glory, many's the fine man I've shtripped, an' him none the worse for it. So go ahead, fool, an' the sooner ye begin, the sooner it'll be over."

"I—I—don't see—I—I—don't know—" stammered Russell.

"Arrah, sure to glory, it's as aisy as wink. Begin where ye are."

"What, here?" cried Russell, aghast.

"Yis."

"Undress here?"

"Av coorse."

"But—but—mayn't I have a private room?"

"But ye mayn't, for ye moight consale somethin'. Ye've got to ondress before the examinin' committee—that's me. Sometimes it's done in the presence av a committee av the whole—that's the whole regiment av us; but this time, out av jue respect for you an' considherations av decarrum, I've farrumed a committee av one."

"But what other clothes may I put on?" asked Russell, ruefully.

"Sure an' I've got a fine shuit for ye."

"I don't see any."

"Oh, they're handy enough to here: they're in the next room, quite convaynient, an' I'll let ye have thim afther ye get these off."

Russell stood still in deep gloom and despondency. All his finest feelings were outraged beyond description at this proposal. The chief, however, sat calm and smiling, as though quite unconscious of any evil intent.

"Come," said he, "hurry up!"

There was no help for it. He was clearly in this man's power. It was a dreadful thought; yet he had to obey.

So he took off his cravat. This he did slowly and solemnly, as though preparing to bare his neck for the axe of the executioner.

"Come, make haste," said the chief. "I've only got a few minutes to spare; an' if ye can't change yer clothes before me alone, why, I'll have to go off, an' thin ye'll have half a dozen av thim up here at ye."

"And must I?" moaned the unhappy man.

"Av coorse," said the chief. "An' what is it all? Sure it's nothin' at all at all, so it isn't."

Russell gave a heavy sigh, and then taking off his coat he laid it on the floor. Then he cast an appealing glance at the chief, who, however, only responded with an impatient gesture. Thereupon Russell took off his waistcoat. Another appealing glance was then thrown at the chief, who only responded by a gesture more impatient than before.

"Come," said he, "be quick! Ye see, ye may have no end av val'able dockymints stitched in between the lining av yer clothes—I've often knowed that same. Begorra, we get more in that way that we find stitched in the clothes, than we do from the wallets an' the opin conthributions."

"But I haven't anything stitched between my clothes."

"So ye say, an' so I'm bound to believe," said the chief. "Sure I wouldn't for the worruld be afther hintiu' that ye iver spake anythin' but the truth. Howandiver, I'll tell ye somethin'. Ye see, I was standin' at the dure av yer room last night by the marest accidint, an' I happened to overhear a confabulation between you an' Rivers. An' ye know what ye towld him, and ye know what he said to you. Ye said somethin' about havin' Spanish bonds—to the chune av thirty thousand pounds—in yer pocket, or about ye somewhere, an' ye wanted some place to hide it, an' Rivers advised ye to have it stitched in yer clothes. Now, I scorrun avesdhroppin', so I does, but whin iufarrumation av that kind comes free to yer ears, ye're bound to I get the good av it. An' so I'm goin' to instichoot an invistigation over yer clothes, an' over yer room, an' over yer thrunks, an' over everythin' ye've got, an' I'm not goin' to rist till I've got thim bonds. Oh, ye needn't say anythin'—I can see it all in yer face. There's nothin' to say. I don't expect ye to own up an' hand over the money. I'm contint to hunt it up meself—that is, for the prisint. Ye see, it's mine, for it belongs to His R'yal Majesty Carlos, King av Spain. The bonds are issued by Spain, an' as he is King av Spain he owns thim bonds. If ye was a native Spaniard ye'd give thim up out av pure loyalty, but as ye're a farr'ner, why, av coorse ye can't be ixpicted to deny yerself to such an ixtint."

At this astounding disclosure Russell was struck dumb. So, then, his secret was betrayed, and in the most dangerous quarter, and, worst of all, by his own folly! Once or twice he was about to speak, but the chief checked him, and he himself was only too well aware of the utter futility of any denial or of any attempt to explain away what the chief had overheard. Only one consolation now remained, and that was the hope that the chief might not find it. The place in which he had hidden the bonds seemed to him to be very much out of the way of an ordinary search, and not at all likely to be explored by any one.



At length Russell had finished his task, and had divested himself of everything, his remorseless captor insisting on his leaving nothing; and so he stood shivering and crouching on the stone floor.

"Now," said the chief, "walk in there. I'll follow."

He pointed to a passage-way on the left, which led to an apartment beyond. At his gesture Russell slunk away in that direction, while the chief, gathering all the clothes up in a bundle, followed. On reaching the apartment, Russell saw some garments lying spread out on a bench. They were quite new, and consisted of a military uniform profusely decorated with gold-lace. Everything was there complete.

"There," said the chief, "thim clothes belonged to a frind av mine whose acquaintince I made a month ago. He left these here an' wint away in another shuit, just as ye'll lave yer clothes an' go away, as I thrust, in these. Put thim on now, as soon as ye loike. Ye'll find thim a fine fit, an' they're an excellint matayrial. The frind that left thim was a giniral officer, and be the same tokin that same man swore more, an' faster, an' louder, an' deeper than any man I iver met with afore or since."

While the affable chief was thus talking, Russell proceeded to array himself in the general's uniform. Everything was there complete, from top to toe, and everything was of the very best quality—richest gold lace, glittering epaulettes, stripes and bands that dazzled the eye, buttons and chains of splendor indescribable, hat with gorgeous plumage, sword of magnificent decoration, attached to a belt that a king might choose to wear. All these delighted the soul of Russell, but not least of all the cloth, whose softness and exquisite fineness appealed to his professional feelings, and caused his fingers to wander lovingly over the costly fabric.

Soon he had completed the task of dressing himself, and once more stood erect in all the dignity of manhood.

"Begorra!" said the chief, "ye'd ought to be grateful to me for makin' ye put on thim clothes. Ye look loike a commandher-in-chafe, so ye do—loike the Juke av Wellington himself. The clothes fit ye loike a glove. I niver saw a betther fit—niver. Ye must put on yer sword an' belt, so as to give a finish to it all," and with these words he handed Russell the weapon of war. Russell took it with evident pleasure and fastened it about his waist. The chief made him walk up and down, and complimented him so strongly that the prisoner in his new delight almost forgot the woes of captivity.

The chief now prepared to retire. Pointing to Russell's clothes, which he had kept all the time rolled up in a bundle tucked under one arm, he shook his head meditatively and said,

"It'll be a long job I'll be havin' wid these."

"Why so?" asked Russell.

"Sure it's the examinin' that I've got to do," said the chief. "Gin'rally we examine thim by stickin' pins through every part, but in yer case there's thirty thousand pounds stowed away somewhere, an' I'm goin' meself to rip every stitch apart. Afther I've done wid my search thro' thim clothes, it isn't loikely that any one in this castle 'll ever be loikely to put thim together again. To do that same 'ud nade a profissional tailor wid a crayative janius, so it would. An' so, I say, ye'll have to look on thim gin'ral's clothes as yer own; an' whin ye get free, as I hope ye'll be soon, ye may wear thim away home wid ye, an' take my blessin' wid ye. Moreover, ye'll have to keep this room. I'll spind this day in examinin' yer clothes, an' to-morrow I'll examine the other room. The bonds 'll kape till then, as I know ye haven't towld Rivers anythin' about what ye done wid thim."

With these words the chief retired, and locked the door after him.



CHAPTER XVI.

HOW RUSSELL HAS AN INTERVIEW WITH A MERRY MONARCH.

That same evening Russell was astonished at receiving a fairly written note, which when opened contained the following in English:

"The King will graciously pleased to receive Lord Russell this evening at seven o'clock."

It was written on simple note-paper, and bore no date. The messenger who brought it handed it in, and departed without saying a word.

On reading this note, Russell was completely bewildered. Who, he thought, is the King? Who is Lord Russell? A prolonged meditation over this could throw no particular light upon it, and at length he was forced to conclude that he himself was taken for Lord John Russell, that famous English statesman whose name is known over the civilized world. It was a mistake, yet, as he complacently thought, not, after all, an unnatural one. By long familiarity with the British aristocracy (in the capacity of tailor) he had perhaps unconsciously their lofty sentiments and caught up their aristocratic tone and bearing. In person he felt that he had rather the advantage of Lord John. His name had, of course, something to do with the mistake. All these things had combined to give his captors the impression that he was a British peer.

But who was "the King?" The Queen of Spain would be the ex-Queen; the last King of Spain was now the ex-King Amadeus; but "the King"—who was he? At length it flashed upon Russell that "the King" could mean no other than the celebrated personage who claimed for himself that title, and who was known to the world as Don Carloa. This, then, was the illustrious personage with whom he was shortly to have an interview.

It must be confessed that, in spite of his long association with the British aristocracy, the bosom of the valiant Russell heaved with strange emotions, and his heart quaked with unusual throes, at the prospect of this interview. As his host claimed to be "King," he would naturally expect to be treated as such. But how would that be? Of the etiquette of courts Russell had no knowledge whatever. From French novels which he had read he had a vague idea that people said "Sire" when addressing majesty, and got on their knees to kiss royal hands when first introduced. But farther than this our good Russell's knowledge did not lead him, nor was his imagination able to convey him. He could only conjecture in the vaguest possible way, and wait as patiently as possible for the hour of the momentous interview.

The appointed time arrived. He was waited on by six men: all were armed. Russell felt an involuntary trepidation at this sight, which reminded him of events, in his reading, where armed men came in this way to lead some wretched prisoner off to execution. However, he succeeded in plucking up his courage sufficiently to follow them. His own attire, certainly, did not a little toward inspiring him with fortitude, and the brilliant uniform of a general officer with golden epaulettes, gold stripes, gold buttons, gold lace, gold hatband, gold collar, gorgeous hat, resplendent feathers, and rattling, clanking sword, all served to stimulate him and rouse him to the heroic mood.

He was led by the men to the grand hall in which he had been before. Here, around the sides, were gathered a large number of men, all armed, and, though ill-dressed, still presenting a very impressive appearance. In the middle of the hall was a table on which a dinner was spread. All around a hundred torches flared and flamed, and from them vast clouds of pitchy smoke rolled aloft into the vaulted ceiling. At one end there was a raised seat, and on that raised seat there was a figure clothed in a military garb and infolded in a military cloak. Toward this figure Russell was led.

Now, Russell was so overawed by the wild scene, by the armed men, and, above all, by the thought of the royal presence and the royal eye, that he dared not look up, but kept his eyes humbly on the floor, and in this way advanced. On reaching the aforesaid figure our Russell fell upon his knees, and seizing the hand of said figure, proceeded to kiss it with much vigor, when suddenly a familiar voice sounded in his ears, and looking up, he felt like Lalla Rookh at the discovery of Feramorz, for he found that this royal personage was none other than the Carlist chief.

"Rise, me lord," said the well-known voice. "We are glad to recayve ye in our r'y'l prisince. We cud give ye betther intertainmint in our r'y'l palace av the Escurial, only thim thayves av rebels won't let us. But we can maintain our state here in these sayquesthered mountains, an', begorra, we have a throne in the hearts av a bowld pisintry."

By this time Russell had risen to his feet, and stood there bowing over and over again.

"His Majesty" rose.

"I'm not overfond," said he, "me lord, av state etiquette, though our ancistors were divils av fellers at it. What I loike is a good dinner, an' a glass av somethin' warrum, an' a pipe afther all. Ye've heard the owld song:

"'Oh, a taste av salt an' a plante av praties, An a dhrop av whiskey to wash thim down, An' a tasty dhuidheen to help digistion— That's the fashion in Limerick town.'"

It had already caused some surprise to Russell that a Spanish chieftain should speak English with the Irish accent; but now to find one who claimed to be the King of Spain lightly trolling an Irish ditty to a rollicking tune was, to say the least, just a little unusual. It occurred to him, however, that "His Majesty" must have learned his English from an Irishman; and further thought showed him that such a fact was perfectly natural, since, being a Catholic, he had of course employed a Catholic tutor, who was almost certain to be an Irishman. Which conclusion led to another, namely, that the Catholic princes and nobles of Europe, including the Pope himself and the College of Cardinals, if they speak English at all, speak it with more or less of an Irish brogue.

"His Majesty" now led the way to the table, inviting Russell to follow. There Russell beheld a tempting repast, whose savory steam penetrated through his nostrils to that heart of hearts—that corcordium which lieth behind all sense, filling it with wild longings. He saw roast capons, obtained from Heaven knows where; rich odoriferous olla podrida, and various kinds of game. There was aromatic coffee; there were steaming meat-pies, in which was perceptible the scent of truffles; while modestly, yet all-pervadingly, like the perfume of mignonette in a garden of a thousand flowers, or like the influence of one good man in a community of worldlings, or like the song of the poet in a hard, prosaic age, there was wafted to his senses the steam of fat upland mushrooms.

These two had that banquet all to themselves—namely, "His Majesty" and "Lord" Russell.

"Me lord," said "His Majesty," "is anything wanting? Tell us. Yer wish shall be gratified. Does ye wish for music? A piper an' a fiddler too are both convaynient, an', begorra, thim fellers can bate out-an'-out all the pipers an' fiddlers this side av the Bay av Biscay. They're both Irishmen, so they are, an' they're our sworn body-gyard, an' there ye have it. But, man, ye're not dhrinkin'. What 'il ye have? Here's port from Oporto—pure—none av yer vile Saxon compounds; likewise here's sherry from Xeres. Here's marsala an' maraschino. Here's champagne an' cognac. Here's also whiskey. What d'ye say, me lord? Is it whiskey? Divil a doubt! I knowed it—begorra, I knowed it by the twinkle av yer eye. Thrust to me for findin' that out; sure it's meself that can tell a conjaynial spirit, so it is."

Hereupon "His Majesty" began to brew a tumbler of toddy. Russell, who was an experienced hand, gazed upon the royal proceedings with a critical eye, but found nothing wanting. The royal hand was as experienced as his own. The drink that resulted was equal, to say the least of it, to anything that had ever touched his palate. He tasted, and felt like a new man. He tasted again, and all his sorrows vanished. He tasted for a third time, and there came over him a feeling of peace, and content, and brotherly love to all mankind.

"His Majesty" had also been tasting, and with every taste the royal mind seemed to assume a new phase.

"In our coort," said "His Majesty," "as at prisint constichooted, we cannot offer the injuicemints that are held forth at Vienna, Berlin, an' St. Paytersburg; but we can furnish some lads that can bate the worruld. I'd like to howld a coort an' have the ladies. We'd have a ball. Oh, but it's meself that's fond av dancin'. Do ye dance, me lord? Sure but there's nothiu' in life like it! An' more's the pity that I can't get here the craim av our Spanish aristocracy. But we're too far away entirely. As for dancin'—begorra, I've seen dancin' in my time that 'ud take yer head off!

"'Oh, it bates all the illigant dancin' That iver was danced at a ball, Whin Teddy came out to the crowd, And danced upon nothin' at all— Wid a himpin cravat round his neck That the hangman had fixed on his head; An' so he kept kickin' an' prancin' Long afher he ought to be dead. Whoor-ooo-ooo!'"

As "His Majesty" trolled out this, Russell could not help feeling that it was decidedly out of accord with his royal character, and ventured even to hint as much. Upon this tears started into the royal eye. "His Majesty" took Russell's hand, telling him, with deep emotion, that he was a true friend, and that he would strive to profit by his friendship.

"An' oh, ye thafe of the worrulil," continued "His Majesty," suddenly changing the conversation, "ye've played the mischief wid thim bonds. Where have ye hid thim, ye rogue? But niver mind. I'll be ayvin wid ye yit. How much are they? Thirty thousand pounds! Begorra, I'll give ye that amount for thim. I'd like to take up thim bonds for the credit av our monarchy an' our kingdom. I'll tell ye what I'll do. I'll give ye an ordher on our lord high treasurer for the whole amount in cash! That's what I'll do, so I will. Ye naydn't give yerself any more throuble. I'll give ye the hard cash through the lord high treasurer—that's me way. I'll do it!"

"His Majesty" here mixed another glass of toddy. After a few draughts he assumed a more dignified attitude.

"Me lord," said he, "I should like to ask ye now, quite infarrumally, what there is to prayvint a raycognition by your governmint av our claims an' our rights. We are winnin' our way back to the throne an' crown av our ancistors. A lawless mob howlds our capital, but they'll be kicked out afore a month av Sundays. I should like to make a frindly agraymint through you, me lord, wid your government. Whin I git to be king, I agray to cling to an alliance offinsive an' dayfinsive wid your governmint. There's one common inimy, the raypublic av America, an' it's ayqually hostile to both av us. We, as sole repraysintative av Conservatism an' the owld proimayval order, will ally ourselves wid you agin the common inimy for paice an' for war. What do ye say to that? Begorra, it's a fine offer intoircly! Ye'll not find another livin' potentate that 'll make it. Bismarck won't. M'Mahon—Irishman though he is—won't. The Czar won't. Franz Joseph won't. So there's only us. If ye don't accept our proposals we'll go over to the inimy. We'll buy President Grant. We'll make a dayscint on Ireland. I know a man that 'ud be proud to take command av the invadin' armies. His name's O'Toole, that's now in the Carlist camp, an' a divil av a feller he is. He'd sweep Ireland from one ind av it to the other. Give me O'Toole, says I, an' I'll bate the worruld in arrums, says I. Begorra, I would. An' now fill yer glass, me boy."

"His Majesty" mixed another tumbler for Russell.

"Drink, me lord," said he, "to the fairest av the fair."

And with these words he swallowed another tumblerful, while Russell did the same.

"By 'the fairest av the fair,'" explained "His Majesty," as he proceeded to mix another drink, "I mean yer daughter—the pairless Lady Katie."

"My ward, 'Your Majesty,'" said Russell, correcting him.

"All the same, me lord," said "His Majesty;" "it was a slip av the tongue. It was me heart that spoke. Listen to me now. I've somethin' to tell ye. It's a proposal."

"His Majesty" paused for a moment, then took a fresh drink, then laid down the glass, then sighed heavily, and then took another drink.

"Me lord," said he, in a solemn tone, "ye know, no doubt, that we are a bachelor. Ye don't know it? Well, we are. I say, we are a bachelor. We've been lookin' all around for ages afther a partner—a r'y'l consort. All the iligible faymales av all the coorts av Europe have been solicitin' our alliance. But none av thim wor shuitable. No. Without love, we won't marry—we won't adopt the infernal system ay state marriages. Where our heart isn't concerned our r'y'l hand don't go—not a bit av it. Now, we niver saw the woman yet that we'd be willin' to raise to the throne av Spain ontil we saw yer ward—the lovely, the charrumin, the baywitchin' Lady Katie. Nay, me lord, start not, an' don't suspect us av onjue praycipitation. We haven't addhressed the Lady Katie yet on that point. We've acted in accardence wid r'y'l usage, an' now make a farrumal offer av our alliance to the parents an' gyarjians av the lovely being. What do ye say, me lord? Will ye give yer consint to our proposal, an' allow yer ward to become the Quane av Spain?"

At this Russell was quite overwhelmed. He had listened with open mouth to this last address of "His Majesty," and at length, when it all culminated in this direct and unmistakable proposal, he was so astounded that he didn't know what to say. He therefore sat silent and staring with open mouth, until at length, not knowing anything better to do, he mechanically raised the tumbler of toddy and poured the whole of it into that open mouth.

"That's right!" exclaimed "His Majesty," heartily, and he at once began to replenish the empty glasses; "an' mind you, me boy, it's as much for your intherest, me lord, as it is for hers. It's a great thing for a young gyerrel to become the Quane av Spain; an' as for yerself, why, av coorse there's no ind to the honors an' dignities an' lucrative offices that ye'd be afther gettin' howld av. Ye'd be a kind av father-in-law to the Quane. Ye'd be made Ministher av War or anythin' else ye axed for. Ye'd be made a Juke av Gibraltar an' Prince av the Pyrenees. Ye'd belong to the Privy Council. Ye'd be the chief adviser av our r'y'l Majesty—that's me, ye know; an' av coorse it isn't every day that ye have such a chance as that."



"His Majesty" paused for a reply.

Russell stared fixedly before him into vacancy, but uttered not a word. Either the high honor that had been proposed, or the brilliant future that had been laid open, or else the whiskey toddy, or all three combined, had overcome him utterly; and so he sat there staring and silent.

"Sure, I know what yer thinkin' about," said "His Majesty." "There's only one objection, an' that's religion. But that's nothin'," he continued, with airy and pagan indifference; "we can arrange all that aisy enough. Love's stronger than religion any day. Ye know the owld song."

And "His Majesty" trolled out one of his peculiar melodies:

"There was a Ballyshannon spinster That fell in love wid a Prodes'an' min'ster; But the praste refused to publish the banns, So they both ran away to the Mussulmans."

After this "His Majesty" went on in a rapturous way to expatiate upon the subject of Katie, and in this way the remainder of the evening was taken up. Russell said but little: what he said was chiefly an incoherent jumble which expressed with tears of gratitude a full acceptance of "His Majesty's" offer. At the same time he was able to point out that in England it was the fashion to consult the lady herself, and to insist that "His Majesty" should see Katie herself, so as to get her consent.

And this "His Majesty" swore that he would do.



CHAPTER XVII.

HOW HARRY FINDS HIMSELF VERY MUCH OVERESTIMATED, AND AFTERWARD LIGHTS UPON A GLOOMY MYSTERY.

On the day after the departure of Russell, Harry was invited to an interview with the chief. A guard of six Carlists escorted him to the hall. Here there was an imposing scene. All along the walls were lines of armed men in strange wild costumes; overhead rose the vaulted roof, crusted over with the mould of ages; while at one end there hung a canopy formed of the gorgeous banner of Castile. Under this stood a figure in the uniform of a general officer, and as Harry drew near he recognized in him the Carlist chief. At the same moment a shout rang through the hall, a hundred rifles fell with a crash upon the stony pavement, and then followed a loud, long cry, "Viva el Rey!"

Harry's familiarity with Spanish had already been made known to the chief, who now addressed him in that language. What, however, was the amazement of Harry at learning the astounding fact that the chief claimed to be no less a person than Don Carlos himself, and assumed the airs and claimed the honors of royalty. In addition to this, while the chief claimed such honors, his rude followers bestowed them with readiness and even enthusiasm. That this could be anything else than a pretence—that this rude chief could really be the courtly and gallant Bourbon seemed to Harry an utter absurdity; and in addition to this, the descriptions which he had heard of the real Don Carlos did not at all accord with the appearance of this man. Yet, if the claim was a false one, its very audacity showed him the possible peril that surrounded his party; for if their captor was so unblushing and unscrupulous a villain, what hope could they have of escape?

Speaking then in this way as though he were Don Carlos, and assuming at the same time the manner and style of a king, the Carlist chief said much about his sorrow at being forced to detain them, and also expatiated upon the difficulties of his own position. Finally, he informed Harry that a tax had been imposed on all foreigners to help pay the expenses of the war.

To this Harry listened attentively, and was not surprised to find that the chief expected a money payment. Whether he called it a tax or any other name, it amounted to the same thing, and became a ransom for their lives. If he and his party were thus held as prisoners to ransom, the act amounted, of course, to nothing else than brigandage, and this Carlist chief was nothing better than a brigand. Against being seized and held as a prisoner on such terms Harry could have offered no end of arguments, of course, together with protests, objections, and threats; but he had far too clear a head to think of such a thing. He knew well the uselessness of mere arguments in a case like this, where he had nothing stronger behind, and therefore he sought to find out just what his position was. So, first of all, he asked what might be the amount of his own ransom.

The answer to this question almost took his breath away. To his amazement and horror, the ransom named for him was no less a sum than ten thousand pounds.

"Will 'Your Majesty' pardon me," said Harry, with great obsequiousness, and giving to his captor the royal honors which he claimed—"will 'Your Majesty' pardon me if I assure 'Your Majesty' that the amount of my ransom is so enormous that it is utterly impossible for me to pay it?"

At this "His Majesty" smiled, and proceeded to tell Harry the ransoms fixed for the others: these were—for Russell and his party thirty thousand pounds, and for Ashby one thousand. The name "Lord Russell" which "His Majesty" applied to that worthy sounded strange to Harry, but this was a trifle compared with other things, and so, without making any reference to this, he replied:

"Thirty thousand pounds! I assure 'Your Majesty' that Russell has not the fourth part of that in all the world."

"His Majesty" looked incredulous, and told Harry that "Lord Russell" had himself put his own wealth at two hundred thousand, and that of his ward at fifty thousand.

At this Harry's heart quaked within him for fear of Katie. Now he began to see more clearly the danger that there was. Russell, he thought, had been indulging in some foolish gasconade about himself, and had let out the secret of Katie's fortune. He wondered why Ashby had been let off on so small a sum; and thinking that he might not have heard correctly, he asked again about this. The reply confirmed what he had heard, and Harry could not help making a remark about the strange injustice of exacting ten thousand from him and only one thousand from Ashby. This at once was noticed by "His Majesty," who, however, proposed, not to lessen the ransom of Harry, but to raise that of Ashby. He eagerly asked Harry about the wealth of his friend.

"Oh, I don't know," said Harry, who saw that it would not help himself to have Ashby's ransom raised. "All I do know is this, which I assure 'Your Majesty' is truth, that to me a ransom of ten thousand pounds is an impossible sum, and means simply death."

"His Majesty" smiled, assenting at the same time to the statement that non-payment was equivalent to death.

"In that case," said Harry, "may I ask one favor?"

"His Majesty" graciously assented.

"I should like," said Harry, "to have my valise. There's nothing in it that I care about except some cigars—"

"His Majesty" interrupted with a wave of the royal hand, and granted his request. After this Harry was informed that one week was allowed for time in which to procure the ransom, and that if it were not forth-coming at the end of that time, he and his friends would all be shot.

After this Harry was dismissed to his own apartment.

The dread sentence and its possible result interfered neither with the digestion nor the sleep of the light-hearted Harry. That night he went to bed and slept the sleep of the just. He had the bed and the room now all to himself, and would have slept till morning had he not been roused by a very singular circumstance.

As he lay sleeping, it seemed to him that there was a touch on his forehead of something like a hand, and a murmur in his ear of something like a voice, and, what is more, a woman's voice. In a moment he was wide awake, and had started up and was staring around. The moonbeams streamed through the narrow windows into the room and fell in broad strips of light upon the stony floor, diffusing a mild and mellow lustre in some parts, yet leaving the rest of the great room in obscurity. And here, across those strips of light and through those moonbeams, Harry plainly discerned a figure which was gliding swiftly along. It was a female figure, and it was light and fragile, while long dusky drapery floated around it. So completely overwhelmed was Harry with amazement and bewilderment at this sight, that for full five minutes he sat without moving and stared full before him. Then he put his feet out on the floor, and, sitting on the side of the bed, slowly ejaculated:

"Well, by Jove!"

Suddenly he started up and sprang toward the place where he had last seen the vision. But now there was nothing visible: the figure, whatever it was, had disappeared. Now, Harry had a strong, robust, healthy nature, a good digestion, tough nerves, and he was not in the least superstitious; yet this event certainly made him feel as he had never felt before. It was the suddenness of it, as well as the incomprehensibility. He had to assure himself over and over again that he was really awake, and then he had to repeatedly recall the vague and indistinct impressions that had been made.

It was certainly most puzzling. How had any one contrived to enter? And why should a woman come? Was it a woman, then—that figure—with its noiseless motion, its strange fragility, its flowing, floating, cloud-like draperies? Or was it some affection of his own disordered senses that had wrought out an apparition from his own fancy? It reminded him of those weird and grisly scenes in the old romances which he had read in his boyhood, such as the "Mysteries of Udolpho," the "Romance of the Forest," or the "Castle of Otranto." This castle might well be the scene of such a mystery. Perhaps the late incident was the revival of some dormant memory, arising out of that half-forgotten reading in the old romances. It may have been a dream, projecting itself forward into his waking hours.

In this way Harry puzzled his brain for some time, sitting on the side of the bed, mystified, and quite at a loss what to do. But, as he was essentially a man of action, he soon grew weary of idle speculation, and determined to search more actively into the mystery, and if possible sift it to the bottom. So he drew a match and lighted his torch. The flame flared up brightly and flung a lurid glow all around. Holding this high above his head, Harry walked about, peering into the darkness, and scanning every nook and corner of the large apartment. But he could see nothing. It was empty. The shuffling noise of his own footsteps as he moved along was the only sound, and no living thing met his eye. It was plain that he was alone, and that no other could be there with him.

But that figure? Where was it? Whither had it gone? Going back again to the bed, he marked the line of its motion, and perceived that it had been directed toward the great fireplace: at that spot it had faded away from his view. What had been the cause of this?

Back again he went to the great fireplace and examined it carefully. The very reading of the old romances to which he had attributed this apparition now served to give him a valuable suggestion; for, according to those important writings, wherever there is a ghost there is also a mysterious subterranean passage, or secret chamber, or concealed door. It was for this that Harry now searched, to see if any of the machinery of the castle of Udolpho might be found existing in a castle in Spain.

He looked all over the floor, but found nothing. He examined the back and the sides of the fireplace, but nothing was visible save the stony surface, which everywhere had the same massive exterior. At length his attention was arrested by those stones already mentioned which projected one above the other from the side of the chimney. At first it seemed to him as though they might be movable, for he was on the lookout for movable stones or secret doors, which might slide away in the "Udolpho" fashion and disclose secret passages or hidden chambers. He therefore tried each of these in various ways, but found them all alike, fixed and immovable.

But now, as he stood trying the topmost stone, with his torch held aloft, the glare of the light shone upon the sides of the chimney and disclosed that very opening which Russell had already discovered. At first he thought that it might be a side flue, or a ventilator, or a contrivance to help the draught; but immediately after, the thought flashed upon him that the mysterious figure might be concealed here.

In an instant he began to clamber up the stones, full of eager excitement. On reaching the top he found, to his amazement, that he was in a deep niche which ran into the wall several feet, and was high enough for him to stand in. Into this he peered eagerly, thinking that he might discover his mysterious visitant, but he saw nothing. But as he thus stood gazing into the niche with sharpest scrutiny, he saw something white lying on the floor only a few feet from him. He stooped forward and picked it up. It was a parcel, wrapped up in stiff paper, about twelve inches long, six wide, and one in thickness. It was evidently a collection of documents of some sort. Full of wonder at this strange discovery, Harry now forgot all about the mysterious apparition, and thought no more about the strangeness of the place where he was. He was only eager to learn the contents of the package, and to investigate them without being seen. Although he did not believe that any eye could behold him in that dark recess, yet he felt afraid, nevertheless, that some spy might be lurking near—some one like his late visitant—and therefore he descended once more to the room, where he felt safer. Here, after going all around, and peering out of every window, and looking also and listening at the door, he felt satisfied that he was unobserved. He now went into a corner of the room at the head of the bed and knelt down, facing the corner in such a way that he could conceal the package while examining it. Here, with eager hands, he tore it open, and the contents lay before him.

These contents consisted of a number of printed documents, all folded up so as to be of uniform size. One of these he took up and opened. It was in Spanish, with formidable flourishing signatures and immense seal. One glance was enough to show him what it was. It was a bond, in which the Spanish Government offered to pay one thousand pounds English sterling money at the end of thirty years, to the bearer; and at the bottom was a great array of coupons for semi-annual interest on the above, the rate of interest being six per cent., and consequently each coupon being for thirty pounds.

A great light now flashed in upon Harry's mind. Hastily he counted the documents, and found them to be thirty in number. The amount represented was therefore thirty thousand pounds. He understood it all. This was Katie's money, of which he had heard. Russell had been carrying it about his person, as he had said, and had been afraid of losing it. He had refused to make Harry his confidant as to his intentions. He had found out that niche somehow, and had hidden there the precious package. It was all Katie's, and had now by a strange chance fallen into his own hands. It struck Harry as at once very strange, and very pleasant, that all Katie's fortune should thus be placed in his care, and that he had thus become its guardian. He remembered all that Ashby had said about Russell's designs to obtain Katie's money for himself; and although he had not altogether believed Ashby, still he thought that the money was all the safer from being out of Russell's possession. Russell was not altogether trustworthy, while he himself would be loyal in this trust, and guard it with his heart's-blood.

At length he once more folded up the papers, and then, as he held the package in his hands, there arose the great and important question—what was he to do with it? To carry it about on his person was, of course, not to be thought of. He had already been examined once, and had no security that he would not be examined again. This made it necessary to find some place where they might be concealed until it should be safe to reclaim them. As for concealment, it could not be found in the room. He could not thrust it into the straw of the bed, for it would be sure to be found. Since he had been here the bed had already been examined twice. There remained, then, only the chimney, and to this place he once more directed his steps in search of a place of concealment.

He climbed up and advanced a few paces to the end of the niche. On reaching this he found, to his amazement, that it was not a niche, but a passage-way which ran on for so long a distance that, as he peered down into it, he could see no end. This passage-way served also to lessen the mystery of his late visitant. He now thought that this visitant had been one of the Carlist band, who had come in, while he was asleep, on a reconnoitring expedition. Yet, however this may have been, it did not prevent him from searching for a place of concealment in this passage-way. It might not be a good place, the hidden documents might still be liable to discovery, yet it was the only place, and so there was no choice in the matter.

As Harry looked along this passage-way he came to a huge projecting stone, which seemed as though it had been dislodged in some way. So large was this stone, and so peculiar was its dislocation, that Harry could only think of an earthquake as an adequate cause. It was about eight feet in length by four feet in height, and one end jutted forth, while the other end was sunken in, behind the surface of the wall, in a corresponding manner. At the end where the stone jutted out there was a crevice a few inches in width, which seemed well adapted for a place of concealment, and upon this he at once decided. But to prevent the possibility of discovery it was necessary to thrust the package far in, while at the same time it must be arranged in such a way that it could be drawn forth again. This could be done by means of the string with which it was bound up. This he took off, and tying one end to the package, he thrust it into the crevice as far as he could, quite out of sight, leaving the end of the string hanging out about one inch, in such a way that it was discernible to no one except himself.



CHAPTER XVIII.

IN WHICH HARRY YIELDS TO AN UNCONTROLLABLE IMPULSE, AND RISKS HIS LIFE IN A DARING ADVENTURE.

Harry now felt perfectly secure about the package. It seemed to him to be safely hidden, beyond all possibility of discovery; for who could ever venture into this passage-way? and if any one should, how could that package be seen? Still, as to any one venturing here, he had his doubts. There was that mysterious visit. What did that mean? It was a female figure—a woman; young, too, light, active. Who could it have been? It must have been some one familiar with the castle. He now felt convinced that this figure was no apparition, that it was some living person, that she had come down through this very passage-way, and had entered his room, and touched him and whispered to him. So much was clear.

And now before him lay this passageway. He was resolved to explore it as far as possible, so as to unfold the mystery. But who was this visitor?—a woman! Was she friend or foe? If a foe, why had she come? What did she expect, or why had she spoken so gently and roused him so quietly? If a friend, why had she fled so hurriedly, without a sign or word? The more he thought it over, the more he felt convinced that his visitor had made a mistake; that she had come expecting to find some one else, and had been startled at the discovery of her mistake. Perhaps Mrs. Russell had bribed one of the Carlist women to carry a message to her husband. That seemed the most natural way of accounting for it.

It was evident to Harry that this passage-way was known, and was used; that he was at the mercy of his captor; and that Russell had made a great blunder in hiding his package in such a place. But why had his visitor failed to discover the package? Perhaps because she came in the dark. That would account for it. She could not have seen it; she passed by it thus, both while coming and going.

Nevertheless, whether this passage was known and used by others or not, Harry could not help feeling that its discovery was a great thing for him. Perhaps it might lead out of the castle. That meant escape, liberty, life! It meant more. Once outside, he felt that he could obtain help from some quarter. He would then come back with a force which would be sufficient to capture the castle and free his friends; or, if he could not gather a large force, he might find at least a small band of men with whom he could steal in through this secret passage, and effect the rescue of his friends in that way. And by "his friends" he meant Katie. She, at least, could be rescued, and the best way would be to rescue her at the outset by carrying her off with him. Such were Harry's hopes and intentions.

In entering now upon this exploration, Harry felt the great necessity that there was of caution; and yet, in spite of this, the torch would have to be retained, or else any farther progress would be impossible. To crawl along in the dark might be safer, but it would effect nothing, and he could only hope that his torch-light would not be observed. Dangerous or not, he must retain it; and besides, he could not be in any greater peril than he had already been in. By this bold move, he had everything to gain and nothing to lose. There was, however, one other precaution which he would have to take, and that was to make as little noise as possible. His heavy boots would never do, and the sound might pass through even such walls as these. Removing these, therefore, he carried them under one arm, and, holding the torch in his unoccupied hand, he advanced along the passage.

The stones were cold to his feet as he started on his adventurous way. Slowly, cautiously, stealthily, he moved along. The passage was about six feet in height and two feet wide, with massive stone-walls on either side. By its direction, it seemed to pass through the wall at one end of the great hall, past the place where the stairway ascended from below. Along this Harry moved noiselessly and watchfully, and at length came to a place where the passage-way turned at right angles, just as it had done at the entrance. Up this he walked, and, after a few paces, perceived an abyss before him. In an instant he understood what this was. It was another chimney similar to the one in his room, from which the passage-way had started, and here too, doubtless, there was a room like his own.

He now extinguished the torch, which, together with the boots, he put down on the floor, and then, lying flat down, he thrust his head over the opening and tried to see what was below. There was a faint light, the light of moonbeams, which streamed in here and fell upon the floor, just as in his own room. He reached down his hand, and could feel that here too there were stepping-stones. In fact, there were two rooms connected by this passage-way, and in all probability they were exactly similar. But who were in this room? The men had been taken to one side of the great hall, the women to the other. Were the women here? Were they by themselves? And was Katie here? Would it be possible for him to go down so as to try to communicate with any of them? It was certainly hazardous. A discovery would ruin all. It would be better to wait, at any rate to watch here for a while, and listen.

As he watched he could see somewhat better, for his eyes grew more accustomed to the dim light. He could make out the stepping-stones, and the chimney floor, and the floor of the room for about one-third of the distance from the chimney. As he lay there and watched and listened, there came to his ears, through the deep stillness of night, the sound of regular breathing, as of sleepers, together with an occasional sigh, as of some one in a troubled dream. They were all asleep, then! Who? The Carlists, or the women attendants? or was it not rather his own friends—and—Katie? At this thought an uncontrollable desire seized him to venture down and see for himself. He might get near enough to see for himself. He could strike a match, take one look, and then, if mistaken, retreat. Dared he venture? He dared.

He raised himself, and then was about to put one foot down so as to descend, but at that very moment, as he stood poised in that attitude, he heard a faint shuffling sound below. He stopped and looked down cautiously. There, across the moonbeams, he could see a figure moving; the very same figure that he had seen moving across the moonbeams in his own room—the same slender, slight, fragile figure, with the same floating, vaporous drapery. But now he did not feel one particle of wonder or superstitious awe. He understood it all. The woman who had visited him had fled back here, and was now about to return. What should he do? He must retreat. She was evidently coming in his direction. He would go back to his own room, and wait and watch and intercept her. As Harry hesitated the woman stopped also, and listened. Then she advanced again.

Upon this Harry retreated, taking his boots and the extinguished torch, and went back again. He succeeded in regaining his own room without making any noise, and by that time he had decided on what he ought to do. He decided to stand in the fireplace, on the opposite side. The woman would come down the stepping-stones and steal into the room: he would Watch her and find out what she wanted. Then he would act according to the issue of events; and at any rate he could intercept her on her return, and make her give an account of herself.

Having come to this conclusion, Harry stood there in the chimney, waiting most patiently for what seemed a very long time. He suspected that the woman might still be hesitating, but determined to wait until she should make her appearance. At length he heard a noise, which seemed to come from the passage above. It was a soft, dull, scraping, sliding noise of a very peculiar kind, the cause and the nature of which he could not conjecture. The sound came, and then stopped, and came again, and again stopped, for three or four times. Harry listened and waited. At last the sound ceased altogether, and there was the same stillness as before.

Harry now waited for so long a time that his patience was quite exhausted, and he resolved, come what might, to go up again to the end of the passage and wait there. He knew the way now well enough. He left his torch and boots behind, and, climbing up, went along the passage, half expecting to encounter the woman, and ready to seize her and question her. But he found no one. All was still. He reached the chimney of the other room, and then, as before, he looked down.

He saw the moonbeams lying on the floor; he heard the slow, low, regular breathing of sleepers, one of whom seemed still to be in that troubled dream. Familiarity with these surroundings had now made him bold.

Should he venture now, or wait longer?

Wait! Why wait? When could he hope to have a better time than the present?

But one of the women was no doubt awake—that one who had already visited him.

What of that? He cared not; he could not wait. Perhaps she was a friend—it seemed like it. At any rate he was resolved to risk it. To go back was not to be thought of. All his nerves were so wrought up, and to such an intense pitch of excitement, that sleep was impossible and any longer waiting intolerable. He determined to risk all now.

And for what?

For the chance, not of escape, but of communicating with Katie.

The fact is, as any one may see, Harry was getting in a very bad way about Katie. Else why should he make such a point about seeing her, and run such a risk, and make even the chance of his personal safety a secondary consideration? And what for? What did Katie care for him? What indeed?

These very questions had occurred to the mind of Harry himself, but they had one and all been promptly answered by that volatile young man in a way that was quite satisfactory to himself. For he said to himself that he was a poor lone man; an unfortunate captive in a dungeon; in the hands of a merciless foe; under sentence of death; with only a week to live; and that he wanted sympathy, yes, pined for it—craved, yearned, hungered and thirsted for sweet sympathy. And it seemed to him as though no one could give him that sympathy for which he pined so well as Katie. And therefore he was going down to her on this desperate errand for the sole purpose of seeing her, and perhaps of communicating with her.

A thought occurred to him at the eleventh hour, while he was on the verge of the descent, and that was to write something to her and drop it down. He might pencil something on a leaf of his pocket-book. But, after all, what would be the good of that? Would she ever see it? Might it not be picked up by one of the waiting-women in the morning? Most likely it would be, in which case it would be carried to the chief, "His Majesty," and all would be revealed. He then would be conveyed to another part of the castle, and then—good-bye to the hidden package and to Katie. This thought decided him. He continued his descent.

Slowly, cautiously, and stealthily Harry began to venture down, looking behind him at every movement, and at every movement waiting and listening. No sound arose, however, except the low breathing, which was as regular as before. At length he stood upon the stone floor of the fireplace.

Here he stood and looked into the room. By this time his eyes were so accustomed to the moonlight that he could see objects with wonderful distinctness. He could see three beds, upon which were reclining three figures, all apparently buried in sleep. Like himself, all these had been compelled to lie down in their clothes, with only such additional covering as might be afforded by their own shawls and wraps.

Harry stole forward, his heart beating painfully. Upon the rude couch nearest him lay a figure that seemed familiar. The moonbeams shone full upon her. A shawl with a large stripe was drawn over her. It was Katie's shawl.

Harry came nearer.

He could see her! It was—yes, it was Katie!

There was no mistake about it. It was Katie, and she was sound asleep. He looked at her as she slept—her head thrown back, and one arm upraised, so that the little hand seemed suspended in the air. For a few moments he stood, then he sank upon his knees, and gazed in silent rapture on that sweet and beautiful face. Her breathing was soft and low—scarce audible. He bent his head down to listen. Katie stirred. She drew a long breath.

"H-s-s-s-s-sh!" whispered Harry.

At this Katie stopped breathing for a moment, and then she whispered, very softly,

"Who are you?"

"Harry," said the other. "Don't speak a word."

Saying this, he reached out his hand and took hers. This was intended merely to soothe her and to reassure her, for fear that she might be startled.

"I knew you would come to me," said Katie, in a rapid and joyous whisper; "and here you are—you dear, good boy!"

At this Harry's heart beat with a rapture that was positive pain.

"I had to come. I could not keep away," he whispered.

"I was just dreaming that you were with me," whispered Katie, "and it all seems so awfully natural. But won't the others see you?"

"H-s-s-s-s-sh!" said Harry. "They're all sound asleep."

Katie now raised herself up on her elbow, while Harry remained kneeling on the floor.

"I think it's so lovely," she said. "It's so awfully nice, and jolly, and all that—in this mysterious old castle; and here, lo and behold! you come popping in upon one just like a romance."

"H-s-s-s-s-sh! you mustn't speak."

"But it's so awfully nice, you know, I must speak, and, besides, we're only whispering."

"Well, whisper lower, and closer."

Katie held her head closer to Harry, and thus these two, for purely precautionary purposes, carried on the rest of the conversation in that position. And their heads were so close that they touched; and their whispers were very soft and low. But all this was necessary; for if they had not taken these precautions, they might have wakened up old Mrs. Russell, and then, as a matter of course, there would have been the mischief to pay.

"There's too much moonlight here," said Harry. "Come over inside the old fireplace, and we'll be in the dark."

"Oh, that will be so nice!" said Katie. And she at once got up and stole away to the deep, dark fireplace, where both of them were wrapped in impenetrable gloom. It was well that they did so, for at that moment something waked Mrs. Russell, who called out,

"Katie!"

"Well, auntie," said Katie, from the depths of the fireplace.

"I thought I heard a noise."

"Oh no, auntie; you've been dreaming," said Katie, in a tone of sweet sympathy. "Go to sleep again, poor dear."

And auntie sank back into the land of dreams. After a little judicious waiting they were able to resume their interrupted conversation.

"How, in the name of wonder," said Katie, "did you ever, ever manage to get here?"

Harry bent down, and in a low, very low, faint whisper told her all about it, dwelling upon every little detail, and not forgetting to mention how he had longed to see her, and had risked everything for it. And Katie kept interrupting him incessantly, with soft cooing whispers of sympathy, which were exceeding sweet and precious.

And Katie proceeded to tell that she had been dreaming—and wasn't it funny?—about him; that she thought he had got into one of the windows, and was about to carry her off.

"And were you glad to see me?" asked Harry.

"Awfully!" said Katie; "just the same in my dream as I am now, only I can't see you one bit—it's so awfully dark."

"Are you afraid?" asked Harry, in a trembling voice.

"Afraid? Oh no. It's awfully nice, and all that, you know."

"But shouldn't you like to get away out of this?"

"Get away?"

"Yes, if I could get off, and get you off too?"

"But how can we go?"

"Well, I don't know just yet. I only know the way from my room here, and back again; but I may find out something."

"But that won't do any good. Don't you really know any way out?"

"Not yet, but I hope to find one; I dare say I shall before long."

"Oh, how delicious! how perfectly delicious that would be! I do wish that you only could. It would be quite too awfully nice, you know."

"I'll let you know. I promise you."

"But then," said Katie, "you'll be going off yourself and leaving poor me behind."

"Leave you!" said Harry, indignantly; "never!"

"Wouldn't you really?" asked Katie, in a tone of delight.

"Never," said Harry. "I wouldn't stir a step without you. I'd rather be a prisoner with you than a free man without you."

Katie drew a long breath.

"Well," said she, "I think you must be a true friend."

"I'd rather be here with you," persisted Harry, "than anywhere in the world without you."

"If only your passage-way ran outside the building, wouldn't it be nice?" said Katie. "Why, we might pop out now, and away we would go, and no one a bit the wiser."

"And where would you like me to take you?"

"Where? Oh, anywhere!"

"But where in particular?"



"Oh, I don't care. I like Madrid very well, or London; but it's too rainy there and foggy."

"Should you like Barcelona?" inquired Harry, tenderly.

"I dare say, though I've never been there. But I don't half know what I'm talking about, and I think I've been mixing up my dreams with real life; and you come so into the middle of a dream that it seems like a continuation of it; and I'm not sure but that this is a dream. I'm pinching myself too, all the time, and it hurts, so that I think I must be awake. But, all the same, you really mean what you say?"

"Mean it? Why, I can't say one thousandth part of what I really mean. Don't you believe it, when you see me here?"

"But I don't see you at all," said Katie.

Harry looked at her for a moment, and then said, abruptly,

"Keep your shawl around you, poor little girl; I'm afraid you'll get cold;" and with tender solicitude he proceeded to draw her shawl tighter around her slender figure. This was a work which required no little time and skill. Not a word was now spoken for some time. This was of course wiser on their part than whispering, for whispers are sometimes dangerous, and may lead to discovery. But Harry seemed troubled about Katie's health, and was never satisfied about that shawl.

"You are so very kind!" said Katie, at last.

"It's because I'm so fond of—the shawl," said Harry. "I love to arrange it for you. I should like to take it back with me."

"Should you really?"

"Above all things—except one."

"What?"

"Why, of course, I should rather take back with me what's inside the shawl."

"Well, I'm sure 'what's inside the shawl' would like very much to get away out of this prison; and so, sir, when you find a way, you must let her know. But won't Mr. Russell wake and miss you?"

"Mr. Russell? Why, he isn't with me any longer."

"Isn't he?"

"No. I'm all alone. They took him away, and I suppose he's alone too."

"Oh dear! I hope I sha'n't be left alone."

"I hope, if you are, you may be left here."

"Why?" asked Katie, who knew perfectly well, but liked to hear it stated in plain words.

"Why—because I could come to see you all the time then, instead of waiting till they're all asleep."



CHAPTER XIX.

IN WHICH DOLORES INDULGES IN SOME REMINISCENCES OF THE PAST.

The sleeper to whose sighs Harry had listened was Mrs. Russell, who awaked on the following morning burdened with the memories of unpleasant dreams. Dolores was bright and cheerful. Katie was as gay and as sunny as ever—perhaps a trifle more so.

"I don't understand how it is," said Mrs. Russell, "that you two can keep up your spirits so in this ogre's castle. I'm certain that something dreadful 's going to happen."

"Oh, auntie, you shouldn't be always looking on the dark side of things."

"I should like to know what other side there is to look on except the dark one. For my part, I think it best always to prepare for the worst; for then when it comes one isn't so utterly overwhelmed."

"Yes," said Katie, "but suppose it doesn't come? Why, then, don't you see, auntie, you will have had all your worry for nothing?"

"Oh, it's all very well for one like you. You are like a kitten, and turn everything to mirth and play."

"Well, here is our dear, darling Dolores," said Katie, who by this time had become great friends with the dark-eyed Spanish beauty. "Look at her! She doesn't mope."

"Oh no, I doesn't what you call—mopes," said Dolores, in her pretty broken English. "I see no causa to mopes."

"But you're a prisoner as much as I am."

"Oh si—but thees is a land that I have a quaintance with: I know thees land—thees art."

"Have you ever been here before?"

"Si—yes. I lif here once when a child."

"Oh, you lived here," said Katie. "Well, now, do you know, I call that awfully funny."

"My padre—he lif here in thees castello. I lif here one time—one anno—one year, in thees castello."

"What! here in this castle?"

"Yes, here. The padre—he had grand flocks of the merino sheeps—to cultivate—to feed them in the pasturas—the sheep—one—ten—twenty thousand—the sheep. And he had thousand men shepherds—and he lif here in thees castello to see over the flocks. But he was away among the flocks alia the times. And me, and the madre, and the domesticos, we all did lif here, and it seems to me like homes."

"But that must have been long ago?"

"Oh, long, long ago. I was vara leetl—a child; and it was long ago. Then the padre went to Cuba."

"Cuba! What! have you been there?"

"Oh, many, many years."

"Across the Atlantic—far away in Cuba?"

"Far, far away," said Dolores, her sweet voice rising to a plaintive note; "far away—in Cuba—oh, many, many years! And there the padre had a plantation, and was rich; but the insurrection it did break out, and he was killed."

Dolores stopped and wiped her eyes. Katie looked at her, and her own eyes overflowed with tears of tender sympathy.

"Oh, how sad!" she said. "I had no idea."

Dolores drew a long breath.

"Yes; he died, the good, tender padre; and madre and me be left all—all—all—alone—alone—in the cruele world. And the rebel came, and the soldiers, and oh, how they did fight! And the slaves, they did all run away—all—all—all—away; and the trees and fruits all destroy; and the houses all burn up in one gran' conflagration; and it was one kind, good American that did help us to fly; or we never—never would be able to lif. So we did come back to our patria poor, and we had to lif poor in Valencia. I told you I was lifing in Valencia when I left that place to come on thees travel."

"I suppose," said Katie, "since you lived in this castle once, you must know all about it."

"Oh yes, all—all about it."

"And you must have been all over it in every direction."

"Oh yes, all over it—all—all over it—thousand—thousand times, and in every parts and spots."

"It's such a strange old castle," continued Katie, who was very anxious to find out how far the knowledge of Dolores went, and whether she knew anything about the secret passage; "it's such a strange old castle; it's like those that one reads of in the old romances."

"Yes, oh, vara, vara," said Dolores; "like the feudal Gothic castellos of the old—old charming romances; like the castello of the Cid; and you go up the towers and into the turrets, and you walk over the top, past the battlementa, and you spy, spy, spy deep down into the courts; and you dream, and dream, and dream. And when I was a vara leetl child, I did use to do nothing else but wander about, and dream, and dream, and get lost, and could not find my way back. Oh, I could tell you of a thousand things. I could talk all the day of that bright, bright time when my padre was like a noble; so rich he was, and living in his grand castello."

"And did you really wander about so? and did you really get lost so?" asked Katie, who was still following up her idea, being intent upon learning how much Dolores knew about the inner secrets of the castle—"such as where, now," she added, eagerly, "where would you get lost?"

"Oh, everywhere," said Dolores, "and all over. For there are halls that open into gallerias; and gallerias that open into rooms; and rooms into closets, and these into other halls; and grand apartments of states; and states beds-chambers; and there are the upper rooms for guests and domesticos; and down below them are rooms for the outer servitores; and far, far down, far down underground, there are dungeons—fearful, fearful places with darkness and r-r-rats!—and that is all that you do find when you come to move about in this wonderful, this maravelloso castello."

"And have you been all through the vaults?" asked Katie, trying to lead Dolores on farther.

"Yes," said Dolores, "all—all—through all the vaults, every single one; and there was an ancient servitor who showed me all the mysteria—an ancient, ancient, venerable man he was—and he showed me all the secrets, till all the castello was as known to me as thees room; and so I did become lost no more, and we did use to wander together through dark and lonely ways, and up to the turrets, and down to the vaults, till all this beautiful, beautiful old castello was known to me like my own room."

While Dolores talked in this strain she grew more and more enthusiastic, and made use of a multiplicity of graceful gestures to help out her meaning. And her eyes glowed bright and her expressive features showed wonderful feeling, while her motions and her looks were full of eloquence. It was a bright and joyous past that opened to her memory, and the thought of it could not be entertained without emotion. By that emotion she was now all carried away; and as Katie watched her glowing face and her dark gleaming eyes and all her eloquent gestures, she thought that she had never seen any one half so beautiful. But Katie was dying with curiosity to find out how far the knowledge of Dolores extended, and so at last, taking her cue from Dolores's own words, she said:

"Dark and lonely ways! What dark and lonely ways, dear Dolores? That sounds as though there are secret passages through this old castle. Oh, I do so love a place with vaults and secret passages! And are there any here, dear? and have you been in them ever?"

Like lightning the glance of Dolores swept over Katie's face; it was a sudden, swift glance, and one full of subtle questioning and caution. Katie saw it all, and perceived too, at once, that whatever Dolores might know, she would not tell it in that fashion in answer to a point-blank question. As for Dolores, her swift glance passed, and she went on with hardly any change in her tone:

"Oh yes; the dark and lonely ways, far, far below—in the vaults and through the wide, wide walls. For they run everywhere, so that in the ancient times of wars the warriors could pass from tower to tower."

Katie saw that Dolores was on her guard and was evading her question, from which she concluded that the little Spanish maid knew all about the secret passage-way to Harry's room. The visitor to him must have been Dolores, and no other. But why? This she could not answer. She determined, however, upon two things—first, to keep her own eyes open and watch; and secondly, to tell Harry all about it the next time she saw him.



CHAPTER XX.

IN WHICH "HIS MAJESTY" EXHIBITS THE EMOTIONS OF A ROYAL BOSOM, AND MRS. RUSSELL IS DAZZLED BY A BRILLIANT PROSPECT.

On the following morning there was great excitement in Mrs. Russell's room. This was caused by one of the female attendants, who had come with the announcement that they were to be honored in a short time by a visit from "His Majesty the King."

"The King!" exclaimed Mrs. Russell, as soon as Dolores had translated this. "What King? Who is he?"

"The King!" said Dolores. "He can only be one—one single person—Don Carlos—King Charles."

"King!" cried Mrs. Russell, "and coming here! Oh dear! what shall I do? And my dresses! and my jewels! and my toilet articles! Oh, what ever—ever—ever will become of poor me!"

"Oh, auntie, it is useless to think of that," said Katie. "You are a prisoner, and no one knows that so well as the 'King,' as he calls himself."

Mrs. Russell, however, felt different, and continued her lamentations until "His Majesty" himself appeared. Great was their surprise at finding this exalted personage to be no other than their Carlist chief; but they felt still greater surprise when "His Majesty" began to address them in English, with an accent which, though foreign, was still familiar.

"We have called, ladies," said he, with a magnificent bow, "to wish yez all a good-marnmin', an' to ax afther yer healths."

The ladies murmured some reply which was not very intelligible, in which, however, the words "Your Majesty" occurred quite frequently.

"His Majesty" now seated himself upon the only seat in the room, namely, an oaken bench, and then, with a wave of his royal hand, said:

"Be sated, ladies, be sated. Let's waive all farrums an' cirimonies, an' howld conversation like frinds. Be sated, we beg; it's our r'y'l will, so it is."

The ladies looked at one another in meek embarrassment. There was nothing for them to sit on except the rough couches where they had slept; and finally, as there was nothing else to be done, they sat there, Mrs. Russell being nearest to "His Majesty," while Katie and Dolores sat farther away, side by side, holding one another's hands, and looking very meek and demure indeed.

"On sich occasions as these," said "His Majesty," "we love to dhrop all coort cirimonial, an' lave behind all our bodygyards, an' nobles, an' barr'ns, an' chamberlains, an' thim fellers, an' come in to have a chat like a private gintleman."

"Oh, 'Your Majesty!'" said Mrs. Russell, in a languishing tone, "how very, very nice it must be!"

"It is that, bedad; that's thrue for you," said "His Majesty." "An' sure it's meself that's the proud man this day at findin' that yez can put a thrue interpretation on our r'y'l Majesty."

"Ah, sire," sighed Mrs. Russell, whose eyes fell in shy embarrassment before the dazzling gaze of "His Majesty."

"Ax," resumed "His Majesty," "that seemed like thrayson to our r'y'l person have unfortunately compilled us to detain yez; but we hope it 'll be all right, an' that ye'll be all well thraited. We thrust we'll be able to come to terrunos av a satisfactory character."

A murmur followed from Mrs. Russell.

"Aifairs av state," continued "His Majesty," "doesn't allow us to give full an' free play to that jaynial timpiramint that's our chafe an' layding fayture. It's war toime now, so it is, an' our r'y'l moind's got to be harsh, oystayre, an' onbinding. War wid our raybellious subjix compile us to rayjuice thim to obejience by farree av arrums."

"An' now, madame an' ladies," continued "His Majesty," after a brief pause, "I hope yez won't feel alarrumed at what I'm going to say nixt. Ye see, our Prime Ministher has conveyed to our r'y'l ear charges against your worthy husband av a traysonable nature."

"My husband!" exclaimed Mrs. Russell. "What! my John? Oh!"

"Yis," said "His Majesty." "I'm towld that he's been passing himself off as Lord John Russell, the Prime Ministher av England, an' as the spicial ambassador exthraardinary from our r'y'l cousin, the Quane av England, to invistigate the state av affairs in Spain, wid an' oi to raycognition av our r'y'l claims. As such we've honored him wid an' aujence, an' communicated to him siviral state saycrits av a highly important nature. At that toime he wint an' he tuk onjew advantage av our confidince to desayve our r'y'l moind. Upon the discovery av this offince I felt the kaynist sorrow, not for him, ladies, but for you; an' it's for your sakes that I now come here, to assure you av my tinder sympathy, an' also to ax about the fax. Is he Lord John Russell?"

Mrs. Russell had at first felt ready to faint at this woful disclosure, but she felt the eye of majesty resting on her, and she saw something there that reassured her. She afterward told Katie, in confidence, that she could understand exactly how Queen Esther had felt when Ahasuerus held out his sceptre.

"Ah, sire!" she replied. "Oh, Your Most Gracious Majesty! He isn't quite a lord, sire, it's true, but he's a gentleman."

"Sure to glory that's thrue," said "His Majesty." "Don't I know it?—meself does. He's a gintleman, so he is, ivery inch av him; an' yit may I ax, madame, what made him praytind to be a British nobleman?"

"Oh, Your Royal Majesty!" said Mrs. Russell, in deep distress.

"Spake on, fair an' beaucheous one," said "His Majesty," with great gallantry. "Spake on. Our r'y'l bosom's full, so it is, av tindirist sintimints. Power forth yer story into our r'y'l ear. Come—or—whisht! Come over here an' sit by our r'y'l side."

Saying this, "His Majesty" moved over to one end of the bench and sat there. Unfortunately, as he placed himself on the extreme end, the bench tilted up and the royal person went down. Katie, who was always yery volatile, tittered audibly and Dolores did the same. But "His Majesty" took no offence. The fact is he laughed himself, and bore it all magnanimously, in fact royally. He picked himself up as nimbly as a common person could have done.

"Be the powers!" said he, "whin the King loses his gravity, it's toime for everybody else to lose his. But come along, jool, come an' sit by our r'y'l side, an' tell us the story."

Mrs. Russell had turned quite pale at the royal fall, and paler yet at the sound of Katie's laugh, but these words reassured her. They seemed to show that she, unworthy and humble, was singled out in a special manner to be the mark of royal favor. And why? Was it on her own account, or for some other reason? She chose to consider that it was on her own account. At the renewed request of "His Majesty," which was so kind, so tender, and at the same time so flattering, she could no longer resist, but with fluttering heart, shy timidity, and girlish embarrassment, she went over to "His Majesty" and seated herself on the bench by his side.



The manner of Mrs. Russell, which had all the airs and graces of a village coquette, together with the bashfulness of a school miss, seemed to Katie and Dolores, but especially Katie, a very rich and wondrous thing. She always knew that Mrs. Russell was a gushing, sentimental creature, but had never before seen her so deeply affected. But on this occasion the good lady felt as though she was receiving the homage of the King, and might be excused if she had all the sensations of a court beauty.

Mrs. Russell now, at "His Majesty's" renewed request, began to explain the position of her husband. He was a tailor, it is true, but not by any means a common tailor. In fact, he associated exclusively with the aristocracy. He was very eminent in his profession. He had an army of cutters and stitchers under him. He was not a tailor, but a Merchant Tailor, and, moreover, he was a member of the Merchant Tailors' Association, and a man of enormous wealth.

"Sure to glory," ejaculated "His Majesty," as Mrs. Russell paused for breath, "I knowed it was just that. It makes all the differ in the worruld whether a man's only a tailor wid a small 't' or a Merchant Tailor wid capital letters."

"We keep our own carriage," continued Mrs. Russell, bridling and tossing her head, "and we have our own coat of arms and crest—the Russell arms, you know, the same as the Duke of Bedford."

"'Dade!" said "His Majesty," "so ye have the Russell arrums. I'm acquainted wid His Grace the Juke av Bedford. I seen him in Paris. He's a conniction av me own in a distant way, an' so you too must be a conniction in a distant way, being a mimber av the House av Russell."

"Oh, sire! Oh yes—may it please Your Gracious Majesty—yes, I dare say I am. Oh yes." Mrs. Russell was quite overcome at the royal condescension.

"Sure," continued "His Majesty," "we r'y'l personages always acknowledge our cousins. You're a cousin av mine, a distant one, it's thrue, but degrays don't count wid us. Wanst a cousin, alwavs a cousin."

"Ah, sire!"

"I niver knowed that ve were a cousin befoor," said "His Majesty," "or else I'd saluted ye in our r'y'l fashion, just as our cousin Quane Victoria did whin she acknowledged the Imperor Napoleon. It's our way to acknowledge relationship wid the r'y'l kiss. We call it the Kiss av State. Allow me, cousin."

And before the astounded Mrs. Russell understood his intention, "His Majesty" put his arm round her waist, and gave her a sounding smack, which seemed to Katie like the report of a pistol.

This was altogether too much for poor Katie. She had almost lost control of herself several times already, but now it was impossible to maintain it any longer, and she went off into a wild burst of laughter. It proved contagious. Dolores caught it, and clung to Katie, burying her face against her, and half hiding it behind her.

"His Majesty" dropped his "cousin" as though he had been shot, and, turning round, regarded the two young ladies for some minutes in silence, while Mrs. Russell sat rigid with horror at this shocking irreverence. But in the royal eye, as it rested on Katie, there was a merry twinkle, until at length the contagion seized upon "His Majesty" himself, and he too burst forth into peals of laughter. After this even Mrs. Russell joined in, and so it happened that the King and the three ladies enjoyed quite a pleasant season.

The King at length recovered from his laughing fit, and drew himself up as though preparing for business.

"Ye see," said he, "Misther Russell has committed an offince against our r'y'l prayrogatives, an' ayven his being our cousin doesn't help him, so it doesn't, for ye see it's a toime av danger—the habeas corpus is suspindid, thrial by jury's done up; there's only martial law, an', be jabers, there's a coort-martial in session at this blessed momint in the room overhead."

"Oh, sire," exclaimed Mrs. Russell, clasping her hands, "they're not sitting on my poor John!"

"Sure an' it's just him, an' divil a one else, so it is; an' it 'ud be mesilf that 'ud be proud to git him off if I cud, but I can't, for law is law, and there ye have it; and though we are King, yet even we haven't any power over the law. Fiat justitia, ruat coelum. I've got no more conthrol over the law than over the weather. But we've got somethin', an' that is a heart that milts at the soight av beauty in disthress."

"Oh, sire," said Mrs. Russell, "spare him!"

"His Majesty" took her hand, pressed it, and held it in his.

"Dearest cousin," said he, "ye ax impossibilities. Law is an' must be shuprame. Even now the coort is deciding. But in any evint, even the worst, ye have a frind in us—constant, tinder, an' thrue; in any evint, no matther what, moind ye, I won't forgit. Niver, niver! I'll be thrue to me word. Permit us to laymint that we had not met ye befoor the late—that is, befoor John Russell obtained this hand. Nay, dhrop not that beaucheous head, fair one. Let the r'y'l eye gaze on those charrums. Our r'y'l joy is to bask an' sun ourselves in the light av loveliness an' beauty."

The strain in which "His Majesty" spoke was certainly high-flown and perhaps extravagant, yet his intention was to express tenderness and sympathy, and to Mrs. Russell it seemed like a declaration made to her, and expressive of much more. She felt shocked, it is true, at the word "late" applied to her unfortunate husband by "His Majesty," yet the words which followed were not without a certain consolation.

"Oh, that it were possible," continued "His Majesty," "for some of us in this room to be more to one another! Oh, that some one here would allow us to hope! Let her think av all that we could do for her. She should be the sharer av our heart an' throne. Her lovely brow should be graced by the crown av Spain an' the Injies. She should be surrounded by the homage av the chivalry av Spain. She should fill the most dazzlin' position in all the worruld. She should be the cynosure av r'y'l majistic beauty. She should have wealth, an' honors, an' titles, an' dignities, an' jools, an' gims, all powered pell-mell into her lap; an' all the power, glory, moight, majisty, an' dominion av the impayrial Spanish monarchy should be widin the grasp av her little hand. What say ye, me fair one?"

All this florid harangue was uttered for the benefit of Katie, and, as he spoke, "His Majesty" kept his eyes fixed on her, hoping that she would respond by some glance or sign. Yet all the time that he was speaking he was unfortunately holding the hand of Mrs. Russell, who very naturally took all this proposal to herself. "His Majesty's" language had already seemed to convey the information that her husband had passed away from earth, and was now the "late" John Russell; and much as she might mourn over the fate of one so dear, still it could not be but that the devotion of one like "His Majesty" should touch her sensitive heart. So when these last words came, and brought what seemed to her like a direct appeal, she was deeply moved.

"What say ye, me fair one?" repeated "His Majesty" with greater earnestness, trying to catch Katie's eye.

Mrs. Russell's eyes were modestly bent downward on the floor. She clung to the royal hand.

"Oh, sire!" she murmured. "Oh, Your Royal Majesty! I am thine—yours forever—I cannot refuse!"

And flinging her arms about him, her head sank upon his shoulder.



CHAPTER XXI.

IN WHICH BROOKE AND TALBOT BEGIN TO GROW VERY WELL ACQUAINTED.

Brooke's heart sank within him as, followed by Talbot, he once more entered the old mill. He knew perfectly well that his position was one of peril, and doubly so from the part which he had been playing. The jeering laugh of these merciless soldiers kept ringing in his ears; the sneers of Lopez and his bitter taunts could not be forgotten. His disguise was no longer of any value either to himself or to Talbot; his true character, when declared, seemed even worse in the eyes of these men than his assumed one had been. To them a Carlist was far from being so bad as a newspaper correspondent; for while the one was an open enemy, the other was a secret foe, a traitor, and a spy. Moreover, in addition to this, there was the fact that he was an American, which, instead of disarming their rage, had only intensified it. These men called themselves Republicans, but they were Spaniards also; and Spaniards hate Americans. They cannot forgive the great republic for its overshadowing power which menaces them in the New World, and for the mighty attraction which it exercises upon disaffected Cubans.

Great though his own danger might be, it was not, however, for himself that Brooke feared. It was for Talbot. Trusting herself implicitly to his care and guidance, she had assumed this attire. Among the Carlists, it would have been the best of protections and the safest of disguises. Among Republicans, it was the worst of garbs. For many of the Spanish Republicans were full of French communistic sentiments, and were ready to wage war with all priests, and ecclesiasts of all forms of religion. What could save Talbot from their murderous hands? It was too late now for her to go back. She must remain a priest, since to reveal herself in her true character would be to rush on to certain destruction. As a priest, however, she was exposed to inevitable danger; she must brave all perils; and to Brooke there seemed not one ray of hope for her safety.

They went back to the loft, and here they remained in silence for some time. At length Brooke spoke.

"Talbot!"

"Well, Brooke."

"Give me your hand."

The slender hand of Talbot stole into his. It was as cold as ice.

"Talbot!" said Brooke, in a tremulous voice, holding her hand in a firm grasp.

"Well, Brooke."

"Do you understand the danger we are in?"

"Yes, Brooke."

"Do you forgive me for my share in bringing you into it?"

"Brooke," said Talbot, reproachfully, "such a question is ungenerous. I am the only cause of your present danger. If you had been alone, without such a fatal incubus as me, you might easily have escaped; or, rather, you would never have fallen into danger. Oh, I know—I know only too well, that you have thrown away your life—or, rather, risked it—to save me."

As Talbot ended, her voice died away in scarce audible tones, which were full of indescribable pathos.

Brooke gave a short laugh, as usual.

"Pooh!" said he. "Tut—tut; stuff and nonsense. Talbot, the fact is, I've been a blockhead. I've got you into a fix, and you're the sufferer. Now I'm quite ready to die, as I deserve, for getting you into danger; but the mischief of it is, what's going to become of you? I swear to you, Talbot, this is now my only fear."

"Brooke," said Talbot, in mournful tones, "every word of yours is a reproach to me. You force me to remember how base I have been in allowing you to sacrifice yourself for me. Oh, if I could only recall the past few hours! if we were only back again in the tower, I would never let you go with me; I would make my journey alone, and—"

"I think," interrupted Brooke, "that I shall have to shut up. Come, now, let's make a bargain. I'll say no more about it, if you don't. Is it a bargain?"

"I suppose so."

There was silence now for a short time, after which Brooke said:

"Talbot, lad, you don't object, do you, to my holding your hand?"

"Object, Brooke? Certainly not."

"It seems to have the effect," said Brooke, "of soothing me, and of making my self-reproach less keen."

"When you hold my hand, Brooke," said Talbot, in a low voice, whose tremor showed unusual feeling, "I feel stronger, and all my weakness leaves me. And I like best of all what you said to me about my not being a girl. I love to have you call me 'Talbot,' for it sounds as though you have confidence in poer me; but, best of all, I love to hear you say 'Talbot, lad;' for it seems as though you look on me as your equal. Your tone is that of a brave man addressing his comrade, and the very sound of your voice seems to drive all my fear away."