As Ashby spoke these words in a low, fervid, excited whisper, he held Dolores tight in his arms, pressed to his quick-throbbing heart; nor could she draw away from him, in spite of her shrinking back. In fact, the poor little thing did not seem to have the will to get away from him, for the end of it was that her head fell down helplessly on his breast, and she began to cry:

"I—think—it's—cruel," she sobbed, "cruel in you!"

Ashby pressed her more closely to his heart in the same "cruel" manner, and kissed away her tears.

"You're not kind to me at all," sighed Dolores.

To this observation Ashby made no reply, thinking, perhaps, that at that moment words were of no particular use.

"It's very cruel," repeated Dolores, "and I did not think you would be so unkind—"

To this Ashby's answer was, as before, by acts that were more eloquent than words.

"Dolores," said he, as soon as he was able to express himself coherently, "if you had not come, I really think I should have killed myself."

"Did you really feel so badly?" asked Dolores, in a tender voice.

"My heart ached," said Ashby; "it ached for the sight of you. Do you know what heartache is, darling? Do you know what it is to hunger and thirst and long and yearn after some one?"

Dolores sighed. She said nothing, but her head rested more closely on Ashby's breast, and one little hand stole timidly up and was laid lightly on his shoulder.

"Do you know anything about such feelings, Dolores?" persisted Ashby.

"All," said Dolores, in a scarce audible whisper, "all—all—all! But tell me," said she, looking up as though trying to see his face in the gloom, "who was it?"

"Who was it? What a question! You! you, darling! you, Dolores!"

"Not the English maiden?" she asked.

"She!" said Ashby, contemptuously; "she is a doll—a butterfly—a kitten! She is nothing—a poor creature with no brains and no heart! Even her beauty is mere prettiness. There is no soul in her face, no lightning in her glance."

"And who has soul in her face and lightning in her glance?" asked Dolores, shyly.

"Who? You! you, my darling, dark-eyed Dolores! you, with your deep, unfathomable, glowing, soul-lit eyes that pierce to my inmost heart, and make me thrill at the recollection."

"And won't you say that all again?" said Dolores; "and won't you say that about the English maid? I love to hear you call her names."

Dolores said this with the innocence and frank simplicity of a child.

"She is a baby!" said Ashby; "the English maiden—a mere baby! She can only smile, and smile, and be silly. Her only desire is to find some one who will pet her. She can only live in the sunshine. She is a butterfly! She has no heart, no soul! She is a doll to be looked at, but she can give no return. She is a kitten that thinks of nothing but play. But as for me, I give all my heart and all my love to a girl I know, who is no mere fair-weather friend, but one who has clung to me when others were false, who has come to me in my darkness and my despair, so that my dungeon has become a heaven, and this dark night is the brightest time of my life. And this girl—this, my Spanish girl, is my idol and my deity. I adore her, for I know that she stands ready to give up all for my sake, and to lay down her very life for me. Never—never in all my life have I known anything like the deep, intense, vehement, craving, yearning, devouring love that I feel for her. It even makes me smile to think how feeble and contemptible other feelings have been in comparison with this. I want no other occupation than to spend all my hours recalling all that my darling love has ever said—in recalling the days at Valencia, before I knew she was so dear, and the highest bliss of life I have now. I could be willing to die, and could even die gladly, my darling, darling Dolores, if I could die with your hand in mine."

Ashby was going on farther in this pleasing strain, when suddenly, and without a moment's warning, Dolores gave a spring and vanished.

Ashby stood confounded. Then he stared all around. Then he called another,

"Dolores! Dolores! Don't leave me!"

A voice came back through the gloom:

"H-s-s-s-h! I must not stay any longer."

"But shall I never see you again?"

"Certainly; I will come soon, and show you the passage-way."

"Where are you?"

"Never mind—good-night!"

"Oh, Dolores, wait—one word more."

"Be quick!" said Dolores, and her voice now sounded nearer.

"You will see me again?" said Ashby, in tones of entreaty. "You will not fly and leave me all alone? You will not leave me in this way? I may be taken away from this room, Dolores, or you may be taken to another room; and then how can you get to me? Show me how you came here. You might do that much for me. Only think what dangers there are."

Dolores paused a moment.

"Well," said she, "only promise one thing."

"What?"

"That you will not try to visit me. That would be dangerous. Others are with me."

"I will not; I promise—except, of course, in cases of the greatest necessity."

"If you do," said Dolores, "I shall think that you have not come for me; I shall think it is for the English maiden. And now, come; I will show you the way."

Once more Dolores appeared through the gloom.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

IN WHICH "HIS MAJESTY" FALLS IN LOVE.

Mrs. Russell's position was a very peculiar and a very trying one. From the remarks of "His Majesty" she had reason to believe that her beloved, yet unfortunate, husband had been found guilty of treason against that august monarch, and had been executed. At the same time, "His Most Sacred Majesty" had evinced what appeared to be a devoted attachment to her humble self. Now, what was a high-toned woman to do under such circumstances? Mourn over the departed one? Most certainly; that she would ever do. But what about "His Majesty" and the royal attentions? Should she turn a deaf ear to that too, too eloquent tongue, dash down the crown of Spain, and busy herself in unavailing regrets for the lost one? Before doing so it would be well to pause.

And then there were other considerations. It was not the man who must be considered, but the King. It was not her own feelings which she must regard, but the well-being of Spain, the good of Europe, and the interests of humanity. Would it not be better that the throne of Spain should be filled by a virtuous Englishwoman than by some frivolous Continental princess? Would it not be better that the Queen of Spain should emulate the domestic graces of a Victoria than the corrupt follies of an Isabella? Should she now, out of selfish private grief, deprive Spain of such an inestimable boon? Would Spain forgive her? Would England? Nay, would the world? Could she forgive herself?

"Nay, nay," she said to herself, "this is not a time for weakness. My heart must ever lie entombed in the grave of my dear lost Johnny; yet State reasons compel me to bestow my hand. I cannot resist the cry of stricken Spain. Yes, thou royal wooer! take my hand—it is thine; and my only sorrow is that I cannot yet give thee all this stricken heart. Yet patience, fond one; it may all be thine in time—all—all."

Katie was surprised to observe an unwonted dignity suddenly come over Mrs. Russell.

She informed that young person that she needn't call her "Auntie" now, but "Madame," or "Senora," and proceeded to drop mysterious hints, from which Katie's quick wit soon gathered the whole of the facts of the case.

Katie exulted so in this discovery that she felt happier than ever in her life before, and her only trouble was that she had no one to whom she might tell this. However, she did the best she could, and set herself to the task of confirming Mrs. Russell in her views and intentions; in which she was so successful that the latter began to imagine herself as almost already on the throne; and when Katie once or twice accidentally addressed her as "Your Majesty," the good lady did not check her.

Another visit from "His Majesty" found Mrs. Russell like ripe fruit ready to be gathered. On this occasion, as before, the august monarch came alone. He was in high good-humor, and smelt strongly of whiskey. He began, in a strain of gallantry, complimenting the ladies in general on their numerous charms.

"Yez oughtn't to be kept here undher lock an' kay," said "His Majesty," "an' mesilf 'ud be the proud man to let yez out, ivery one av yez, but thin how do I know that I'd iver see yez agin? I must kape yez till me fate's decoided. I don't know yet that ye'd be willin' to come to terruuis; an' so ye're loike O'Rafferty in the song:

"'Oh, a fine pair av handcuffs he wore, That the sheriff hiul nately adjusted, Because that official persayved That O'Rafferty couldn't be trusted.'"

"Ah, sire," said Mrs. Russell, with a sigh, "Your Royal Majesty holds us by stronger bonds than bolts and bars."

"Be jabers!" exclaimed "His Majesty," "that's good! that's nate! that's illigant! I couldn't bate that mesilf, an' I hope that all the ladies prisent will join in that sintimint."

As he spoke, "His Majesty" looked hard at Katie, but that young lady did not catch the royal eye.

"The throne av Spain," continued "His Majesty," "an' the crown an' sceptre av Spain, an' all the r'y'l regalia, an' all the moight an' majesty an' magnificence av its pomp an' power—be jabers! they're all goin' a beggin' in this room; an' there's one here that's only got to wink, an' it's hers, every bit av it."

Mrs. Russell here made desperate efforts to catch the royal eye, but to no purpose, for that eye was fixed on Katie.

"Yis," continued "His Majesty," "an' afore to-morrow noon it 'ud be all hers, any time at all—crown an' sceptre an' all—an' the marriage ceremony cud come off in the mornin', loike Tim:

"'Oh, married was Tim at the dawn av day; His bride was a stout owld widdy; She owned a horse, an' she owned a shay, An' her maiden name was Biddy.'"

The habits of this illustrious being were singular, and his tendency to make odd quotations, which were not always particularly relevant, was not the least surprising of his ways. In this last quotation Mrs. Russell found several objectionable expressions; but on the whole the idea was a flattering one, for the subject of the narrative was represented as "marrying a widow;" and this little circumstance was taken as a fresh proof of "His Majesty's" devotion.

"Yez mustn't think," continued "His Majesty," "that there's any lack av our r'y'l attintion to yez because yez haven't got much to brag av in the way av food; begorra! I'm in the same box mesilf, an' it isn't much at all at all I can get here except mutton, an' it's mesilf that 'ud give all the mutton in Spain for a bit av a pratie. Howandiver, I hope to get some fish by to-morrow mornin'. If we could only get a taste av a few praties there'd be nothin' wantin'; for—

"'It's little I axes, Au' little I wish; If others want luxuries, let them; For praties and fish Make an illigant dish, If ye only have whiskey to wet them.'"

These and other cheerful remarks of a general nature were addressed by "His Majesty" to the company at large. It is true, the royal eye was fixed exclusively on Katie, and therefore the royal remarks were probably so many efforts to do the agreeable to her. But that young lady persistently evaded the royal eye; and as Dolores was disregarded altogether, it was natural enough that Mrs. Russell should appropriate all the royal remarks and make the necessary replies.

"Ah, sire! your 'Royal Majesty' is so very funny! Are all the crowned heads thus?"

"All av thim—ivery mother's son av thim. An' they're an illigant lot. But moind this—it's mesilf that bates the whole lot, out-an'-out. Ye know, I'm not only King av Spain, but heir to the crown av France."

"Is it possible?" said Mrs. Russell.

"Divil a loie I'm tellin'," said "His Majesty." "It's thrue, so it is. I'm nixt av kin to Heuri Cinq—that's Chambord, ye know. The Count av Paris is Orleans, not Bourbon. I'm Bourbon, begorra! An' whin Chambord doies, an' the nixt revolution takes place in France, I'll march on Paris an' give pace to that unhappy counthry. An', be jabers! I'll take me wife wid me, an' we'll live in Paris, an' I'll get her the most illigant dhresses, an' coort coschumes, an' bonnets, an' boots, an' laces, an' gims, an' jools, that iver any woman wore. The Quane av Spain 'll be the Quane av France too; an' what's more, she'll be the quane of beauty an' fashion, an' the ex-Empress Eugenie'll be nowhere. She'll be forgotten."

It was thus that the royal wooer tried to dazzle Katie's imagination; but whatever the effect on her may have been, it is certain that Mrs. Russell experienced the full effect of the dazzling visions which those words were intended to call up.

"An' now," said "His Majesty," starting up, "we must be off. We've got business. But we hope to see yez soon, an' have it all arranged. Whisper, darlint"—and he bent down his royal head close to Mrs. Russell's tingling ear—"whisper, jool: I'm wantin' to have a discoorse wid ye—somethin' important—I must see ye alone. It's ill convaynient just now, an' I don't want to be overheard. I'll wait till the gyerruls are aslape, an' I'll luk in. Ye'll moind, will ye? This noight, jool."

"Ah, sire—ah, 'Your Majesty,'" sighed Mrs. Russell, "I'm ready—why not now?"

"Whis-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-sht! shure ye'll spoil all, so ye will. Only moind—to-noight!"

"Ah, sire, I'll never forget—never—never!"

"Thin moind to be on the luk-out," said "His Majesty;" and with these remarkable words he retreated, leaving Mrs. Russell in a state of mind which, as the novelists say, "can better be imagined than described."



CHAPTER XXIX.

HOW HARRY PAYS ANOTHER VISIT, AND MEETS WITH A STRANGE ADVENTURE.

Harry's loneliness was by no means alleviated at finding that Katie was so near. It was, indeed, rather aggravated, for to our light-hearted friend it seemed intolerable that Katie should be so near and yet so far. She was separated from him by only a few paces, and yet he was compelled to keep away from her. To run the risk of discovery was not to be thought of. By day it was necessary to put up with his solitude as best he might. He was sufficiently wary not to forget himself, and he did not lose sight of the probability that he was watched. The discovery of that passage-way made it seem not unlikely that this Castle in Spain was all honeycombed with other passages; that its ponderous walls were all a sham; that these massive stones served merely as a blind to conceal innumerable hiding-places and secret chambers. He was sure now that these walls had ears, and perhaps eyes also; and therefore he determined to do nothing which could lead to the discovery of his secret.

At length evening came, and then Harry began to breathe freely. He was fully resolved on paying another visit to Katie at the earliest possible moment. He knew that she would be expecting him. She would not be asleep this time. There were many things which he wished to say, and, above all, he wished to persuade her to venture into the passage-way herself, at some favorable opportunity, so that they might see one another more frequently.

It was about nine o'clock when Harry entered the passage-way. It was quite dark, the room being illuminated in part, as before, by the struggling moonbeams. He went along the passage-way and came to the end at the other chimney. There he paused, and waited, and watched. Gradually he became aware of some one beneath. He gave a low whisper: "Katie!"

A low whisper was returned: "Harry!" Upon this he descended softly and noiselessly.

Katie herself was there. She had been expecting him.

"They are all asleep," she said. "I thought I'd just come here to see if you were coming."

"You little pet! You knew I'd come."

"I thought you might, you know."

"This day has been so horribly long, Katie; I thought it would never end. See here—can't we manage to run away? I wish I could find some way out. But you're chilly. This air is damp, and there is a bad draught down the chimney. Come in to the corner of the room."

"But, oh, do be very, very cautious!" said Katie.

Holding her hand, Harry went stealthily into the room, and drew her with him as quietly as possible, till they reached a corner of the room on the right of the fireplace. This corner was all shrouded in gloom, so that if the sleepers had awakened they could have seen nothing. Here the two found themselves quite secure for the time being; and as all the room was perfectly silent, they were not afraid to resume their stealthy whispers.

"Have you been lonely to-day, Katie?" asked Harry, in a tender voice.

"Oh, a little."

"A little!" repeated he, in a reproachful tone.

"But there's been such an awful lot of fun," said Katie; "I've been almost bursting to tell some one—that's you, you know."

"Fun?" said Harry, wonderingly; "what fun?"

"Oh, that absurd old Paddy King, Don Carlos, as he calls himself—only he's no more a king than I am. Don't you think he's some strolling Irish vagabond adventurer?"

"Irish vagabond? I don't know," said Harry. Now Harry had only heard "His Majesty" speak in Spanish, and therefore did not see the point at all.

"Well, for my part, I'm sure he's an Irishman," said Katie. "Mrs. Russell says that he learned some English from an Irish priest; but that wouldn't account for his queer songs."

"Songs?"

"Oh, he's utterly ridiculous! Who or what he really is I cannot imagine. And, do you know, the best fun of all is—he's in love with me."

"In love with you?" Harry cried, recoiling as he said it.

"Yes, of course—why not?" said Katie.

"The infernal cad!" cried Harry.

"Oh, what naughty language!" said Katie. "Oh!"

"D—n him!" cried Harry, furiously. "What does the fellow mean?"

"I declare I won't listen to such shocking language," said Katie. "Now stop!"

"Well—but what does the scoundrel mean?" repeated Harry, in jealous wrath.

"Well, he means to try—to marry me."

"Marry!—you!"

"Oh yes; and he says he'll make me Queen of Spain—and he says he has a claim to the crown of France also, which he promises to share with me."

"Good heavens!" said Harry, in utter consternation; for Harry had not yet done more than vaguely suspect that "His Majesty" might be any other than what he claimed to be, and this design of his upon Katie seemed now a peril of no common magnitude.

"Why, Katie," he added, after a pause, "a royal personage can't marry a private person like you. It's illegal, you know."

"Oh, but the fun of it is he's only a common Irishman, and he drinks whiskey, and has an awful brogue. Oh, it's such fun to listen to him! But the greatest fun of all is, auntie believes in him. She thinks he is really Don Carlos; and, best of all, she thinks he is making love to her, and proposing to her."

"To her! Why, she has a husband already."

"Oh, but she thinks he has been killed."

"Killed? Good heavens! Is that really so? Poor old Russell! Oh, heavens! The villains! They'd do it, too."

And Harry thought of the bonds and the search after them. It seemed to him not at all unlikely that they had killed Russell so as to get at these, or perhaps to punish him for not giving them up. Horror now quite overwhelmed him. He felt even shocked at Katie's levity.

"But Mrs. Russell," he said; "how does she bear this horrible, calamity?"

"Bear it?" said Katie; "why, she wants to be Queen of Spain, and France too!"

"What, when her husband lies murdered close by? Oh, heavens!—oh, good heavens!"

"Well, do you know, it does seem very odd indeed."

"But you, Katie—how can you talk of such horrors in such a way? What will be the fate of the rest of us, after this?"

"Why, you poor foolish boy, you needn't scold and go on so. I don't believe he's dead any more than you are. I believe that "His Majesty" only said it in fun. In fact, he never did actually say so."

Harry sighed a sigh of perplexity.

"But, you know," continued Katie, "Mrs. Russell went and got it into her poor old head. Oh, she's very, very imaginative, poor dear old auntie, and she would have it so. And she thinks that all the speeches which "His Majesty" makes at me are intended for her."

"The wretched creature!" said Harry; "to speculate upon her husband's death, and think of such a thing as marriage."

"Oh, but she says that it is not love that makes her think of it, but State policy."

"State fiddlesticks!"

"She says that Mary Queen of Scots married Bothwell after her husband's murder, from motives of State policy."

"Oh, good heavens!" said Harry, whose sense of honor and loyalty and affection, and even of common decency, was utterly outraged at such a revelation; "and she always seemed such a quiet, good, well-meaning sort of a person."

"But she means well now," said Katie. "She says her marriage is to be for the good of Spain and the world generally."

At this Harry was silent. He could find no more words to express his feelings. Besides, although all the words, ejaculations, and exclamations above reported were uttered with as much caution and in as low a tone as were consistent with his excited feelings, still, they made more noise than was wise under the circumstances, and there were signs that some of the sleepers were restless. These, at last, attracted the attention of the two and interrupted their conversation.

Several heavy sighs from a remote corner of the room showed that some one was awake, or waking, and this warning forced them to keep silence for some time. At length all was still, and Harry ventured to speak again.

"Oh, Katie," said he, "can't you do something with that wretched woman?"

"No," said Katie. "I'm sure all I say only makes her worse. She wants me now to address her as 'Your Majesty!'"

"She's mad," said Harry; "the woman's utterly mad!"

"Well, she's got some great secret now which she won't tell. As 'His Majesty' was leaving, the last time, he kept up some very mysterious whisperings with her. I've been teasing her all day to tell me what they were, but in vain. She's as close as the grave. A great crisis is approaching. And the fun of it is she doesn't know that it's me, and not her, that 'His Majesty' means."

"You! Oh, Katie, don't talk in that indifferent way."

"Why?"

"Oh, don't you see? You are here so much in his power. Oh, we must fly. I'll hunt along the passage to-night, and I'm sure I'll find something. I'm sure there must be a way out."

"But I don't want to go," said Katie; "that is, not just yet."

"Not want to go?"

"No, not till I have some more fun, and see how this is going to end; but—"

Here Katie stopped abruptly and clutched Harry's arm convulsively. Harry, too, at the same instant started, and both stood peering into the dark, and listening attentively.

For there had come a sudden noise.

It was a very peculiar and a very startling noise. It was a low, shuffling sound, as of some one moving stealthily, and it arose from the direction of the fireplace—the very place where Harry's retreat would lie in case of discovery. But now that retreat seemed cut off; and there seemed to be some one there who, perhaps, had come on his track. Harry's only thought was that his room had been entered and his absence discovered, upon which his guards had at once come through in search of him. How many there were he could not tell. He could do nothing, however. He could only stand still and watch. Soon, he thought, others would come; lights would be produced, and he would be discovered.

"Leave me!" said Harry, in a faint whisper. "It's one of the guards. I'm lost!"

Katie's answer thrilled through every nerve of the listener.

"Then if you are lost, I will be lost with you!"

Saying this, she twined both her arms round his arm, and held it pressed tight to her throbbing heart.

Harry stood erect, vigilant, staring.



CHAPTER XXX.

HOW SEVERAL OF OUR FRIENDS FIND THEMSELVES IN A MOST EXTRAORDINARY SITUATION.

So Harry stood, with his retreat cut off, staring into the darkness, while Katie, clinging to him, awaited the result. Harry expected every minute that lights would be produced and everything revealed. But the lights did not come, and the discovery was delayed. There occurred a pause, during which Harry waited, after which the sliding, shuffling sounds recommenced.

They now came nearer. Then came the sound of a stealthy footfall—very slow, too, and very cautious. The new-comer, the supposed pursuer, whoever he was, seemed now to be in the room, and cautiously advancing. As yet he was under the shadow, and was, therefore, invisible in the gloom; but he was approaching the place where the moonbeams fell—where he might be seen. Harry noted this, and wondered how many more of them there might be. Katie also looked up now, and stood listening. Both of these were waiting for a chance to separate, if possible—Katie to go back to her own place, and Harry to fly back to his room.

At length the advancing figure reached the place where the moonbeams fell, and here he entered the moonlight, so that it was possible to see his outline, though not to distinguish features. It was a man—he was unarmed, and all his gestures and motions indicated excessive caution and watchfulness. Harry and Katie both saw him, as he groped about and peered through the gloom.

"It's 'His Majesty,'" said Katie.

"H-s-s-s-h!" said Harry.

The slight, whispered sounds seemed to catch the ears of the visitor. He stood and listened. But the sounds were not repeated, and he resumed his progress.

"I know who it is," said Harry, in the faintest possible whisper.

"Who?"

"It's Ashby," said Harry.

Katie said not a word in reply, but the effect of that name upon her was none the less manifest. The hands which had been clasping Harry's arm relaxed their hold; she moved away from him. Harry caught her hand and tried to detain her, but Katie snatched it away, and Harry was afraid to insist. It was evident that she was offended; and at what? Was it at the mention of Ashby's name? And but a moment before she had said that she would share his fate—"Then if you are lost, I will be lost with you!" Those were her words. And now she was offended!

Harry could not believe it. He took a step after her and found her again. He sought again to take her hand. It was not now refused. Katie seemed to have overcome her irritation. The quarrel was over. So overjoyed was he that he put his arms round her slender form, and unconsciously pressed her close to his heart, while her head sank down on his breast. And there, all the time, only a few paces off, was Ashby himself!

But the beauty of it was that Ashby just then was not thinking of Katie at all. He had come here to see Dolores. For her he was making this venture, having stolen in through the passage-way which she had shown him. He had promised, it is true, not to visit her except in cases of extreme necessity; but as he had felt very lonely, he concluded that this was the necessity in question, and had come to this place.

The room seemed to him very silent. He had come down the chimney with very little noise, and had surveyed the scene from the dark recesses of the fireplace. The corners of the room were all in darkness, but the floor was illuminated here and there by the moonbeams. Having thus taken a general view, Ashby could do nothing else but go forward; and this he did, thinking that every one was asleep, and that by some happy luck he would find Dolores.

As for Dolores, she was not asleep at that time, nor had she been asleep at all.

Katie had taken for granted that the beautiful Spaniard was in the land of forgetfulness; but Katie had never in her life been more entirely mistaken. Dolores was wide awake, and had been engaged in thoughts and speculations which made sleep impossible. It was nothing less than a plan of escape, over which her busy brain was occupied, and there were certain difficulties about it, through which she could not see her way clearly. It was over these that she was puzzling her brain when her attention was roused by certain strange movements in the room.

These were, first, the movements of Katie as she stole to the fireplace and waited there.

Secondly, the movements of Harry as he shuffled down to Katie's side.

Thirdly, the preliminary whisperings of Harry and Katie.

Fourthly, the movements of these two out of the fireplace into the corner of the room.

Fifthly, their continuous whisperings, which sometimes were so animated that they might have wakened any sleeper.

Over all this Dolores was deeply agitated. Who, she asked herself, was this visitor to Katie? It could be one, and one only. That one was Ashby? She had shown him the way. He alone knew it. He had promised her not to come, but he had broken his word and had come. And why? Not for her, but for his English maiden! There were these two now plotting and whispering in her presence, and that, too, after Ashby had disowned with scorn this English maiden, and had spoken such words to her! What could she do now? For such outraged love, such treachery, and such intolerable insult, what revenge could suffice?

Revenge! Yes, nothing less than revenge! For Dolores was not one of those tender and sensitive creatures who could lie down and die under a cruel wrong. Her ardent Southern nature was roused to fury, and she remained there motionless, but—like some wild beast ready to start from its lair when the prey is at hand. Away now went all thoughts of flight with Ashby. Vengeance alone remained for her to think of—vengeance full and complete, which should involve both Ashby and the English maiden. What this vengeance was to be, however, she could not think of as yet; but she knew that in order to make it as full and complete as possible, it would be necessary to think it all over from every point of view.

In this amiable frame of mind Dolores was thus waiting and listening—stung to madness by every new whisper, and nourishing her own rage all the more every moment—until at length she became gradually aware of a sound proceeding from another quarter, and not coming from the two whisperers in the corner at all. There was some one in the fireplace—some newcomer who had approached by that way. What did this mean? Who could this be? Did others know of the secret passage-way? If so, then her surroundings were very different from what she had supposed, and her whole course of action would have to be changed.

Dolores watched, and at length saw the figure of the new-comer quite distinct in the moonlight, yet not so distinct as to enable her to ascertain who it was. The idea was so firmly fixed in her mind that the first comer was Ashby, that she could only suppose this new visitor to be one of the Carlists, perhaps "His Majesty" himself.

Meanwhile this new-comer had been stealthily moving along, and Dolores watched and listened. Now was the time which she might seize, if she chose, as the time for vengeance. If this were really one of the Carlists, above all, if this were "His Majesty," she might have sweet revenge by denouncing the false traitor Ashby on the spot, before he could escape. It would be sweet to see the dismay of the traitor when thus discovered under her own eyes. Still, even in that hour of her madness and her fury, she felt that before taking the irrevocable step and denouncing Ashby it would be necessary to be perfectly sure. So Dolores waited.

Meanwhile Ashby in his progress had passed beyond the place where Dolores was, and had traversed more than half the apartment. At this moment he was at fault, and felt anxious to know where to direct his way. He thought the best way would be to try first if Dolores was awake. And so, in a thin, low, but very distinct whisper, he said:

"Do-lo-res!"

Dolores heard it. Well she knew that in the castle there was no one who called her by that name—save one. Instantly a wild revulsion of feeling took place. She had mistaken—the first visitor was not Ashby. Ashby was not false. He was true. He had come, but he had come for her—herself. It was her name that he called. In that sudden revulsion of feeling she almost shouted for joy. She started up, and, regardless of everything but her own heart, was about to steal toward Ashby, when suddenly she was arrested in her attempt.

There arose another sound from some one near the door.

"Here, here," said a whisper—"here I am. How long you've been!"

Ashby heard this voice, and thinking it was Dolores, hurried there. Dolores heard it, understood Ashby's action, and sank down in consternation and despair. Katie and Harry heard it, and thought it was "His Majesty" on his way to Mrs. Russell. And they thought that others of "His Majesty's" followers were in the chimney.

Ashby saw a figure dimly defined in the gloom. It was indistinguishable. He took it for Dolores. So he folded that figure fondly in his arms, and the "figure" reciprocated to the fullest extent.

"Oh, my own love and darling!" sighed Ashby, in Spanish.

Mrs. Russell understood not a word of Spanish. She thought, however, that if "His Majesty" could express himself more freely in that language it was certainly quite natural for him to use it; yet it did seem rather unfair to her to come here and talk love and use endearing expressions in an unknown tongue. "His Majesty" seemed very eloquent and strongly agitated, yet Mrs. Russell could not make out what he said, nor had she a chance to explain.

For in the midst of all this there occurred a new interruption. This was the sound of a key turning in the door. The door opened immediately behind Mrs. Russell, and a soft voice, said in familiar tones and in a husky whisper:

"Whis-s-s-s-sht, darlin'—are ye awake, thin! Sure I hope the gyerruls are aslape."



CHAPTER XXXI.

IN WHICH THE WHOLE PARTY FIND THEMSELVES IS A HAUNTED CASTLE.

At the opening of the door and the sound of the voice Ashby started back and retreated. He was very much puzzled at the Irish brogue, and could only think that a stray Paddy might be among the Carlists. However, there was no time to wait, so he sought to regain the fireplace. But as he did so a figure came in his way, arms were flung about him, and a low, faint whisper came close to his ear:

"Oh, Assebi! I am Dolores; that other is Mrs. Russell. Fly, or you are lost!"

Here was a new shock for Ashby, but he did not lose his presence of mind. The new-comer was still at the door. He was not followed. At this he noted as he stood for a moment or so holding Dolores in his arms.

As for Mrs. Russell, nothing could exceed her amazement and terror when "His Majesty" came in behind her at the very moment when she supposed herself to be in "His Majesty's" arms. It was unintelligible—nay, even frightful.

"Weren't you—your Majesty—here—just now?" she stammered.

"Me! Us! Here? Divil a bit av us! We've just come," was the reply.

"But who was it? Some one was here."

"Some one?" said "His Majesty." "Oh, maybe it was our r'y'l footstep."

"No—but some one was talking Spanish."

"Walkin' Spanish, ye mane," replied the august monarch. "Sure nobody's been talkin' Spanish here at all at all."



"But, your Majesty, some one was here—talking to me—close to me."

"Shure it was one av the gyerruls."

"No; it was a—a man!"

"A man!" exclaimed "His Majesty," in surprise.

"Yes."

"What! here in this room?"

"Yes."

"Shure ye've been dramin'—so ye have; or else—maybe it was the castle ghost."

"The ghost!" groaned Mrs. Russell. "Oh, your Majesty! Oh, my own one! Oh, save me! Don't—don't let it come near me!"

And, flinging her arms around the royal person, Mrs. Russell clung to it, sobbing hysterically.

"Shure—whisht, will yez, or ye'll waken up the gyerruls," said the monarch. "I'll protect yez, if ye'll let me, so I will."

"Oh!" said Mrs. Russell, clinging more closely to "His Majesty," "do you hear that?"

"What?"

"That noise!"

"What noise?"

"I heard a wow—wow—whisper!" sobbed the lady.

"A whisper—nonsinse!" said "His Majesty."

"Oh, listen!" said Mrs. Russell, holding him tight, so that he could not get free. At this "His Majesty" remained perfectly still, and listened. There certainly were some low, indistinct sounds, among which were whispers.

"Shure it's the gyerruls," said "His Majesty." "That's what it is."

"Oh, look! look!" cried Mrs. Russell. "The ghost! the ghost!"

And with a loud cry Mrs. Russell fell back. "His Majesty" encircled her with the royal arms, and gently deposited her on the floor, standing thus in deep perplexity. But at this instant a sight caught his eye which made him start. It was Ashby's figure traversing the room, through the moonlight. He had waited up to the last moment and had just taken his departure, but as he moved along the floor toward the chimney the royal eye saw him.

"Be jabers!" said "His Majesty," "ghost or no ghost, I must see to this. The castle's haunted as sure as a gun, but that isn't the figure an' farrum av a maydoiayval ghost, so it isn't."

Mrs. Russell now revived, and struggled up to her feet.

"Is—is—it gig—gig—gone?" she asked, with a shudder.

"Sorra a one av me knows," said "His Majesty." "I'm going to invistigate."

"Oh!" wailed Mrs. Russell, "leave me not—oh, Your Sacred Majesty, desert me not!"

"Shure I'm only going to get loights," said "His Majesty."

"Oh, forsake me not! Be not so cruel!"

"Crool! Ah, be off wid yer nonsinse!" said "His Majesty." "Whisht now, jool—sure I'll be back in a jiffy. If it's any one that's got in, I'll find him whin I come back; an' if it's a ghost, why, it's just as well to know it."

"Oh, your Majesty," cried Mrs. Russell, "do not forsake me! Without you it is too—too—too horrible!"

"Shure ain't I telling yez," said "His Majesty," "that I'm only goin' to get loights, an' that I'll be back in a jiffy? Be quiet, now, an' it 'll be all right."

With these words "His Majesty" tried gently but firmly to disengage Mrs. Russell's clasped arms from about his neck. This he found much difficulty in doing, but at length he succeeded in getting free. After this he went out, locking the door behind him.

After about five minutes he returned with a blazing torch, followed by half a dozen men, who remained outside awaiting his summons, while "His Majesty" alone went in. The moment that the door opened to admit him, some one came rushing into his arms with such violence as almost to extinguish the torch and upset the royal person. "His Majesty" recovered himself, however, and uttered several ejaculations which in any less distinguished person would certainly have sounded like profanity.

"Be aisy, now, will yez?" he said, in a milder voice, "an' howld away yer arrums, jool, till I invistigate the primisis. If it's a livin' man I'll fix him; an' if it's a ghost—begorra, I'll—let him go."

With these words "His Majesty" succeeded in extricating himself from the clutches of Mrs. Russell, and, holding aloft the torch, began to walk about the room, looking closely everywhere, while Mrs. Russell followed at his heels, entreating him to take care of his royal person.

"Arrah, shure, now," said "His Majesty," "we're accustomed to danger. We don't moind throifles like this—not a bit av it:

"'For divil a bit av me cares, I'm randy to tackle the foe; If alive, let him fight if he dares, If he's dead, to the dogs let him go.'"

By this time the noise and the flaming torches had seemed to rouse up Katie and Dolores. Both of these now stood up, blinking and shrinking, clinging timidly to one another, and looking like two frightened children just awakened. They seemed so surprised, so confused, and so terrified, that the heart of "His Majesty" swelled with pity and compassion.

"Ladies! jools!" said he, "don't, don't give way. Shure it's all over now, so it is, an' yez needn't be a bit afraid any more."

"What's all over?" asked Katie, in a tone of alarm.

"What? Why—shure nothin'."

"There was some one in the room," said Mrs. Russell, in frightened tones.

"Some one in the room!" cried Katie, in a voice so full of terror that it became a positive shriek. "Oh! oh! oh! Who? who? What? what?"

Never was terror more eloquently depicted on any human face than on Katie's expressive countenance on this occasion. She flung herself into Dolores's arms and clung to her. Dolores said nothing, but clung to Katie in silence.

"Alarrums av this sort," said "His Majesty," "isn't shuited to their delicate, narvous systems—so they isn't. I've got a dhrop av whiskey about me, if—But I suppose they wouldn't care for it."

With these words "His Majesty" approached Katie for the purpose of soothing her, or of paying her some delicate compliment, but Katie contrived to keep Dolores between herself and the royal wooer till the R. W. felt baffled.

"Shure it's very disthressin', so it is," said he, as he turned away. "But I'll take a luk round."

He looked all around, walked by the walls, gravely peered into the fireplace, and at length came back.

"There's no one here," said he.

"But I saw some one," said Mrs. Russell.

"Shure, thin, it was no livin' man ye saw, an' there ye have it."

"No living man!" screamed Mrs. Russell.

"Shure no; how could it have been? Wouldn't I a seen him, an' me wid a loight?"

"Then it's a ghost!" said Mrs. Russell, with another scream.

"Divil a one else," said "His Majesty." "It's the castle ghost—only I don't see why he came in modern coschume. But perhaps it isn't the castle ghost. It may be the last prisoner that was shot."

This last suggestion was unspeakably horrible to Mrs. Russell. Well she knew who that last prisoner was! The last prisoner! Oh, horror! and the apparition was It! And It had come to her!—embraced her!—spoke words of love! It was He!—her once loved but now lost Johnny!

The thought was too much. With a wild yell, she flung her arms around "His Majesty" and fainted.

"It's mesilf," said "His Majesty," placidly, "that 'ud be the proud man to shtay here an' watch wid yez agin the ghost, but juty calls me elsewhere." As he said this, he tried to detach the arms of Mrs. Russell, who now clung to him with rigid and death-like tenacity. This, however, he could not do, and as her weight was considerable, he gravely seated himself on the floor, and implored Katie and Dolores to help him. This they did, and their united efforts succeeded in loosening Mrs. Russell's grasp. The stricken lady gave a gasp and raised her head, but "His Majesty" was too nimble for her. By a desperate movement he withdrew from her reach, and stood for a moment at a respectable distance.

"Ladies," said he, "it's mesilf that 'ud be the proud man to shtay; but there's no danger in the worruld—not the laste in loife, an' this lady requires your care. So I'm thinkin' I'll be off, an' if anythin' happens agin, you sing out."

Saying these words, "His Majesty" left the room somewhat more hurriedly than he had entered it. His departure completed Mrs. Russell's prostration. For the remainder of the night she refused to be comforted, but remained terrified, lamenting bitterly, and exclaiming incessantly: "Oh, why did he leave me!—why, oh, why did he leave me!"



CHAPTER XXXII.

IN WHICH HARRY MAKES AN UNPLEASANT DISCOVERY.

Harry had been the first to escape from the room. He had waited long, fearing lest others might be in the chimney; but at length, as the actions of the new-comer did not seem consistent with those of a pursuer, he had concluded to risk it. He had then entered the chimney, and was able to reach his own room in safety. Ashby had not left until the very last moment, when the door had already opened to admit "His Majesty," so that the two had not met. But Harry, on reaching his own room, stood for a long time in the fireplace, listening; and as he listened, he felt sure that he heard sounds, and these sounds seemed as though made by pursuers. Upon this he flung himself upon his bed, where he lay motionless for nearly an hour, until it seemed scarcely possible that there could be any further danger.

He now thought of returning to the room, but after a little consideration decided not to. No doubt they would all be awake, perhaps also others might be there, and to go back might lead to discovery, and destroy all further chances of seeing Katie. Still, the thought would not be dismissed. Sleep was impossible, and he lay awake, recalling the events of the night.

At length there occurred to his mind the thought of those Spanish bonds which he had found and hidden away so carefully. He had not visited the place since, or rather, he had not looked at the hiding-place. He determined to do so now merely for the sake of reassuring himself as to the safety of those precious papers. For Katie's fortune lay wrapped up in that parcel, and he was anxious that he should be the means of saving it for her. In addition to this, he was anxious to search carefully along the passage-way, to see if there might not be openings which had thus far escaped him—which might possibly lead to the outer world.

He provided himself with his torch and found that he had matches enough. He then climbed up into the passage-way, and lighted his torch; after which he proceeded onward until he reached the chink where the package had been deposited. Here he stooped down and held the light close.

The first sight showed nothing. But the string which he had left hanging out was, as he knew, not very perceptible, so he held the light closer and felt for it. Even then he found nothing.

He now thought that perhaps the package had fallen by its own weight a little farther in, drawing the string after it. In order to find whether this were so or not, he reached his hand into the chink.

No sooner had he done this than he snatched it away, and sat there staring.

The chink was very much larger than it had been before.

There was no doubt about this. Then it had been barely wide enough to admit the package. Now he could easily thrust his whole arm into the opening.

It was utterly unaccountable. By some incomprehensible means that crevice had been enlarged. The whole stone, he now saw, had been thrust forward several inches into the passage-way. It seemed as if nothing short of an earthquake could suffice to move from its place such a stone as that. In itself it appeared to be of vast size and weight, and below it, and above it, and on either side, were others equally vast. How was it possible for such a rock to be thus dislodged? By an earthquake? But nothing of the kind had occurred. He was a light sleeper, and was easily aroused by anything unusual. Could the castle have "settled?" Impossible. It was too old. It had long since shaken down into its deep bed. Still, old buildings do often settle, and in fault of any better explanation he was compelled to adopt something like this.

In any event, there seemed very great danger that the package had been lost. Again and again he thrust his arm far in, but found only vacancy. Then he put his hand downward as far as he could. It touched something which felt like a stone pavement.

This pavement was about eight inches lower than the one upon which he was. All this made the matter still more incomprehensible.

But Harry had come forth to seek after this very thing, namely, some mysterious opening into a side-passage, and after the first surprise it occurred to him that this might be what he wished to find. And now the fact of the stone jutting forth became intelligible, though this new explanation promised ill for the safety of the package. It was evident that this stone was movable, and afforded in some way an entrance to this passage. It seemed strange that so vast a stone should be movable, yet there was the fact. Perhaps also it was less massive than it seemed. Perhaps it was a mere slab and opened like a door. But how?

He now examined its surface with the most careful and minute scrutiny. In vain. Over all the surface and over all the edges there was nothing that indicated any means by which such a stone could be moved—nothing of the nature of hinges, and nothing of the nature of a handle, by which to grasp it so as to move it. Yet it was movable, and had been moved lately. Perhaps it could be moved without any help from a handle.

He now thrust his arm through, and, grasping it, pulled at it with all his strength. His utmost effort, however, made no impression. He found that the stone was massive within as without, that it was no thin slab, but one which his arm could not surround—at least eighteen inches in solid thickness where his arm held it. Yet the stone did move, and had been moved. The matter became now more incomprehensible than ever. It could be moved. It had been moved, yet there was a secret contrivance here into which he could not penetrate.

Again the thought came to him of the package which contained Katie's fortune. Some one had been here. Had that one found the package? It must be so. Fool that he was!

A second time had that precious package been deposited in what seemed a secure hiding-place, and a second time had the hiding-place proved almost a public thoroughfare.

For what seemed a long time Harry examined that stone. In vain. The wall arose before him impenetrable. The stone was immovable. Yet that stone seemed now to him to hold within itself the secret not only of the package, but also of escape and of liberty and life.

Harry at length felt like giving up. Once more, however, though now quite hopelessly, he examined the stone in every direction, pressing with all his strength upon every part. And now in this, the very moment of his utter hopelessness, as often happens—at the very time when not expecting it, he found what he sought.

At the extreme end of the stone, more than six feet from the crevice where he had hidden the package, he pressed upon it, and found that it gave way. The pressure was not at all strong; yet to that slight effort the apparently massive rock yielded like a door, and moved inward several inches.

In unspeakable amazement and intense excitement Harry pushed it in farther, until he saw the whole move in, at his pressure, for about two feet. An opening was disclosed. He stepped in and looked around.

He found himself in a kind of chamber which was about four feet wide and eight feet long. At the end of this was a stone stair-way which went down. Harry looked around, and took all this in at a glance. His first thought was about his package.

The package was not there.

He had been prepared for this, yet the disappointment was bitter. Still there was consolation in the discovery which he had made, and his excitement and curiosity were yet strong. He naturally turned his attention to that stone which formed so wonderful a door-way, and which had so long baffled him.

He saw that at the end, near the crevice, the stone was about eighteen inches thick, but that it was all cut away toward the other end, till it ended in a slab of only two inches in thickness. One end of the stone was thus a vast block, while the other was a comparatively thin slab. He now understood the whole construction.

At the thick end the door was set with stone pivots, into sockets above and below, by means of which it was easily moved. The reason why he could not move it at first was because he was exerting his strength near the hinge, or pivots, where, of course, it was thrown away; but as soon as he had touched the farther edge, it yielded to a slight pressure. Here, inside, there was a stone handle by which it was easily opened, while, outside, he thought that it was closed by swinging it as one went out, so that it went by its own weight into its place.

After all, there was nothing very strange in this. Harry had read about such stone doors. In the accounts of the Moabite cities, mention is made of something of the sort; and as those have lasted for three thousand years, this one might well lust for several hundred.

But the package!

There were no traces of it. At the hinge end of the slab there was a wedge-shaped stone, by inserting which here the door could be secured against opening from without. Into this wedge-shaped crevice he had thrust the package. He saw also that in pushing it far in he had only secured its discovery, for he must have pushed it so far that the first one who passed had found it.

Now who could that have been?

Whoever it was, the package was gone. No doubt it was one of the Carlists, who had taken it to their leader. It was gone beyond all possibility of recovery.

Harry had been so taken up with his examination of these things that he had forgotten all about the necessity of caution. He stood there thus, in thought, the torch brightly burning, when suddenly he was roused by some one rushing up the steps. He darted back into the passage-way, and banged the stone door after him.

Too late. In an instant the pursuer was upon him and had caught at his coat collar.

But Harry was not the man to give up at the first attack. Quick as lightning, he drew forth a revolver from his breast pocket, and, hastily cocking it, turned to confront his assailant.

One look was enough.

"Ashby!" he cried.

"You scoundrel!" cried Ashby, in a fury. "Scoundrel! villain! traitor!"



CHAPTER XXXIII.

IN WHICH THERE IS A VERY PRETTY QUARREL.

In order to account for the strange and shockingly rude language of Ashby, which must be as astonishing to the reader as it was to Harry, it will be necessary to go back a little.

You see, then, my dears, immediately after Harry's flight, Ashby also had hurried away, and had reached his own room without further adventure. He now began to think that he had acted with mad folly and recklessness; yet at the same time he could not bring himself to regret it at all. He had seen Dolores, and that was enough, and the hunger of his heart was satisfied, for the present at least.

Like Harry, he had a sense of being pursued, which kept him for a long time on the watch, until at length he began to feel safe. All the circumstances of his recent adventure now came to his memory. One thing amidst it all gave him great perplexity. Who were in that room? There had been others, and he had heard the motion of one in particular behind him—some one who seemed to be moving under the chimney. Then came the arrival of "His Majesty." But who was that other one? Ashby did not like the appearance of things at all.

After a time, as his confidence became restored, he began to think of going back again, just, as he said to himself, for the sake of listening at the chimney, and seeing that all was right. Putting it in this plausible way, the thought became too tempting a one to be resisted, and at length he started on his way back.

The passage-way, with its secrets, had already been shown him by Dolores. It started from the chimney, and after a few feet came to some steps which ascended to the second floor, upon which were situated the rooms of Harry on the one side and the ladies on the other. The steps thus led upward toward the very passage-way which Harry had been traversing. How they opened into that passage-way, however, has yet to be explained.

As Ashby reached the foot of the flight of steps he became aware of sounds, which brought him to a full stop. Instead of going back, however, he waited. Hidden in impenetrable gloom at the foot of the steps, he could listen, and there was no fear of his being seen. His only idea was that the Carlists were closing up the way.

At length he noticed a faint gleam of light, and after a short interval he noticed that it grew brighter. He then saw the stone door open inward. As he watched he did not move, being too eager to know what was coming, and feeling confident in his own obscurity.

And now, as he watched, he saw Harry's face suddenly reveal itself, as it was lit up by the flaring torch. Yes, it was Harry, and there he stood, examining everything in the manner already described; and Ashby was a witness of all his proceedings.

As Ashby looked, there came to him a multitude of dark and gloomy suspicions. So then, he thought, Harry knows all about this passage, and if so, he must know where it leads to. And where was that? It was to only one place—that one room alone. And what would Harry want there, and what would he find? He would find her—Katie!

Now, although Ashby was full of bitter resentment against Katie, and was, perhaps, quite in earnest in all that he had said about her to Dolores, yet when he had this fresh confirmation of something like an understanding between these two, he became filled with the bitterest jealousy and indignation.

He had already felt something of these same feelings. He had seen Harry with his own eyes paying devoted attentions to Katie, though he knew that Katie was engaged to him. It was this which had made him turn away from her, for he had seen that she was false to him. Yet his resentment against her did not lessen his jealousy, nay, it intensified it. He regarded Harry as guilty of an offence which was at once the worst and the most unpardonable. He had been false to his friend, and that, too, immediately after he had received that friend's fullest confidence, and had promised that friend his most energetic assistance. Could anything be worse than this?

And now Ashby saw through it all. Harry had traversed that passage-way. He had been in that room. He had seen Katie. Of this he had not a doubt. And what now? No doubt he was prowling about to try to find some way out, so that he might escape with Katie.

Ashby watched with all these bitter thoughts in his mind, until at length he could endure them no longer. He determined to confront his former friend, his present enemy, and meet him face to face; to charge him with his perfidy, and seek for vengeance. With a leap, he bounded up the steps. Harry retreated, yet not so fast but that Ashby caught up with him, and grasped him as he was flying. Then Harry turned, pistol in hand, and the two stood face to face.

"Ashby!" cried Harry.

And Ashby cried out:

"Scoundrel! villain! traitor!"

His face was white, and his voice hoarse with passion.

Harry was confounded.

"Hang it, Ashby; don't you know me? Are you mad?"

"Know you!" cried Ashby, bitterly. "Thank Heaven, I do know you! I've found you out, you infernal sneak, you! Know you? Good heavens! yes, I know you for a scoundrel, and a contemptible, double-dealing interloper and villain!"

Harry stood aghast.

"What in the name of Heaven is the meaning of all this?"

"You've been in that room!" cried Ashby, pointing up the passage-way.

"Well, what if I have?"

"What if you have? You know what you went there for."

Thus far Harry had been too much amazed to understand anything. But now he began to see what it all meant.

"Oh, ho!" said he; "so that's it?"

"That's it! of course that's it!" cried Ashby. "Isn't that enough? sneaking after that girl, when you know that she is mine. What the devil have you got to say for yourself?"

At this Harry began to rouse himself. He didn't feel like defending his conduct; and now, as was natural, took refuge in a fight.

"Confound you!" he cried; "what do you mean by such insults as these? Who are you? What business is it of yours?"

"She's engaged to me. I took you into my confidence, and you've turned out a traitor and a sneak."

Harry drew a long breath, and instantly recovered his usual coolness.

"My dear sir," said he, "you have a pretty talent for scolding. Nature evidently intended you to be an old woman; but doesn't it strike you that this sort of thing isn't customary among gentlemen, and that you are making an infernal fool of yourself? Do you suppose I'm to ask your permission where to go in this castle? I found this passage-way myself, and hope to find others also. And, by Jove!" he continued, as at this moment the thought of the lost parcel came to him, "there's one matter I should like to settle with you before we go any farther."

"We shall have to settle several matters."

"I left a parcel in this place a short time ago. It was a very valuable one. I should like to ask you if you have it?"

"I? I, sir? I have your parcel?"

"I don't mean to say that you took it knowing it to be mine."

"Oh! you don't, don't you?"

"Mr. Ashby, will you give me a frank answer to a fair question? Do you know anything about that parcel?"

"Parcel? Pooh!" said Ashby, who thought that this was some transparent trick of Harry's to account for his presence here. "Confound you and your parcels! I know nothing about them. I—"

"I ask you, did you pick up that parcel?"

"And I say, confound your parcels!"

Harry was growing quite as furious as Ashby. He now felt certain that Ashby had found it and had it in his possession. He considered Ashby's answers as palpable evasions of a direct question.

"Well, then," he said, "I say that if you still keep that parcel after I claim it, that you are keeping property that is not yours, and you know what that means!"

Ashby gave a bitter laugh.

"This as a hint that I am a thief," said he.

"And a pretty strong one, too, I rather think," said Harry. "Do not imagine that you have any claims to that package arising out of any previous relations to a certain young lady."

"A certain young lady!—a package! What do you mean? I neither know nor care. I only know that you and I must settle accounts with one another."

"By Jove, that's one sentiment in which I agree!"

"If I hadn't found you here, I might have only suspected; but now that I've found you, I do not merely believe, but know that you are a—"

"Confound you! if you begin your infernal abuse again, I'll blow your brains out! I haven't got your talent for scolding. If you want to settle accounts with me, come along like a man, and don't stand here jawing like a fishwife."

"By heavens! that will I—and here—"

"Here! pooh! Come along to my room."

"Lead on—I'll follow."

At this Harry led the way, and in a short time, followed by Ashby, he once more reached his own room.

And so it had come to this! The friends who a few days before had been so intimate, so confiding, and so affectionate, now stood face to face as foes, glaring at one another with defiance in their eyes and bitter hate in their hearts. Each thought he had received sufficient provocation to seek the life of the other, and each thought that he had received from the other insults which could only be wiped out in blood.

Harry felt sure that Ashby had found the package which he had concealed so carefully, and was holding it on the ground of his engagement to Katie. Such a right Harry might possibly have conceded to Russell, as Katie's guardian, especially as he had been the one who last had held it; but to Ashby he never would surrender it. As for Ashby, his bitterness and jealousy have already been fully set forth, and they were now more intense than ever.

Harry stuck the torch in a hollow stone in the floor which appeared to have been made for that purpose. Then he turned to Ashby.

"Now, sir," said Ashby, "you have already heard."

"No more, I beg," said Harry; "not a word. Let's fight like gentlemen, not jaw like bullies. Have you a pistol?"

"No."

"That's unfortunate. There's no knowing at what time a pistol may be needed."

"No," said Ashby, bitterly. "If I had known that you would prove a scoun—"

"By heavens!" roared Harry, "if yon don't shut up I'll put a bullet through you! Do you hear? Come now," he continued, growing cooler; "we've both said enough, more than enough. Remember that when two gentlemen meet in mortal combat the time for insult is over. We have no seconds. Let us try to imitate the punctiliousness of seconds in our treatment of each other. Do you consent?"

Ashby bowed.

"And now, Mr. Ashby," continued Harry, "as you say you have no pistol, is there anything else that you can suggest? Have you a knife?"

"Nothing but a penknife."

"Ah, that's very unfortunate. If we could only get hold of a couple of rifles from our friends here outside, we should be all right, but there's no use in hoping for that. Our ransom is too high for them to risk losing it. And so, as far as I can see, the only thing left is for us to use this one pistol of mine."

"One pistol? How can both of us use one pistol?"

"We must. There's nothing else to be done."

Ashby shook his head.

"I don't see how," said he.

"It's plain enough," said Harry. "We can take it turn about."

"But the man who fires the first shot has an immense advantage," said Ashby.

"Pardon me," said Harry; "that does not necessarily follow. He may hit his foe, of course, but the wound may only be a trifling one after all; or he may miss his shot altogether. It often happens so in duels. Moreover, as you very well know, in a duel it never happens that both fire at the same instant. One always fires a little before the other. So in our case it will simply amount to this, that one of us will fire a little before the other. In that case the first man may miss, and the second man will then come in for his turn."

"But how shall we decide who is to fire first?" said Ashby.

"Oh, that's easy enough," said Harry; "we can toss up."

"Oh, very well."

"Have you a coin?"

"Not one."

"Nor I—not a copper, even. The beggarly Carlists have drained me dry."

"We must find something else," said Ashby.

"Oh, there needn't be any difficulty about that. A button will do quite as well."

And with this Harry cut one of the buttons from his trousers.

"This will do," said he. "The face of the button will be 'head,' and the back of it 'tail.' And now, will you try it?"

He handed it to Ashby, who took it without a word.

"If it falls 'heads,' the first fire will be yours; if 'tails,' the first fire will be mine."

"Very well," said Ashby; and then, poising the button for a moment, he tossed it.

It fell, head uppermost.

"Heads!" said Harry. "Mr. Ashby, the first fire belongs to you. Here's the pistol. It's loaded. I'll take my position here. Shall I measure the distance?"

"Pardon me, Mr. Rivers," said Ashby; "but I cannot accept this from one throw. It must be the best out of three times."

"I don't see why."

"I should not accept it under any other conditions."

"Oh, very well. Let us both act so as to satisfy one another," said Harry. "In that case you had better toss again."

Ashby now picked up the button, and tossed a second time. This time it fell face downward.

"Tails!" said Harry. "Once more, and that decides it."

Ashby picked up the button and gave a final toss. The button fell. This time it was in Ashby's favor. It fell face upward.

"Heads!" said Harry. "It's yours, Mr. Ashby. Will you take the pistol?"

Ashby hesitated.

"I think," said he, "we had better arrange our places."

"Very well. At what distance?" said Harry. "Shall we say twelve paces?"

"I should think so."

Upon this Harry began by the fireplace, and walked for twelve paces along the floor. Reaching this place, he stopped.

"Will this do?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Very well; and now which place will you take?"

"Either."

"In that case we must toss up again for choice of positions. But, first of all, it will be necessary to move this torch, so that it shall be equally favorable."

Saying this, Harry walked over to the torch, and carried it, together with the stone, to a place which seemed about midway between the two positions. Here he set it on the ground.

"And now, Mr. Ashby," said Harry, "we must toss up for places."

"Very well," said Ashby; "but you had better toss this time, as I did it last time."

To this Harry made no objection. He took the button, and tossed it. This time luck was favorable, and he won the choice of positions.

"Well," said he, "I'm quite indifferent; but, as I have the choice, I suppose I may as well choose the place out there in the room. In that case you will stand here in front of the fireplace."

"Very well," said Ashby, who thereupon took up his place there.

"Have you any plan to propose as to firing?"

"None whatever."

"I've been thinking of one which I will mention. You may have a better one. The unarmed one shall give the word, or drop a handkerchief. Will that do? If you prefer for the one who fires to give the word—very well. Only I think that the word had better be given."

"Certainly," said Ashby, "and I quite agree to your proposal."

"Very well," said Harry; "and now, Mr. Ashby, here is the pistol."

Saying this, he handed the weapon to Ashby, who took it with a slight bow, but in silence.

Harry now measured off twelve paces once more, and reached the spot which he had before marked out, upon which he turned and, standing erect, faced Ashby.

"Mr. Ashby," said he, "are you ready? If so, take aim, and I will give the word."

Ashby raised the pistol and took aim. The weapon covered Harry, and he knew it. He knew also that Ashby was a "dead shot." But not a nerve quivered. He stood up there as straight as a ramrod, and then, in a calm, clear voice, with his usual self-possession, said:

"One; two; three. Fire!"



For a moment Ashby stood with his pistol thus covering Harry.

Then his arm fell.

"I cannot," said he—"I cannot fire, in cold blood, on an unarmed man."

Now, had Ashby stood thus, with a pistol, in the full heat of his first fury, he would have tired, without stopping to think; but the effect of their enforced courtesy to one another, and more particularly of the somewhat tedious preliminaries, had been to calm and even chill his hot anger, and to subdue all his fierce excitement. As he stood there, with his pistol levelled, and saw Harry's cool, calm face, it seemed like butchery. He could not fire. And so his hand dropped down with this exclamation.

"But my turn is to come."

"Oh, that's nothing," said Ashby. "You may have your turn now, if you choose."

"Oh no," said Harry, "I can't take my turn until after you have fired; and the worst of it is, I don't see how we can settle this difficulty, if we don't do it now."

"Other chances will, no doubt, occur," said Ashby.

"Pardon me," said Harry, "that is hardly probable, and, besides, that will not help the matter. In fact, it will only make it worse. For you see, if some time should elapse before such a meeting, the recollection of this affair would be so faint that I could not go into it with any spirit; whereas now I am all cocked and primed. So fire away, my dear fellow, for I really don't want to have an affair of this sort hanging over me the rest of my life. We must have it out, and now's the time."

"Will you not fire first, Mr. Rivers?" said Ashby, earnestly.

"Oh no, that would make all our preparations childish," was the reply. "We have appealed to Fortune, and her decision has been given."

Ashby drew a long breath.

"Mr. Rivers," said he, "I cannot shoot an unarmed man in cold blood."

"But what can we do?" said Harry.

"Why, we may be able to borrow a couple of rifles, or even one rifle, from our friends here."

Upon this a voice rang out, full and clear, in the room:

"Begorra, an' that same they'll do. Whoroo, lads! this bates the worruld, so it does. It's mesilf that's stud by the dure for the last tin minutes, an' I've seen a soight that I won't forget till me dyin' day. It's loike the toime whin the Irish exiles at Fontenoy marched up to the English gyards an' said, 'Gintlemen av the English Gyards, fire first!' Begorra, it's mesilf that 'ud be the proud man to lend yez the loan av a couple av guns; but don't be alarrumed, darlints—afther yez pay yer ranshom, ye'll have a chance."

At the first sound of that voice Harry and Ashby started in amazement. So intent had they been on their own business that they had heard nothing; and Ashby, though facing the door, had been so intent on Harry that he had not noticed that it had been half opened. Now they saw the Carlist chief come in, followed by half a dozen of his men. Most amazing of all was the discovery that he spoke English with an Irish brogue. Katie had already mentioned this to Harry, but he had not thought much about it. Now, face to face with "His Majesty," they were able to look at him with other feelings. Had he entered under other circumstances, he would have talked Spanish; but so excited was he that he burst forth in the manner above detailed.

"For ye see," said "His Majesty"—

"'Mesilf does admire the best, Av alll that's undher the sun, To stand faciu' the friend av me sowl, Wid blunderbus, pistol, or gun. The word av command it is given, The wenpon we both av us raises, Afther which—sure the one laves for home, Aa' off goes the other to blazes!'"



CHAPTER XXXIV.

HOW THE VIRTUOUS RUSSELL FINDS A FRIEND IN NEED.

It is necessary here to go back for a brief interval in order to take up the fortunes of one who some time ago disappeared from these pages.

The virtuous Russell was alone. He had passed a night which, considering his situation, had not been altogether uncomfortable. He had slept a refreshing sleep, and in the land of dreams had been able to forget the ills of life. Morning came, however, and with his waking thoughts there returned the recollection of the past, and the full consciousness of his present position. He was a captive in a prison from which he could not hope to escape; at the mercy of a powerful and cunning enemy, who knew his secret, and would use every effort to get his money. If he refrained for the present from exerting violence, it was only too probable that this forbearance was but temporary, and that at the last the prisoner must yield.

These were gloomy thoughts, and the good Russell was well-nigh overwhelmed.

But the greatest calamities are often alleviated by comparative trifles; and so it was a trifle which, on this occasion, served to soothe the sorrows of our suffering friend—such a trifle, in fact, as a mere costume. Whether it was that, being a tailor, he was more affected than others by his raiment; or whether it was that a man's dress has, as is claimed, a potent influence which always affects the wearer, need not be discussed; certain it is that just now it was his novel attire which chiefly engaged the thoughts of Russell, and made him less sensible of his misfortunes.

As a dress it was certainly magnificent. The cloth was of the finest quality. Gold was lavished freely upon it—gleaming in the numerous buttons; shining in the profuse lace which glittered over the breast and round the cuffs and round the collar in a flood of glory; sparkling in the hatband; flowing down the skirts like the oil from Aaron's beard. Many a time had his own fancy designed and his own hands fashioned such an array as this for others; but now, as it infolded his own ample person, it shone with new lustre, and threw something of its own lustre around the wearer.

And now, as the actor, when arrayed in the robes of majesty, assumes a kingly port and struts about the stage, so our Russell. He took to himself the part which the uniform suggested. He felt like the general of an army. He threw out his chest, stood erect, strutted, admired his figure and his gait, waved in his hand an imaginary sword, and guided invisible armies to the field of battle.

In the midst of all this he was suddenly roused by a slight noise behind him.

Turning hastily, he saw a woman, who had entered bearing some articles of food for his morning's repast. In a moment Russell descended from the lofty heights of imagination to the dull realities of a cold world, and, in plain language, began to feel rather sheepish at being discovered in such a frame of mind. Nay, this very frame of mind, this new sense of personal dignity as general, made his chagrin all the greater.

The woman was attired in a picturesque costume, such as is worn by the lower orders in the North of Spain, with the addition, however, of a bright-colored turban. Her face was decidedly handsome, though rather too sharp in outline and expression, while at the same time decidedly the worse for wear. A pair of fine bold black eyes were fixed upon Russell with an expression of undisguised admiration as she stood looking at him. The moment he turned she looked down, and then, dropping a courtesy, said:

"Breakfast, senor."

Upon this she deposited her tray upon a heavy oak table, and then stood looking at him with the same expression as before. There was something in all this which was flattering to the vanity of Russell; arid he stood regarding the woman with very much complaisance. And as he looked at her, he thought to himself that she was a very pretty woman.

The woman then said, still looking at him:

"Beaut'ful! Oh, lovela!"

She spoke in broken English; and Russell, while flattered by her admiration, was delighted at hearing his own language.

"Do you speak English, my dear?" he said, in a tone of affectionate familiarity, drawing nearer to her.

"Oh yes—me speek Inglees—me in Cuba—learn speek Inglees—vara mooch."

"Oh! so you've been in Cuba, have you, my dear? Well, Cuba's a very pretty country, and you're a very pretty woman."

The woman smiled, showing rows of splendid teeth.

"Senor mus' be a gran' nobile—a generale."

Russell smiled a lofty smile, and laid his hand patronizingly, yet tenderly, upon the woman's shoulder.

"You are a very sensible woman," said he, "and as pretty as you are sensible. What is your name?"

"Rita," said the woman.

"Well, Rita, I dare say you and I shall be great friends."



"Friends! oh, senor is too much magnifico—"

"Oh, I ain't proud, my dear—not a bit, not a mite. I've got plenty of money, Rita, and can help my friends; but I ain't proud, not me. And what may be your particular duties in this establishment?"

"Senor?"

"I say, what do you do here? Are you house-keeper?"

"Senor, I am maid—to the lady prisoners—an' other things—to servar and attendar."

"Prisoners, eh? Do they have many of them here?"

"Oh—sometime," said Rita, with a laugh; "ladies and gen'l'ms."

Russell looked at her with a benignant smile.

"Well, Rita, all that I can say is, it's a pity that such a pretty woman as you cannot have some better fortune than this."

Rita laughed.

"Ah, senor, you a flattera!"

"Oh no. I'm a plain, blunt, bluff, honest John Bull. But the fact is, you are very pretty, Rita, my dear!"

Rita laughed again at this, and her large black eyes fixed themselves with bolder admiration upon the benignant face and splendid dress of the gallant tailor.

Here a happy thought occurred to Russell's mind.

It was evident that this woman was already an admiring friend. Could he not, in some way, work upon her so as to attract her to his interests? Her help would be invaluable. She might, if she chose, do much; she might even help him to escape. It was worth trying. To win her over to his side, there was nothing which he would not try. But how could he get her help? By bribery? Of course, to a certain extent; but it would be well to be cautious, and not offer too much. Other means might be used.

By gaining her good-will, she would be more accessible to a bribe, and would be less exacting.

Now, Russell was sharp at a bargain, and by no means anxious to pay more than he could help. Even where his own liberty, even where his life was concerned, he paused to consider the expense. He resolved to bribe this woman, but to name no price, to let it be undecided, to agree in a general way; and afterward, should he succeed in gaining his liberty, to cut the amount down as low as possible. He also resolved to put money out of the question as far as he could, and work upon her good-will and her affections, rather than her avarice. The woman's open, undisguised admiration seemed to promise an easy conquest. To him she appeared to have a frank, guileless, impetuous disposition, all of which was a great help to the furtherance of his designs.

Russell looked all around.

"Oh," said Rita, "do not fear—all away."

"Come, my dear," said Russell; "sit down here by my side; I want to talk with you."

Russell seated himself on an oaken bench, and Rita promptly seated herself by his side. She sat by him, and looked at him with a smile, and with the same fervid admiration.

"The pretty child!" thought Russell, as he caught the glance of her glowing eyes. "How she does admire me!"

"So you are an attendant here, are you, Rita, my dear?" he asked.

"Yes."

"But it isn't good enough for such a pretty woman as you are!" he continued.

"Ah, senor, what do you mean?" said Rita. "What can I do better?"

"But you ought to be something better—far better. Would you not like to—"

"Like what?" asked Rita, who was full of excitement.

"Well," said Russell, "to have plenty of money, to have beautiful clothes, to live in a beautiful house, to have jewels, to have amusements, and so forth?"

Rita's dark eyes flashed fire with eager covetousness at this alluring speech.

"Oh, senor," she said, "it is impossible."

"Rita!" said Russell, in a solemn voice.

"Senor!"

"Look at me."

"Si, senor."

Rita had been looking at him all along fixedly enough, but at this invitation she threw additional earnestness into the deep glance of her bold, dark eyes.

"You see what I am, Rita, my dear. I am a prisoner—in grief, in despair. Now, if any one would help me, I could do very much for that one."

"You are a gran' nobile?" said Rita, in an inquiring tone.

"Oh yes," said Russell, in his large way; "and, what's more, I can make you happy for the rest of your life. I like you, Rita. I'm quite fond of you. You're an uncommonly pretty woman."

Saying this, Russell took Rita's hand and pressed it with much emphasis. Now, the interpretation which Rita put upon these words and this action was very different from what Russell intended. The benignant Russell merely wished to impress upon Rita's mind that he had very friendly feelings toward her, and that, if she would help him, he was in a position to reward her handsomely. He didn't want to name any sum. He wished, for obvious reasons, to leave the amount unsettled. But Rita understood it differently. Being of a sentimental turn, she regarded this as a sort of declaration of love—in fact, almost an offer of marriage—and, if not so altogether, at least an approach to it. Still, she was a shrewd woman, and waited until Russell had explained himself further.

Russell observed her silence, and was quite satisfied. It showed proper caution, and caution was an excellent quality in one whom he wished to have for a helper in his need. So he went on in the same way, still holding Rita's hand.

"You are so pretty, Rita, my dear, I swear I never before saw such a pretty woman. This isn't the place for you. You must get out of this; and if you will only go away with me, why, there's nothing that I wouldn't do for you. When I like a person, I'm ready to do anything for them. And the first moment I saw you, I said to myself, 'There's the woman for you!'"

"Am I really the woman for you?" asked Rita, full of excited hopes, and still continuing to misinterpret his words.

"The very one!" said Russell. "The one of all others! Heaven has sent you to me. Rita, my dear, do what I ask!"

Rita was deeply moved. This brilliant, wealthy stranger seemed to love her. He wanted her to fly with him. But, oh, if he should prove false!

"Ah, senor, you not earnest—you not true!" said Rita, clasping his hand in both of hers.

"True! earnest!" cried Russell. "I swear, Rita, my dear, I will be true to what I say—always, always! Can't you trust me, Rita, my dear?"

"Oh, senor," sighed Rita, deeply moved, "you persuade me too easy. And think on the danger—the life is risk—the death will come if we are captura."

"Rita, my dear," said Russell, "let us not talk of danger. Let us fly together. I will always remember your devotion. I will never forget you as long as life lasts. I am noted for my truth and fidelity. I've got a warm and throbbing heart. And now, Rita, my dear, if you want one who will always be yours truly—if you want one who will love you and care for you—why, I'm your man!"

Upon these words Rita put, as usual, her own interpretation. The last words especially—"I'm your man"—seemed to her to be the most direct offer yet.

"My man?" she said—"and will you be my man, senor?"

"Of course—of course," said Russell, not comprehending her drift.

Upon this Rita flung her arms around the neck of the astonished Russell.

"Oh, senor—then—I helpa you. I yours—I do all. We fly—you be true—to your Rita."

Russell was so astonished that for some time he said nothing; but feeling how important it was to retain her friendship, he did not dare to disabuse her of her false idea; nay, he even felt that it would be better for her to entertain it since she had it. So he put his arm around her and kissed her.

Suddenly Rita started up.

"I mus' go," she said. "I will soon return."

And with these words she hurriedly retreated, leaving Russell to his breakfast and his meditations.

Russell had been very successful in his attempt to win over Rita to his interests; in fact, too successful. His success caused him at first not a little perplexity. Rita, he perceived, had misunderstood him; but then, in making friendly advances to a woman who was not very well up in the English language, it was next to impossible to preserve those nice and delicate shades of meaning which he had intended. Upon the whole, however, after mature consideration, he concluded that it had all turned out for the best.

It was evident that this woman had formed a very strong attachment for him. Very well. She would be all the more devoted to his interests, and turn all her thoughts and energies toward securing his escape. Things could not have turned out better. He had not intended it, but if Rita chose to misunderstand him, why should he try to undeceive her? The more she cared for him, the better it would be for him. And thus Russell, out of his selfish desires for his own safety, allowed himself to trifle with the heart's best affections, and beguile poor Rita, and allure her with hopes that could never be realized.

After all, however, there were grave obstacles in his way. Could he desert his wife and leave her in such peril? Or, worse, could he leave those precious bonds, which he had so carefully hidden? If he did, he might never see them again.

Was it possible to get them before leaving? Would it be safe to tell Rita, and direct her to get them for him? This thought occupied him for some time, and he almost made up his mind to do so. But the risk was too great. After all, Rita might be a spy in the interests of "His Majesty," and sent to worm his secret out of him.

No, it would not be safe. It would be safer to leave the bonds where they were. If he escaped, he might hope to obtain assistance from the Government, in which case he might be able to come back with them, to show them the way, and then, when the castle was recaptured, he might be able to regain his treasure. And so he decided finally upon this course.

At midday Rita returned, bringing his dinner, a savory olla podrida. She set it down, and then threw her arms around the embarrassed Russell, who was seated on the bench, murmuring words of endearment in unintelligible Spanish. He bore it well, however, and, remembering his necessities, he tried to exhibit those feelings which might be expected from him.

Rita this time had a bundle with her, which she gave to Russell, directing him to hide it under the bench for the present.

"You mus' disguisar," she said; "this is a woman dress—"

"A woman's dress?"

"Oh, no difficolta. You wait till avenin', then you put him on, ofer your militar coat—just as you stands. Alla right; then you disguisado, and commalong me. I be alla ready. You waita forra mi. But not you put him on till avenin', or mighta be discovaire, you know. Ha, senor?"



CHAPTER XXXV.

IN WHICH TWO FUGITIVES HAVE A STARTLING ADVENTURE, NOT WITHOUT PERIL.

Evening came, and Russell, with Rita's assistance, put on the woman's dress over his general's uniform. The skill of Rita was exerted to give her companion the appearance of a female somewhat stricken in years, and her success was marked.

Perhaps it was this very success that affected the soul of Russell; for no sooner did he look like an old woman than he began to feel and act like one. Away went all his courage, and he would have drawn back after all, had not Rita urged and almost forced him away.

"Allarighta," she said. "The men all gone insidar, and so ongry they think of ony the eaters. So come, my dear. No one shall see. You be trust to myselfa—an' we go like snake in the grasses."

Russell thus allowed himself to be hurried away by his bolder companion on the path that led to liberty. Rita led the way out into the upper hall, and Russell followed, not without great trepidation, and bitter regret at his rashness, expecting at every step to see "His Majesty," and of course to be arrested and flung into some deep, dark dungeon. One or two men were there, who, however, took no notice of them.

After this they descended the stairs and entered the lower hall. Here, to the immense dismay of Russell, he beheld what seemed to be the entire Carlist band. It was their feeding-time. A huge pot was in the middle of the hall, and these men were dipping out of it their respective portions of some savory mess whose odor filled the air. Russell shrunk down almost into his boots at the first sight; but as Rita walked along, he had no alternative except to follow her. Little danger was there, however, of his being observed. All the men were too intent upon their evening meal to notice what seemed like two very commonplace women who probably belonged to the castle. And thus Russell, to his unspeakable relief, passed through this ordeal unquestioned and even unnoticed.

Having passed through the lower hall, they emerged into the outer court-yard. Here, as he passed through the door, Russell was just drawing a long breath, and thinking within himself that the worst was over, when suddenly, without any warning, there approached them no less a personage than "His Majesty" himself—the very last man, as it is needless to say, whom Russell would have chosen to meet. At that sight the soul of Russell, which had been slowly struggling upward, once more sank down into his boots, carrying down with it all hope, and all desire, and almost all consciousness.

There was not the slightest chance of avoiding him. He was coming straight toward them. What was worse, his eyes were fixed upon them.

"Ah, Rita," said "His Majesty" in Spanish, "where are you going in the dark?"

Bita paused and made a low obeisance. Russell did the same.

"I'm going over there to see about some washing," said Rita.

"Ah ha!" said "His Majesty," "if you only were going alone I should say that some brave boy was intending to help you at your washing. But you have a friend with you."

Saying these words, "His Majesty" looked hard at the shrinking Russell, who now felt his soul all oozing out at the seams of his boots. He stood trembling, shrinking, expecting the worst.

But Rita was equal to the occasion.

"Oh, this is my aunt," said she, "that I told you about. I asked her to come here and help me. She's a little rheumatic, being old, but she can do a good turn at hard work yet; and she's a good cook, too, and she can spin well—oh, beautifully; and she is a wonder in her way. Oh, we shall have a better olla podrida than you ever tasted when the good old aunt goes to work."

"Your aunt—ah!" said "His Majesty," in a tone that savored of disappointment. "H'm—well, Rita, the next time you want help don't send for any of your aunts, but send for some one of your nieces. They will be far more welcome in a lonely place like this. Olla podridas are all very well, no doubt, but what I should prefer would be some one who could touch the guitar, and sing a lively song."

And with these words "His Majesty" retired.

"Come," said Rita to the almost senseless Russell. "Come."

Again Russell followed her. She led the way toward an archway in the wall on one side of the court-yard. Entering this, they found themselves in an arched room, in which it was difficult to see through the dim twilight. But to Rita the way seemed quite familiar, for she walked on and told Russell to follow without fear. At length she stopped, and as Russell came up to her, she said:

"We descenda—steps does be here—I takes your hand and helps."

She took his hand, and began to descend. With this assistance Russell was able to follow without much difficulty. Soon it became quite dark, and continued so for some time, during which Rita led him onward as quickly as possible. At length she paused.

"You mus' be careful," she said; "here is the steps brokes, an' you shall go slow—and not slips."

It was so dark here that Russell could see nothing; but he felt that Rita was descending, so he prepared to follow. The steps here had been broken in places, leaving a rough, inclined plane, with loose stones and mortar. There was no great difficulty in descending, but it was dark, and Russell's long skirts were very much in the way. However, by moving slowly, and by exercising great caution, he was able to reach the bottom without any accident.

Here Rita took his hand and again led him on. It now began to grow lighter, until at last objects were plainly discernible. The light was caused by the moonbeams, which shone in through a place where the outside wall was broken away. Looking through the opening, Russell saw, not far distant, a precipice, with bits of shrubbery here and there. Soon they came to the opening itself.

He found himself on the verge of a deep chasm, the very one already mentioned. Above the opening projected part of what had once been a bridge, but which had long since fallen. On the opposite side was the tower where Brooke and Talbot had found refuge. The bridge had once crossed to the tower, and, since it had fallen, this opening had been made, from which the chasm could be crossed by descending on one side and ascending the other. The slope was steep and rough. Russell, as he looked down, could not see any chance of farther progress in this direction.

"We mus' go down here," said Rita.

"Here?" said Russell. "How? I can't go down!"

"Oh, it is easy; you mus' follow. I show the ways," said Rita; and, saying this, she stepped down from the opening upon a ledge of rock. Then turning to the right, she went on for a pace or two and turned for Russell. Seeing her walk thus far with ease and in safety, he ventured after her. The ledge was wide enough to walk on without difficulty; and, although the chasm was deep, yet the side did not run down steeply enough to make him feel anything like giddiness. The pathway was easy enough when one had a guide to show the way; and thus Russell, following closely behind Rita, reached the bottom. Then, crossing the brook, she led the way up on the opposite side by the path already mentioned, and at length both reached the tower, and paused to take breath.

Thus far no alarm had been given in the castle. Every step increased Russell's confidence, and when he gained the tower he felt sure of escape. But to wait here long was not to be thought of; so, after a few moments spent in regaining breath, the two set forth to continue their flight.

At length, after a fatiguing journey, they reached the main road, and here they turned toward the south, in which direction they went for some miles.

They had now been walking for many hours, and Russell, who was quite unused to any exercise of this sort, was greatly fatigued. Nothing, indeed, but the dread of capture and the thought of a merciless pursuer on his track had kept him up so long. He felt that he had reached the utmost limit of his strength.

At last they caught sight of a windmill in a field on the right. The sight enlivened him. Here, he thought, they might hide and obtain rest. He said this to Rita. She acquiesced. To gain the windmill was now their chief desire.

Nearer they came, and nearer.

But now, just when all seemed gained, they saw a number of armed men coming toward them, and in a few minutes they were arrested by the followers of Lopez.



CHAPTER XXXVI.

HOW DANGERS THICKEN AROUND THE DESPAIRING RUSSELL.

The moon was still shining very brightly, and they could see very well the faces and the uniforms of their captors. The sight of the government uniforms was very reassuring to Rita, who was only anxious to escape from the Carlists; but the first glance which Russell gave at the captain of the band overwhelmed him with terror. He recognized Lopez, and saw that he had fallen into the hands of one who had no reason, and perhaps no inclination, to show him the slightest mercy. At that sight all Russell's courage subsided, and he fell into a state of mental prostration as extreme as that which he had experienced when "His Majesty" had confronted him in his flight.

For, unfortunately for him, Lopez had received at his hands treatment which was sufficient to inspire a deep resentment even in a man less impetuous than this hot-blooded Spaniard. First, he had not only discouraged his attentions to Katie, but had prohibited them in every possible way, and in the most positive and insulting manner. Again, but a short time before this, at the railway station at Madrid, he had caused him to be ejected from the railway-carriage. For all this he felt that Lopez must cherish a deep desire for vengeance, and would rejoice now if he were to discover that his enemy had become his prisoner. In such an emergency as this, Russell was utterly helpless, and could only hope that his disguise might baffle Lopez, or that the quick wit of Rita might be able to save him from discovery.