[Transcriber's note: superscripted characters in this file areindicated by surrounding them with the vertical bar character, e. G. "|d|". ]

[Illustration: Inside front cover art (left side)]

[Illustration: Inside front cover art (right side)]

[Frontispiece: Castilian table lands. ]

THE SPANISH JADE

BY

MAURICE HEWLETT

WITH FULL PAGE COLOURED ILLUSTRATIONS

BY WILLIAM HYDE

CASSELL AND COMPANY, LIMITED

LONDON, PARIS, NEW YORK, TORONTO AND MELBOURNE

MCMVIII

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

 INTRODUCTION I. THE PLEASANT ERRAND II. THE TRAVELLER AT LARGE III. DIVERSIONS OF TRAVEL IV. TWO ON HORSEBACK V. THE AMBIGUOUS THIRD VI. A SPANISH CHAPTER VII. THE SLEEPER AWAKENED VIII. REFLECTIONS OF AN ENGLISHMAN IX. A VISIT TO THE JEWELLER'S X. FURTHER EPISODES IN THE LIFE OF DON LUIS RAMONEZ XI. GIL PEREZ DE SEGOVIA XII. A GLIMPSE OF MANUELA XIII. CHIVALRY OF GIL PEREZ XIV. TRIAL BY QUESTION XV. NEMESIS--DON LUIS XVI. THE HERALD XVII. LA RACOGIDA XVIII. THE NOVIO XIX. THE WAR OPENS XX. MEETING BY MOONLIGHT

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

CASTILIAN TABLE LANDS . . . . . . . . . _Frontispiece_

UPON A BLUE FIELD LAY VALLADOLID

THE TOWERS OF SEGOVIA

MADRID BY NIGHT

INTRODUCTION

Cada puta hile (Let every jade go spin). --SANCHO PANZA. 

Almost alone in Europe stands Spain, the country of things as they are. The Spaniard weaves no glamour about facts, apologises for nothing, extenuates nothing. _Lo que ha de ser no puede faltar_! If you musthave an explanation, here it is. Chew it, Englishman, and be content;you will get no other. One result of this is that Circumstance, leftnaked, is to be seen more often a strong than a pretty thing; andanother that the Englishman, inveterately a draper, is often horrifiedand occasionally heart-broken. The Spaniard may regret, but cannotmend the organ. His own will never suffer the same fate. _Chercher lemidi à quatorze heures_ is no foible of his. 

The state of things cannot last; for the sentimental pour into thecountry now, and insist that the natives shall become as self-consciousas themselves. The _Sud-Express_ brings them from England and Germany, vast ships convey them from New York. Then there are the newspapers, eager as ever to make bricks without straw. Against Teutonictravellers, and journalists, no idiosyncrasy can stand out. Thecountry will run to pulp, as a pear, bitten without by wasps and withinby a maggot, will get sleepy and drop. But that end is not yet, theLord be praised, and will not be in your time or mine. The tale I haveto tell--an old one, as we reckon news now--might have happenedyesterday; for that was when I was last in Spain, and satisfied myselfthat all the concomitants were still in being. I can assure you thatmany a Don Luis yet, bitterly poor and bitterly proud, starves andshivers, and hugs up his bones in his _capa_ between the Bidassoa andthe Manzanares; many a wild-hearted, unlettered Manuela applies theinexorable law of the land to her own detriment, and, with a sob in thebreath, sits down to her spinning again, her mouldy crust and cup ofcold water, or worse fare than that. Joy is not for the poor, shesays--and then, with a shrug, _Lo que ha de ser_... !

But, as a matter of fact, it belongs to George Borrow's day, this tale, when gentlemen rode a-horseback between town and town, and followed theriver-bed rather than the road. A stranger then, in the plains ofCastile, was either a fool who knew not when he was well off, or anunfortunate, whose misery at home forced him afield. There was no_genus_ Tourist; the traveller was conspicuous and could be traced fromSpain to Spain. When you get on you'll see; that is how Tormilloweaselled out Mr. Manvers, by the smell of his blood. A great, roomy, haggard country, half desert waste and half bare rock, was the Spain of1860, immemorially old, immutably the same, splendidly frank, acquainted with grief and sin, shameless and free; like some browngipsy wench of the wayside, with throat and half her bosom bare, whowould laugh and show her teeth, and be free with her jest; but if youtouched her honour, ignorant that she had one, would stab you withoutruth, and go her free way, leaving you carrion in the ditch. Such wasthe Spain which Mr. Manvers visited some fifty years ago. 

THE SPANISH JADE

CHAPTER I

THE PLEASANT ERRAND

Into the plain beyond Burgos, through the sunless glare of before-dawn;upon a soft-padding ass that cast no shadow and made no sound; wellupon the stern of that ass, and with two bare heels to kick him; alonein the immensity of Castile, and as happy as a king may be, rode ayoung man on a May morning, singing to himself a wailing, winding chantin the minor which, as it had no end, may well have had no beginning. He only paused in it to look before him between his donkey's ears; andthen--"_Arré, burra, hijo de perra!_"--he would drive his heels intothe animal's rump. In a few minutes the song went spearing aloft again.... "_En batalla-a-a temero-o-sa-a_.... !"

I say that he was young; he was very young, and looked very delicate, with his transparent, alabaster skin, lustrous grey eyes and pale, thinlips. He had a sagging straw hat upon his round and shapely head, ashirt--and a dirty shirt--open to the waist. His _faja_ was a broadband of scarlet cloth wound half a dozen times about his middle, andsupported a murderous long knife. For the rest, cotton drawers, barelegs, and feet as brown as walnuts. All of him that was notwhitey-brown cotton or red cloth was the colour of the country; but hiscropped head was black, and his eyes were very light grey, keen, restless and bold. He was sharp-featured, careless and impudent; butwhen he smiled you might think him bewitching. His name he would giveyou as Estéban Vincaz--which it was not; his affair was pressing, pleasant and pious. Of that he had no doubt at all. He was intendingthe murder of a young woman. 

His eyes, as he sang, roamed the sun-struck land, and saw everything asit should be. Life was a grim business for man and beast and herb ofthe field, no better for one than for the others. The winter corn inpatches struggled sparsely through the clods; darnels, tares, deadnettle and couch, the vetches of last year and the thistles ofnext, contended with it, not in vain. The olives were not yet inflower, but the plums and sloes were powdered with white; all was inorder. 

When a clump of smoky-blue iris caught his downward looks, he slippedoff his ass and snatched a handful for his hat. "The Sword-flower, " hecalled it, and accepting the omen with a chuckle, jumped into his seatagain and kicked the beast with his naked heels into the shamble thatdoes duty for a pace. As he decorated his hat-string he resumed hissong:--

 "En batalla temerosa Andaba el Cid castellano Con Búcar, ese rey moro, Que contra el Cid ha llegado A le ganar a Valencia... "

He hung upon the pounding assonances, and his heart thumped in accord, as if his present adventure had been that crowning one of the hero's. 

Accept him for what he was, the graceless son of hisparents--horse-thief, sheep-thief, contrabandist, bully, trader ofwomen--he had the look of a seraph when he sang, the complacency of anangel of the Weighing of Souls. And why not? He had no doubts; hecould justify every hour of his life. If money failed him, wits didnot; he had the manners of a gentleman--and a gentleman he actuallywas, hidalgo by birth--and the morals of a hyaena, that is to say, noneat all. I doubt if he had anything worth having except the grand air;the rest had been discarded as of no account. 

Schooling had been his, he had let it slip; if his gentlehood had beennegotiable he had carded it away. Nowadays he knew only elementarythings--hunger, thirst, fatigue, desire, hatred, fear. What he craved, that he took, if he could. He feared the dark, and God in theSacrament. He pitied nothing, regretted nothing; for to pity a thingyou must respect it, and to respect you must fear; and as for regret, when it came to feeling the loss of a thing it came naturally also tohating the cause of its loss; and so the greater lust swallowed up theless. 

He had felt regret when Manuela ran away; it had hurt him, and he hatedher for it. That was why he intended at all cost to find her again, and to kill her; because she had been his _amiga_, and had left him. Three weeks ago, it had been, at the fair of Pobledo. The fair hadbeen spoiled for him, he had earned nothing, and lost much; esteem, towit, his own esteem, mortally wounded by the loss of Manuela, whosebeauty had been a mark, and its possession an asset; and time--valuabletime--lost in finding out where she had gone. 

Friends of his had helped him; he had hailed every _arriero_ on theroad, from Pamplona to La Coruña; and when he had what he wanted he hadonly delayed for one day, to get his knife ground. He knew exactlywhere she was, at what hour he should find her, and with whom. Histongue itched and brought water into his mouth when he pictured themeeting. He pictured it now, as he jogged and sang and lookedcontentedly at the endless plain. 

Presently he came within sight, and, since he made no effort to avoidit, presently again into the street of a mud-built village. Few peoplewere astir. A man slept in an angle of a wall, flies about his head; adog in an entry scratched himself with ecstasy; a woman at a doorwaywas combing her child's hair, and looked up to watch him coming. 

Entering in his easy way, he looked to the east to judge of the light. Sunrise was nearly an hour away; he could afford to obey the summons ofthe cracked bell, filling the place with its wrangling, with thecreaking of its wheel. He hobbled his beast in the little _plaza_, andfollowed some straying women into church. 

Immediately confronting him at the door was a hideous idol. A huge andbrown, wooden Christ, with black horse-hair tresses, staring whiteeyeballs, staring red wounds, towered before him, hanging from a cross. Estéban knelt to it on one knee, and, remembering his hat, doffed itsideways over his ear. He said his two _Paternosters_, and thenperformed one odd ceremony more. Several people saw him do it, but noone was surprised. He took the long knife from his _faja_, running hisfinger lightly along the edge, laid it flat before the Cross, andlooking up at the tormented God, said him another _Pater_. That done, he went into the church, and knelt upon the floor in company withkerchiefed women, children, a dog or two, and some beggars ofincredible age and infirmities beyond description, and rose to oneknee, fell to both, covered his eyes, watched the celebrant, or theyoungest of the women, just as the server's little bell bade him. Simple ceremonies, done by rote and common to Latin Europe; certainlynot learned of the Moors. 

Mass over, our young avenger prepared to resume his journey by breakinghis fast. A hunch of bread and a few raisins sufficed him, and he atethese sitting on the steps of the church, watching the women as theyloitered on their way home. Estéban had a keen eye for women; penceonly, I mean the lack of them, prevented him from being a collector. But the eye is free; he viewed them all from the standpoint of thecabinet. One he approved. She carried herself well, had fine ankles, and wore a flower in her hair like an Andalusian. Now, it was one ofhis many grudges against fate that he had never been in Andalusia andseen the women there. For certain, they were handsome; a _Sevillana_, for instance! Would they wear flowers in their hair--over theear--unless they dared be looked at? Manuela was of Valencia, morethan half _gitana_: a wonderfully supple girl. When she danced the_jota_ it was like nothing so much as a snake in an agony. Her hairwas tawny yellow, and very long. She wore no flower in it, but bound ared handkerchief in and out of the plaits. She was vain of herhair--heart of God, how he hated her!

Then the priest came out of church, fat, dewlapped, greasy, very shortof breath, but benevolent. "Good-day, good-day to you, " he said. "Youare a stranger. From the North?"

"My reverence, from Burgos. "

"Ha, from Burgos this morning! A fine city, a great city. "

"Yes, sir, it's true. It is where they buried our lord the Campeador. "

"So they say. You are lettered! And early afoot. "

"Yes, sir. I am called to be early. I still go South. "

"Seeking work, no doubt. You are honest, I hope?"

"Yes, sir, a very honest Christian. But I seek no work. I find it. "

"You are lucky, " said the priest, and took snuff. "And where is yourwork? In Valladolid, perhaps?"

Estéban blinked hard at that last question. "No, sir, " he said. "Notthere. " Do what he might he could not repress the bitter gleam in hiseyes. 

The old priest paused, his fingers once more in the snuff-box. "Thereagain you have a great city. Ah, and there was a time when Valladolidwas one of the greatest in Castile. The capital of a kingdom! Chosenseat of a king! Pattern of the true Faith!" His eyelids narrowedquickly. "You do not know it?"

"No, sir, " said Estéban gently. "I have never been there. "

The priest shrugged. "_Vaya_! it is no affair of mine, " he said. Thenhe waved his hand, wagging it about like a fan. "Go your ways, " headded, "with God. "

"Always at the feet of your reverence, " said Estéban, and watched himdepart. He stared after him, and looked sick. 

Altogether he delayed for an hour and a quarter in this village: amaterial time. The sun was up as he left it--a burning globe, justabove the limits of the plain. 

CHAPTER II

THE TRAVELLER AT LARGE

Ahead of Estéban some five or six hours, or, rather converging upon acommon centre so far removed from him, was one Osmund Manvers, a youngEnglish gentleman of easy fortune, independent habits and analyticaldisposition; also riding, also singing to himself, equally earlyafoot, but in very different circumstances. He bestrode a horsetolerably sound, had a haversack before him reasonably stored. He hada clean shirt on him, and another embaled, a brace of pistols, a NewTestament and a "Don Quixote"; he wore brown knee-boots, a tweedjacket, white duck breeches, and a straw hat as little picturesque asit was comfortable or convenient. Neither revenge nor enemy lay ahead, of him; he travelled for his pleasure, and so pleasantly that even Timewas his friend. Health was the salt of his daily fare, and curiositygave him appetite for every minute of the day. 

He would have looked incongruous in the elfin landscape--in that emptyplain, under that ringing sky--if he had not appeared to be asextremely at home in it as young Estéban himself; but there was thisfarther difference to be noted, that whereas Estéban seemed to belongto the land, the land seemed to belong to Mr. Manvers--the land of theSpains and all those vast distances of it, the enormous space ofground, the dim blue mountains at the edge, the great arch of sky overall. He might have been a young squire at home, overlooking his farms, one eye for the tillage or the upkeep of fence and hedge, another for acovey, or a hare in a farrow. He was as serene as Estéban and ascontented; but his comfort lay in easy possession, not in being easilypossessed. Occasionally he whistled as he rode, but, like Estéban, broke now and again into a singing voice, more cheerful, I think, thanmelodious. 

 "If she be not fair for me, What care I how fair she be?"

An old song. But Henry Chorley made a tone for it the summer beforeMr. Manvers left England, and it had caught his fancy, both the air andthe sentiment. They had come aptly to suit his scoffing mood, and tohelp him salve the wound which a Miss Eleanor Vernon had dealt hisheart--a Miss Eleanor Vernon with her clear disdainful eyes. She hadgiven him his first acquaintance with the hot-and-cold disease. 

"If she be not fair for me!" Well, she was not to be that. Let her gospin then, and--"What care I how fair she be?" He had discarded herwith the Dover cliffs, and resumed possession of himself and his seeingeye. By this time a course of desultory journeying through Brittanyand the West of France, a winter in Paris, a packet from Bordeaux toSantander had cured him of his hurt. The song came unsought to hislips, but had no wounded heart to salve. 

Mr. Manvers was a pleasant-looking young man, sanguine in hue, grey inthe eye, with a twisted sort of smile by no means unattractive. Hisfeatures were irregular, but he looked wholesome; his humour wasfitful, sometimes easy, sometimes unaccountably stiff. They called hima Character at home, meaning that he was liable to freakish asides fromthe common rotted road, and could not be counted on. It was true. He, for his part, called himself an observer of Manvers, which implied thathe had rather watch than take a side; but he was both hot-tempered andquick-tempered, and might well find himself in the middle of thingsbefore he knew it. His crooked smile, however, seldom deserted him, seldom was exchanged for a crooked scowl; and the light beard which hehad allowed himself in the solitudes of Paris led one to imagine hisjaw less square than it really was. 

I suppose him to have been five foot ten in his boots, and strong tomatch. He had a comfortable income, derived from land inSomersetshire, upon which his mother, a widow lady, and his twounmarried sisters lived, and attended archery meetings in company ofthe curate. The disdain of Miss Eleanor Vernon had cured him of ataste for such simple joys, and now that, by travel, he had curedhimself of Miss Eleanor, he was travelling on for his pleasure, or, ashe told himself, to avoid the curate. Thus neatly he referred to hisobligations to Church and State in Somersetshire. 

By six o'clock on this fine May morning he had already ridden far--fromSahagun, indeed, where he had spent some idle days, lounging, andexchanging observations on the weather with the inhabitants. He hadbeen popular, for he was perfectly simple, and without airs; neverasked what he did not want to know, and never refused to answer what itwas obviously desired he should. But man cannot live upon small talk;and as he had taken up his rest in Sahagun in a moment of impulse--whenhe saw that it possessed a church-dome covered with glazed greentiles--so now he left it. 

"High Heaven!" he had cried, sitting up in bed, "what the deuce am Idoing here? Nothing. Nothing on earth. Let's get out of it. " So outhe had got, and could not ask for breakfast at four in the morning. 

He rode fast, desiring to make way before the heat began, and by sixo'clock, with the sun above the horizon, was not sorry to see towersand pinnacles, or to hear across the emptiness the clangorous notes ofa deep-toned bell. "The muezzin calls the faithful, but for me anothersummons must be sounded. That town will be Palencia. There Ibreakfast, by the grace of God. Coffee and eggs. "

Palencia it was, a town of pretence, if such a word can be applied toanything Spanish, where things either are or are not, and there's anend. It was as drab as the landscape, as weatherworn and austere; butit had a squat officer sitting at the receipt of custom, which Sahagunhad not, and a file of anxious peasants before him, bargaining fortheir chickens and hay. 

Upon the horseman's approach the functionary raised himself, lookingover the heads of the crowd as at a greater thing, saluted, andinquired for gate-dues with his patient eyes. "I have here, " saidManvers, who loved to be didactic in a foreign language, "a shirt and acomb, the New Testament, the History of the Ingenious Gentleman, DonQuixote de la Mancha, and a toothbrush. "

Much of this was Greek to the _doganero_, who, however, understood thatthe stranger was referring in tolerable Castilian to a provincialgentleman of degree. The name and Manvers' twisted smile together wonhim the entry. The officer just eased his peaked cap. "Go with God, sir, " he directed. 

"Assuredly, " said Manvers, "but pray assist me to the inn. "

The Providencia was named, indicated, and found. There was an elderlyman in the yard of it, placidly plucking a live fowl, a barbarity withwhich our traveller had now ceased to quarrel. 

"Leave your horrid task, my friend, " he said. "Take my horse, and feedhim. "

The bird was released, and after shaking, by force of habit, what nolonger, or only partially existed, rejoined its companions. Theyreceived it coldly, but it soon showed that it could pick as well as bepicked. 

"Now, " said Manvers to the ostler, "give this horse half a feed ofcorn, then some water, then the other half feed; but give him nothinguntil you have cooled him down. Do these things, and I present youwith one _peseta_. Omit any of them, and I give you nothing at all. Is that a bargain?"

The old man haled off the horse, muttering that it would be a badbargain for his Grace, to which Manvers replied that we should see. Then he went into the Providencia for his coffee and eggs. 

CHAPTER III

DIVERSIONS OF TRAVEL

If Sahagun puts you out of conceit with Castile, you are not likely tobe put in again by Palencia; for a second-rate town in this kingdom islike a piece of the plain enclosed by a wall, and only emphasises thedesolation at the expense of the freedom; and as in a windy square allthe city garbage is blown into corners, so the walled town seems tocollect and set to festering all the disreputable creatures of thewaste. 

Mr. Manvers, his meal over, hankered after broad spaces again. Hewalked the arcaded streets and cursed the flies, he entered theCathedral and was driven out by the beggars. He leaned over the bridgeand watched the green river, and that set him longing for a swim. Ifhis maps told him the truth, some few leagues on the road to Valladolidshould discover him a fine wood, the wood of La Huerca, beyond which, skirting it, in fact, should be the Pisuerga. Here he could bathe, loiter away the noon, and take his _merienda_, which should be the bestPalencia could supply. 

 "Muera Marta, Y muera harta, "

"Let Martha die, but not on an empty stomach, " he said to himself. Heknew his Don Quixote better than most Spaniards. 

He furnished his haversack, then, with bread, ham, sausages, wine andoranges, ordered out his horse, satisfied himself that the ostler hadearned his fee, and departed at an ambling pace to seek his amusements. But, though he knew it not, the finger of Fate was upon him, and he wasenjoying the last of that perfect leisure without which travel, love-making, the arts and sciences, gardening, or the rearing of afamily, are but weariness and disgust. Just outside the gate ofPalencia he had an adventure which occupied him until the end of thistale, and, indeed, some way beyond it. 

The Puerta de Valladolid is really no gate at all, but a gateway. Whatwalls it may once have pierced have fallen away from it in their fightwith time, and now buttresses and rubbish-heaps, a moat of blurredoutline and much filth, alone testify to former pretensions. Beyondwas to be found a sandy waste, miscalled an _alameda_, a littered placeof brown grass, dust and loose stones, fringed with parched acacias, and diversified by hillocks, upon which, in former days of strife, standards may have been placed, mangonels planted, perhaps Napoleoniccannon. 

It was upon one of these mounds, which was shaded by a tree, thatManvers observed, and paused in the gateway to observe, the doings of agroup of persons, some seven boys and lads, and a girl. A kind ofuncouth courtship seemed to be in progress, or (as he put it) theholding of a rude Court. He thought to see a Circe of picaresque Spainwith her swinish rout about her. To drop metaphor, the young woman satupon the hillock, with the half dozen tatterdemalions round her invarious stages of amorous enchantment. 

He set the girl down for a gipsy, for he knew enough of the country tobe sure that no marriageable maiden of worth could be courted in thisfashion. Or if not a gipsy then a thing of nought, to be pitied if thetruth were known, at any rate to be skirted. Her hair, which seemed tobe of a dusty gold tinge, was knotted up in a red handkerchief; hergown was of blue faded to green, her feet were bare. If a gipsy, shewas to be trusted to take care of herself; if but a sunburnt vagrantshe could be let to shift; and yet he watched her curiously, while shesat as impassive as a young Sphinx, and wondered to himself why he didit. 

Suppose her of that sort you may see any day at a fair, jigging outsidea booth in red bodice and spangles, a waif, a little who-knows-who, suppose her pretty to death--what is she even then but an iridescentbubble, as one might say, thrown up by some standing pool of vice, asfilmy, very nearly as fleeting, and quite as poisonous? It struck himas he watched--not the girl in particular, but a whole genus centred inher--as really extraordinary, as an obliquity of Providence, that suchephemerids must abound, predestined to misery; must come and sin, andwail and go, with souls inside them to be saved, which nobody couldsave, and bodies fair enough to be loved, which nobody could stoop tolove. Had the scheme of our Redemption scope enough for this--for thistrifle, along with Santa Teresa, and the Queen of Sheba, and Isabellathe Catholic? He perceived himself slipping into the sententious onslight pretence--but presently found himself engaged. 

Hatless, shoeless, and coatless were the oafs who surrounded the objectof his speculations, some lying flat, with elbows forward and chins tofist; some creeping and scrambling about her to get her notice, or fireher into a rage; some squatting at an easy distance with ribaldries toexchange. But there was one, sitting a little above her on the mound, who seemed to consider himself, in a sort, her proprietor. He wasmaster of the pack, warily on the watch, able by position and strengthto prevent what he might at any moment choose to think on infringementof his rights. A sullen, grudging, silent, and jealous dog, Manverssaw him, and asked himself how long she would stand it. At present sheseemed unaware of her surroundings. 

He saw that she sat broodingly, as if ruminating on more seriousthings, such as famine or thirst, her elbows on her knees and her facein her two hands. That was the true gipsy attitude, he knew, all theworld over. But so intent she was, that she was careless of herperson, careless that her bodice was open at the neck and that morepeople than Manvers were aware of it. A flower was in her mouth, or hethought so, judging from the blot of scarlet thereabouts; her face wasset fixedly towards the town--too fixedly that he might care, since shecared so little, whether she saw him there or not. And after all, notshe, but the manners of the game centred about her, was what mattered. 

Manners, indeed! The fastidious in our young man was all on edge; hebecame a critic of Spain. Where in England, France, or Italy could youhave witnessed such a scene as this? Or what people but the Spaniardsamong the children of Noah know themselves so certainly lords of theearth that they can treat women, mules, prisoners, Jews, and bullsaccording to the caprices of appetite? That an Italian should makepublic display of his property in a woman, or his scorn of her, was athing unthinkable; yet, if you came to consider it, so it was that aSpaniard should not. Set aside, said he to himself, the grand air, andwhat has the Spaniard which the brutes have not?

Hotly questioning the attendant heavens, Manvers saw just such an actof mastery, when the lumpish fellow above the girl put his hand uponher, and kept it there, and the others thereupon drew back and ceasedtheir tricks, as if admitting possession had and seisin taken, as thelawyers call it. To Manvers a hateful thing. He felt his blood surgein his neck. "Damn him! I've a mind----! And they pray to a woman!"

But the girl did nothing--neither moved, nor seemed to be aware. Thenthe drama suddenly quickened, the actors serried, and the acts, down tothe climax, followed fast. 

Emboldened by her passivity, the oaf advanced by inches, visibly. Helooked knowingly about him, collecting approval from his followers, hewhispered in her ear, hummed gallant airs, regaled the company withsnatches of salt song. Fixed as the Sphinx and unfathomable, she saton broodingly until, piqued by her indifference, maybe, or swayed bysome wave of desire, he caught her round the waist and buried his facein her neck; and then, all at once, she awoke, shivered and collectedherself, without warning shook herself free, and hit her bully a blowon the nose with all her force. 

He reeled back, with his hands to his face; the blood gushed over hisfingers. Then all were on their feet, and a scuffle began, the mostunequal you can conceive, and the most impossible. It was all againstone, with stones flying and imprecations after them, and in the midstthe tawny-haired girl fighting like one possessed. 

A minute of this--hardly so much--was more than enough for Manvers, who, when he could believe his eyes, pricked headlong into the fray, and began to lay about him with his crop. "Dogs, sons of dogs, downwith your hands!" he cried, in Spanish which was fluent, ifimaginative. But his science with the whip was beyond dispute, and thediversion, coming suddenly from behind, scattered the enemy intoheadlong flight. 

The field cleared, the girl was to be seen. She lay moaning on theground, her arms extended, her right leg twitching. She was bleedingat the ear. 

CHAPTER IV

TWO ON HORSEBACK

Now, Manvers was under fire; for the enemy, reinforced by stragglersfrom the town, had unmasked a battery of stones, and was making finepractice from the ruins of the wall. He was hit more than once, hishorse more than he; both were exasperated, and he in particular wasfurious at the presence of spectators who, comfortably in the shade, watched, and had been watching, the whole affair with enviabledetachment of mind and body. With so much to chafe him, he may bepardoned for some irritability. 

He dismounted as coolly as he could, and led his horse about to coverher from the stones. "Come, " he said, as he stooped to touch her, "Imust move you out of this. Saint Stephen--blessed young man--hasforestalled this particular means of going to Heaven. Oh, damn thestones!"

He used no ceremony, but picked her up as if she had been adressmaker's dummy, and set her on her feet, where, after swayingabout, and some balancing with her hands, she presently steadiedherself, and stood, dazed and empty-eyed. Her cheek was cut, her earwas bleeding; her hair was down, the red handkerchief uncoiled; herdusky skin was stained with dirt and scratches, and her bosom heavedriotously as she caught for her breath. 

"Take your time, my dear, " said Manvers kindly. And she did, bytumbling into his arms. Here, then, was a situation for the student ofManners; a brisk discharge of stones from an advancing line ofskirmishers, a strictly impartial crowd of sightseers, a fidgety horse, and himself embarrassed by a girl in a faint. 

He called for help and, getting none, shook his fist at the callousdevils who ignored him; he inspected his charge, who looked as pure asa child in her swoon, all her troubles forgotten and sins blotted out;he inquired of the skies, as if hopeful that the ravens, as of old, might bring him help; at last, seeing nothing else for it, he picked upthe girl in both arms and pitched her on to the saddle. There, withsome adjusting, he managed to prop her while he led the horse slowlyaway. He had to get the reins in his teeth before he had gone tenyards. The retreat began. 

It was within two hours of noon, or nothing had saved him from aretirement as harassing as Sir John Moore's. It was the sun, notravens, that came to his help. Meantime the girl had recovered herselfsomewhat, and, when they were out of sight of the town and itsinhabitants, showed him that she had by sliding from the saddle andstanding firmly on her feet. 

"Hulloa!" said Manvers. "What's the matter now? Do you think you canwalk back? You can't, you know. " He addressed her in his bestCastilian. "I am afraid you are hurt. Let me help----" but she heldhim off with a stiffening arm, while she wiped her face with herpetticoat, and put herself into some sort of order. 

She did it deftly and methodically, with the practised hands of a womanused to the public eye. She might have been an actress at the wings, about to go on. Nor would she look at him or let him see that she wasaware of his presence until all was in order--her hair twisted into thered handkerchief, the neck of her dress pinned together, her torn skirtnicely hung. Her coquetry, her skill in adjusting what seemed pastpraying for, her pains with herself, were charming to see and verytouching. Manvers watched her closely and could not deny her beauty. 

She was a vivid beauty, fiercely coloured, with her tawny gold hair, sunburnt skin, and jade-green, far-seeing eyes, her coiled crimsonhandkerchief and blue-green gown. She was finely made, slim, and incontour hardly more than a child; and yet she seemed to him verymature, a practised hand, with very various knowledge deep in her eyes, and a wide acquaintance behind her quiet lips. With her re-orderedtoilette she had taken on self-possession and dignity, a reserve whichbaffled him. Without any more reason than this he felt for her a kindof respect which nothing, certainly, in what he had seen of hercircumstances could justify. Yet he gave her her title--which markshis feeling. 

"Señorita, " he said, "I wish to be of service to you. Command me. Shall I take you back to Palencia?"

She answered him seriously. "I beg that you will not, sir. "

"If you have friends----" he began, and she said at once, "I have none. "

"Or parents----"

"None. "

"Relatives----"

"None, none. "

"Then your----"

"I know what you would say. I have no house. "

"Then, " said Manvers, looking vaguely over the plain, "what do you wishme to do for you?"

She was now sitting by the roadside, very collectedly looking down ather hands in her lap. "You will leave me here, if you must, " she said;"but I would ask your charity to take me a little farther fromPalencia. Nobody has ever been kind to me before. "

She said this quite simply, as if stating a fact. He was moved. 

"You were unhappy in Palencia?"

"Yes, " she said, "I would rather be left here. " The enormous plain ofCastile, treeless, sun-struck, empty of living thing, made her wordseloquent. 

"Absurd, " said Manvers. "If I leave you here you will die. "

"In Palencia, " said the girl, "I cannot die. " And then her grave eyespierced him, and he knew what she meant. 

"Great God!" said Manvers. "Then I shall take you to a convent. "

She nodded her head. "Where you will, sir, " she replied. Her gravity, far beyond her seeming station, gave value to her confidence. 

"That seems to me the best thing I can do with you, " Manvers said; "andif you don't shirk it, there is no reason why I should. Now, can youstick on the saddle if I put you up?"

She nodded again. "Up you go then. " He would have swung her upsideways, lady-fashion; but she laughed and cried, "No, no, " put a handon his shoulder, her left foot in the stirrup, and swung herself intothe saddle as neatly as a groom. There she sat astride, like acircus-rider, and stuck her arm akimbo as she looked down for hisapproval. 

"Bravo, " said Manvers. "You have been a-horseback before this, mygirl. Now you must make room for me. " He got up behind her and tookthe reins from under her arm. With the other arm it was necessary toembrace her; she allowed it sedately. Then they ambled off together, making a Darby and Joan affair of it. 

But the sun was now close upon noon, burning upon them out of a sky ofbrass. There was no wind, and the flies were maddening. After a whilehe noticed that the girl simply stooped her head to the heat, as if shewere wilting like a picked flower. When he felt her heavy on his armhe saw that he must stop. So he did, and plied her with wine from hispocket-flask, feeding her drop by drop as she lay back against him. Hegot bread out of his haversack and made her eat; she soon revived, andthen he learned the fact that she had eaten nothing since yesterday'snoon. "How should I eat, " she asked, "when I have earned nothing?"

"Nohow, but by charity, " he agreed. "Had Palencia no compassion?" Shegrew dark and would not answer him at first; presently asked, had henot seen Palencia?

"I agree, " he said. "But let me ask you, if I may withoutindiscretion, how did you propose to earn your bread in Palencia?"

"I would have worked in the fields for a day, sir, " she told him; "butnot longer, for I have to get on. "

"Where do you wish to go?"

"Away from here. "

"To Valladolid?"

She looked up into his face--her head was still near his shoulder. "ToValladolid? Never there. "

This made him laugh. "To Palencia? Never there. To Valladolid?Never there. Where then, lady of the sea-green eyes?"

She veiled her eyes quickly. "To Madrid, I suppose. I wish to work. "

"Can you find work there?"

"Surely. It is a great city. "

"Do you know it?"

"Yes, I was there long ago. "

"What did you do there?"

"I worked. I was very well there. " She sat up and looked back overhis shoulder. She had done that once or twice before, and now he askedher what she was looking for. She desisted at once: "Nothing" was heranswer. 

He made her drink from the flask again and gave her his pockethandkerchief to cover her head. When she understood she laughed at himwithout disguise. Did he think she feared the sun? She bade him lookat her neck--which was walnut brown, and sleek as satin; but when hewould have taken back his handkerchief she refused to give it, and putit over her head like a hood, and tied it under her chin. She thenturned herself round to face him. "Is it so you would have it, sir?"she asked, and looked bewitching. 

"My dear, " said Manvers, "you are a beauty. " Shall he be blamed if hekissed her? Not by me, since she never blamed him. 

Her clear-seeing eyes searched his face; her kissed mouth looked veryserious, and also very pure. Then, as he observed her ardently, shecoloured and looked down, and afterwards turned herself the way theywere to go, and with a little sigh settled into his arm. 

Manvers spurred his horse, and for some time nothing was said betweenthem. But he was of a talkative habit, with a trick of conversing withhimself for lack of a better man. He asked her if he was forgiven, andfelt her answer on his arm, though she gave him none in words. Thiswas not to content him. "I see that you will not, " he said, to teaseher. "Well, I call that hard after my stoning. I had believed theladies of Spain kinder to their cavaliers than to grudge a kiss for acartload of stones at the head. Well, well, I'm properly paid. Lawsgo as kings will, I know. God help poor men!" He would have gone onwith his baiting had she not surprised him. 

She turned him a burning face. "Caballero, caballero, have done!" shebegged him. "You rescued me from worse than death--and what could Ideny you? See, sir, I have lived fifteen, seventeen years in theworld, and nobody--nobody, I say--has ever done me a kindness before. And you think that I grudge you!" She was really unhappy, and had tobe comforted. 

They became close friends after that. She told him her name wasManuela, and that she was Valencian by birth. A Gitana? No, indeed. She was a Christian. "You are a very bewitching Christian, Manuela, "he told her, and drew her face back, and kissed her again. I am toldthat there's nothing in kissing, once: it's the second time thatcounts. In the very act--for eyes met as well as lips--he noticed thathers wavered on the way to his, beyond him, over the road they hadtravelled; and the ceremony over, he again asked her why. She passedit off as before, saying that she had looked at nothing, and begged himto go forward. 

Ahead of them now, through the crystalline flicker of the heat, he sawthe dark rim of the wood, the cork forest of La Huerca for which he waslooking, and which hid the river from his aching eyes. No foot-burntwanderer in Sahara ever hailed his oasis with heartier thanksgiving;but it was still a league and a half away. He addressed himself to thetask of reaching it, and we may suppose Manuela respected his efforts. At any rate, there was silence between the pair for the better part ofan hour--what time the unwinking sun, vertically overhead, deprivedthem of so much as the sight of their own shadows, and drove the verycrows with wings adust to skulk in the furrows. The shrilling ofcrickets, the stumbling hoofs of an overtaxed horse, and the creakingof saddle and girth made a din in the deadly stillness of this ferventnoon, and, since there was no other sound to be heard, it is hard totell how Manvers was aware of a traveller behind him, unless he wasserved by the sixth sense we all have, to warn as that we are not alone. 

Sure enough, when he looked over his shoulder, he was aware of a donkeyand his rider drawing smoothly and silently near. The pair of themwere so nearly of the colour of the ground, he had to look long to besure; and as he looked, Manuela suddenly leaned sideways and saw whathe saw. It was just as if she had received a stroke of the sun. Shestiffened; he felt the thrill go through her; and when she resumed herfirst position she was another person. 

CHAPTER V

THE AMBIGUOUS THIRD

"God save your grace, " said Estéban; for it was he who, sitting wellback upon his donkey's rump, with exceedingly bright eyes and acheerful grin, now forged level with Manvers and his burdened steed. 

Manvers gave him a curt "Good-day, " and thought him an impudentfellow--which was not justified by anything Estéban had done. He hadbeen discretion itself; and, indeed, to his eyes there had been nothingof necessity remarkable in the pair on the horse. If a lady--Duchessor baggage--happened to be sharing the gentleman's saddle, anarrangement must be presumed, which could not possibly concern himself. That is the reasonable standpoint of a people who mind their ownbusiness and credit their neighbours with the same preoccupation. 

But Manvers was an Englishman, and could not for the life of himconsider Estéban as anything but a puppy for seeing him in acompromising situation. So much was he annoyed that he did not remarkany longer that Manuela was another person, sitting stiffly, strainedagainst his arm, every muscle on the stretch, as taut as a ship's cablein the tideway, her face in rigid profile to the newcomer. 

Estéban was in no way put out. "Many good days light upon your grace!"he cheerfully repeated--so cheerfully that Manvers was appeased. 

"Good-day, good-day to you, " he said. "You ride light and I rideheavy, otherwise you had not overtaken us. "

Estéban showed his fine teeth, and waved his hand towards the hazydistance; from the tail of his eye he watched Manuela in profile. "Whoknows that, sir? _Lo que ha de ser_--as we say. Ah, who knows that?"Manuela strained her face forward. 

"Well, " said Manvers, "I do, for example. I have proved my horse. He's a Galician, and a good goer. It would want a brave _borico_ tooutpace him. "

Estéban slipped into the axiomatic, as all Spaniards will. "There's aprovidence of the road, sir, and a saint in charge of travellers. Andwe know, sir, _a cada puerco viene su San Martin_. " Manuela stoopedher body forward, and peered ahead, as one strains to see in the dark. 

"Your proverb is oddly chosen, it seems to me, " said Manvers. 

Estéban gave a little chuckle from his throat. 

"A proverb is a stone flung into a pack of starlings. It may scare themost, but may hit one. By mine I referred to the ways of providence, under a figure. Destiny is always at work. "

"No doubt, " said Manvers, slightly bored. 

"It might have been your destiny to have outpaced me: the odds werewith you. On the other hand, as you have not, it must have been mineto have overtaken you. "

"You are a philosopher?" asked Manvers, fatigue deliberately in hisvoice. Estéban's eyes shone intensely; he had marked the changedinflection. 

"I studied the Humanities at Salamanca, " he said carelessly. "That waswhen I was an innocent. Since then I have learned in a harder school. I am learning still--every day I learn something new. I am a gentlemanborn, as your grace has perceived: why not a philosopher?"

Manvers was rather ashamed of himself. "Of course, of course! Why notindeed? I am very glad to see you, while our ways coincide. "

Estéban raised his battered straw. "I kiss the feet of your grace, andhope your grace's lady"--Manuela quivered--"is not disturbed by mycompany; for to tell you the truth, sir, I propose to enjoy your own aslong as you and she are agreeable. I am used to companionship. " Heshot a keen glance at Manuela, who never moved. 

"She will speak for herself, no doubt, " said Manvers; but she did not. The gleam in Estéban's light eyes gave point to his next speech. 

"I have a notion that the señora is not of your mind, sir, " he said, "and am sorry. I can hardly remain as an unwelcome third in a journey. It would be a satisfaction to me if the señora would assure me that Iam wrong. " Manuela now turned her head with an effort and looked downupon the grinning youth. 

"Why should I care whether you stay or go?" she said. Her eyelidsflickered over her eyes as though he were dust in their light. He showed his teeth. 

"Why indeed, señora? God knows I have no reputation to bring you, though the company of a gentleman, the son of a gentleman, never comesamiss, they say. But two is company, and three is a fair. I havefound it so, and so doubtless has your ladyship. "

She made him no answer, and had turned away her face long before he hadfinished. After that the conversation was mainly of his making; forManuela would say nothing, and Manvers had nothing to say. The corkwood was plain in front of him now; he thanked God for the prospect offood and rest. In fifteen minutes, thought he, he should be swimmingin the Pisuerga. 

The forest began tentatively, with heath, sparse trees and mounds ofcistus and bramble. Manvers followed the road, which ran through aportion of it, until he saw the welcome thickets on either hand, deeptunnels of dark and shadowy places where the sun could not stab; thenhe turned aside over the broken ground, and Estéban's donkey picked adainty way behind him. When he had reached what seemed to himperfection, he pulled up. 

"Now, young lady, " he said; "I will give you food and drink, and thenyou shall go to sleep, and so will I. Afterwards we will consider whathad best be done with you. "

"Yes, sir, " she replied in a whisper. Manvers dismounted and held outhis hand to her. There was no more coquetting with the saddle. Shescarcely touched his hand, and did not once lift her eyes to him--buthe was busy with his haversack and had no thoughts for her. 

Estéban meantime sat the donkey, looking gravely at his company, blinking his eyes, smiling quietly, recurring now and then to thewinding minor air which had been in his head all day. He was perfectlyunhampered by any doubts of his welcome, and watched with seriousattention the preparations for a meal in the open which Manvers wasmaking with the ease and despatch of one versed in camps. 

Ham and sausage, rolls of bread, a lettuce, oranges, cheese, dates, abottle of wine, another of water, salt, olives, a knife and fork, aplate, a corkscrew; every article was in its own paper, some weremarked in pencil what they were. All were spread out upon ahorse-blanket; in good enough order for a field-inspection. Nothingwas wanting, and Estéban was as keen as a wolf. Even Manvers rubbedhis hands. He looked shrewdly at his neighbour. 

"Good _alforjas_, eh?"

"Excellent indeed, sir, " said Estéban hoarsely. It was hard to seethis food, and know that he could not eat of it. Manuela was sittingunder a tree, her face in her hands. 

"How far away, " said Manvers, "is the water, do you suppose?"

The water? Estéban collected himself with a start. The water? Hejerked his head towards the display on the blanket. "It is under yourhand, caballero. That bottle, I take it, holds water. "

Manvers laughed. "Yes, yes. I mean the river. I am going to swim inthe river. Don't wait for me. " He turned to the girl. "Take somefood, my friend. I'll be back before long. "

Her swift transitions bewildered him. She showed him now a face ofextreme terror. She was on her feet in a moment, rigid, and her eyeswere so pale that her face looked empty of eyes, like a mask. What onearth was the matter with her? He understood her to be saying, "I mustgo where you go. I must never leave you----" words like that; but theycame from her mouthed rather than voiced, as the babbling of a madwoman. All that was clear was that she was beside herself with fright. Looking to Estéban for an explanation, he surprised a triumphant gleamin that youth's light eyes, and saw him grinning--as a dog grins, withthe lip curled back. 

But Estéban spoke. "I think the lady is right, sir. Affection is abeautiful thing. " He added politely, "The loss will be mine. "

Manvers looked from one to the other of these curious persons, soclearly conscious of each other, yet so strict to avoid recognition. His eyes rested on Manuela. "What's the matter, my child?" She methis glance furtively, as if afraid that he was angry; plainly she wasashamed of her panic. Her eyes were now collected, her brow cleared, and the tension of her arms relaxed. 

"Nothing is the matter, " she said in a low voice. "I will stay here. "She was shaking still; she held herself with both her hands, and shookthe more. 

"I think that you are knocked over by the heat and all the rest of yourtroubles, " said Manvers, "and I don't wonder. Repose yourselfhere--eat--drink. Don't spare the victuals, I beg. And as for you, mybrother, I invite you too to eat what you please. And I place thisyoung lady in your charge. Don't forget that. She's had a fright, andgood reason for it; she's been hurt. I leave her in your care withevery confidence that you will protect her. "

Every word spoken was absorbed by Estéban with immense relish. Thewords pleased him, to begin with, by their Spanish ring. Manvers hadbeen pleased himself. It was the longest speech he had yet made inCastilian; but he had no notion, of course, how exquisitely apposite tothe situation they were. 

Estéban became superb. He rose to the height of the argument, and tothat of his inches, took off his old hat and held it out the length ofhis arm. "Let the lady fear nothing, señor caballero of my soul. Iengage the honour of a gentleman that she shall have everyconsideration at my hands which her virtues merit. No more"--he lookedat the sullen beauty between him and the Englishman--"No more, for thatwould be idolatrous; and no less, for that would be injustice. _Vaya, señor caballero, vaya V|d| con Dios_. " Manvers nodded and strolledaway. 

CHAPTER VI

A SPANISH CHAPTER

His removal snapped a chain. These two persons became themselves. 

Manuela with eyes ablaze strode over to Estéban. "Well, " she said. "You have found me. What is your pleasure?"

He sat very still on his donkey, watching her. He rolled himself acigarette, still watching, and as he lighted it, looked at her over theflame. 

"Speak, Estéban, " she said, quivering; but he took two luxuriousinhalations first, discharged in dense columns through his nose. Thenhe said, breathing smoke, "I have come to kill you, Manuelita--fromPobledo in a day and a half. "

She had folded her arms, and now nodded. "I know it. I have expectedyou. "

"Of course, " said Estéban, inhaling enormously. He shot the smokeupwards towards the light, where it floated and spread out in radiantbars of blue. Manuela was tapping her foot. 

"Well, I am here, " she said. "I might have left you, but I have not. Why don't you do what you intend?"

"There is plenty of time, " said Estéban, and continued to smoke. Hebegan to make another cigarette. 

"Do you know why I chose to stay with you?" she asked him softly. "Doyou know, Estéban?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Not at all. "

"It was because I had a bargain to make with you. "

He looked at her inquiringly; but he shrugged. "It will be a hardbargain for you, my girl, " he told her. 

"I believe you will agree to it, " she said quickly, "seeing that of myown will I have remained here. I will let you kill me as youplease--on a condition. "

"Name your condition, " said Estéban. "I will only say now that it ismy wish to strangle you with my hands. "

She put both hers to her throat. "Good, " she said. "That shall beyour affair. But let the caballero go free. He has done you no harm. "

"On the contrary, " said Estéban, "I shall certainly kill him when hereturns. Have no doubt of that. Then I shall have his horse. "

Immediately, without fear, she went up to him where he sat his donkey. She saw the knife in his _faja_, but had no fear at all. She camequite close to him, with an ardent face, with eyes alight. Shestretched out her arms like a man on a cross. 

"Kill, kill, Estéban! But listen first. You shall spare thatgentleman's life, for he has done you no wrong. "

He laughed her down. "Wrong! And you come to me to swear that on theCross of Christ? Daughter of swine, you lie. "

Tears were in her eyes, which made her blink and shake her head--butshe came closer yet in a passion of entreaty. She was so close thather bosom touched him. "Kill, Estéban, kill--but love me first!" Herarms were about him now, as if she must have love of him or die. "Estéban, Estéban!" she was whispering as if she hungered and thirstedfor him. He shivered at a memory. "Love me once, love me once, Estéban!" Closer and closer she clung to him; her eyes implored a kiss. 

"Loose me, you jade, " he said, less sharply, but she clove the closerto him, and one hand crept downwards from his shoulder, as if she wouldembrace him by the middle. "Too late, Manuelita, too late, " he saidagain, but he was plainly softening. She drew his face towards hers asif to kiss him, then whipped the long knife out of his girdle and droveit with all her sobbing force into his neck. Estéban uttered a thickgroan, threw his head up and rocked twice. Then his head dropped, andhe fell sideways off his donkey. 

She stood staring at what she had done. 

CHAPTER VII

THE SLEEPER AWAKENED

Manvers returned whistling from his bath, at peace with all the worldof Spain, in a large mood of benevolence and charitable judgment. Hismind dwelt pleasantly on Manuela, but pity mixed with his thought; andhe added some prudence on his own account. "That child--she's nomore--I must do something for her. Not a bad 'un, I'll swear, notfundamentally bad. I don't doubt her as I doubt the male: he's tooglib by half... She's distractingly pretty--what nectarine colour!The mouth of a child--that droop at the corners--and as soft as achild's too. " He shook his head. "No more kissing or I shall be in amess. "

When he reached his tree and his luncheon, to find his companions gone, he was a little taken aback. His genial proposals were suddenlychilled. "Queer couple--I had a notion that they knew something ofeach other. So they've made a match of it. "

Then he saw a brass crucifix lying in the middle of his plate. "Hulloa!" He stooped to pick it up. It was still warm. He smiled andfelt a glow come back. "Now that's charming of her. That's a prettytouch--from a pretty girl. She's no baggage, depend upon it. " Thestring had plainly hung the thing round her neck, the warmth was thatof her bosom. He held it tenderly while he turned it about. "I'llwarrant now, that was all she had upon her. Not a maravedi beside. Iknow it's the last thing to leave 'em. I'm repaid, more than repaid. I'll wear you for a bit, my friend, if you won't scorch a heretic. "Here he slipped the string over his head, and dropped the cross withinhis collar. "I'll treat you to a chain in Valladolid, " was his finalthought before he consigned Manuela to his cabinet of memories. 

He poured and drank, hacked at his ham-bone and ate. "By the Lord, " hewent on commenting, "they've not had bite or sup. Too busy with theirmatch-making? Too delicate to feast without invitation? Which?" Hepondered the puzzle. He had invited Manuela, he was sure: had heincluded her swain? If not, the thing was clear. She wouldn't eatwithout him, and he couldn't eat without his host. It was the bestthing he knew of Estéban. 

He finished his meal, filled and lit a pipe, smoked half of itdrowsily, then lay and slept. Nothing disturbed his three hours' rest, not even the gathering cloud of flies, whose droning over aneighbouring thicket must have kept awake a lighter sleeper. ButManvers was so fast that he did not hear footsteps in the wood, nor thesound of picking in the peaty ground. 

It was four o'clock and more when he awoke, sat up and looked at hiswatch. Yawning and stretching at ease, he then became aware of afriar, with a brown shaven head and fine black beard, who was diggingnear by. This man, whose eyes had been upon him, waiting forrecognition, immediately stopped his toil, struck his spade into theground, and came towards him, bowing as he came. 

"Good evening, señor caballero, " he said. "I am Fray Juan de la Cruz, at your service; from the convent of N. S. De la Peña near by. I haveto be my own grave-digger; but will you be so obliging as to commit thebody while I read the office?"

To this abrupt invitation Manvers could only reply by staring. FrayJuan apologised. 

"I imagined that you had perceived my business, " he said, "which trulyis none of yours. It will be an act of charity on your part--thereforeits own reward. "

"May I ask you, " said Manvers, now on his feet, "what, or whom, you areburying?"

"Come, " the friar replied. "I will show you the body. " Manversfollowed him into the thicket. 

"Good God, what's this?" The staring light eyes of Estéban Vincaz hadno reply for him. He had to turn away, sick at the sight. 

Fray Juan de la Cruz told him what he knew. A young girl, riding anass, had come to the church of the convent, where he happened to be, cleaning the sanctuary. The Reverend Prior was absent, the brotherswere afield. She was in haste, she said, and the matter would notallow of delay. She reported that she had killed a man in the wood ofLa Huerca, to save the life of a gentleman who had been kind to her, who had, indeed, but recently imperilled his own for hers. "If youdoubt me, " she had said, "go to the forest, to such and such a part. There you will find the gentleman asleep. He has a crucifix of mine. The dead man lies not far away, with his own knife near him, with whichI killed him. Now, " she had said, "I trust you to report all I havesaid to that gentleman, for I must be off. "

"Good God!" said Manvers again. 

"God indeed is the only good, " said Fray Juan, "and His ways pastfinding out. But I have no reason to doubt this girl's story. Shetold me, moreover, the name of the man--or his names, as you may say. "

"Had he more than one then?" Manvers asked him, but without interest. The dead was nothing to him, but the deed was much. This wild girl, who had been sleek and kissing but a few hours before, now stood robedin tragic weeds, fell purpose in her green eyes! And her child'smouth--stretched to murder! And her youth--hardy enough to stab!

"The unfortunate young man, " said Fray Juan, "was the son of a moreunfortunate father; but the name that he used was not that of hishouse. His father, it seems----" but Manvers stopped him. 

"Excuse me--I don't care about his father or his names. Tell meanything more that the girl had to say. "

"I have told you everything, señor caballero, " said Fray Juan; "and Iwill only add that you are not to suppose that I am violating theconfidences of God. Far from that. She made no confession in the truesense, though she promised me that she would not fail to do so at theearliest moment. I had it urgently from herself that I should seek youout with her tale, and rehearse it to you. In justice to her, I am nowto ask you if it is true, so far as you are concerned in it?"

Manvers replied, "It's perfectly true. I found her in bad company atPalencia; a pack of ruffians was about her, and she might have beenkilled. I got her out of their hands, knocked about and wounded, andbrought her so far on the road to the first convent I could come at. That poor devil there overtook us about a league from the wood. Shehad nothing to say to him, nor he to her, but I remember noticing thatshe didn't seem happy after he had joined us. He had been her lover, Isuppose?"

"She gave me to understand that, " said Fray Juan gravely. Manvers herestarted at a memory. 

"By the Lord, " he cried, "I'll tell you something. When we got to thewood I wanted to bathe in the river, and was going to leave those twotogether. Well, she was in a taking about that. She wanted to comewith me--there was something of a scene. " He recalled her terror, andEstéban's snarling lip. "I might have saved all this--but how was I toknow? I blame myself. But what puzzles me still is why the man shouldhave wanted my life. Can you explain that?"

Fray Juan was discreet. "Robbery, " he suggested, but Manvers laughed. 

"I travel light, " he said. "He must have seen that I was not his game. No, no, " he shook his head. "It couldn't have been robbery. "

Fray Juan, I say, was discreet; and it was no business of his.... Butit was certainly in his mind to say that Estéban need not have been therobber, nor Manvers' portmanteau the booty. However, he was silent, until the Englishman muttered, "God in Heaven, what a country!" andthen he took up his parable. 

"All countries are very much the same, as I take it, since God madethem all together, and put man up to be the master of them, and tookthe woman out of his side to be his blessing and curse at once. Theplace whence she was taken, they say, can never fully be healed untilshe is restored to it; and when that is done, it is not a certain cure. Such being the plan of this world, it does not become us to quarrelwith its manifestations here or there. Señor caballero, if you areready I will proceed. Assistance at the feet, a handful of earth atthe proper moment are all I shall ask of you. " He slipped a surpliceover his head. The office was said. 

"Fray Juan, " said Manvers at the end, "will you take this trifle fromme? A mass, I suppose, for that poor devil's soul would not comeamiss. "

Fray Juan took that as a sign of grace, and was glad that he had heldhis tongue. "Far from it, " he said, "it would be extremely proper. Itshall be offered, I promise you. "

"Now, " said Manvers after a pause, "I wonder if you can tell me this. Which way did she go off?"

Fray Juan shook his head. "No lo sé. She came to me in the church, and spoke, and passed like the angel of death. May she go with God!"

"I hope so, " said Manvers. Then he looked into the placid face of thebrown friar. "But I must find her somehow. " Upon that addition heshut his mouth with a snap. The survey which he had to endure fromFray Juan's patient eyes was the best answer to it. 

"Oh, but I must, you know, " he said. 

"Better not, my son, " said Fray Juan. "It seems to me that you haveseen enough. Your motives will be misunderstood. "

Manvers laughed. "They are rather obscure to me--but I can't let herpay for my fault. "

"You may make her pay double, " said Fray Juan. 

"No, " said Manvers decisively, "I won't. It's my turn to pay now. "

The Friar shrugged. "It is usually the woman who pays. But _lo que hade ser_... !"

The everlasting phrase! "That proverb serves you well in Spain, FrayJuan, " said Manvers, who was in a staring fit. 

"It is all we have that matters. Other nations have to learn it; herewe know it. "

Manvers mounted his horse and stooping from the saddle, offered hishand. "Adios, Fray Juan. "

"Vaya V|d| con Dios!" said the friar, and watched him away. "Pobrecita!" he said to himself--"unhappy Manuela!"

CHAPTER VIII

REFLECTIONS OF AN ENGLISHMAN

But Manvers was well upon his way, riding with squared jaw, with reinand spur towards Valladolid. He neither whistled nor chanted to theair; he was _vacuus viator_ no longer, travelled not for pleasure butto get over the leagues. For him this country of distances and greatair was not Castile, but Broceliande; a land of enchantments and pain. He was no longer fancy-free, but bound to a quest. 

Consider the issues of this day of his. From bathing in pastoral hehad been suddenly soused into tragedy's seething-pot. His idyll of thetanned gipsy, with her glancing eyes and warm lips, had been spatteredout with a brushful of blood; the scene was changed from sunny life towan death. Here were the staring eyes of a dead man, and his mouthtwisted awry in its last agony. He could not away with the shock, nordivest himself of a share in it. If he, by mischance, had taken upwith Manuela, he had taken up with Estéban too. 

The vanished players in the drama loomed in his mind larger for thatfateful last act. The tragic sock and the mask enhanced them. Whatmystery lay behind Manuela's sidelong eyes? What sin or suffering?What knowledge, how gained, justified Estéban's wizened saws? Thesetwo were wise before their time; when they ought to have been flirtingon the brink of life, here they were, breasting the great flood, familiar with death, hating and stabbing!

A pretty child with a knife in her hand; and a boy murdered--what acountry! And where stood he, Manvers, the squire of Somerset, with histhirty years, his University education and his seat on the bench?Exactly level with the curate, to be counted on for an archery meeting!Well enough for diversion; but when serious affairs were on hand, sentout of the way. Was it not so, that he, as the child of the party, wasdismissed to bathe while his elders fought out their deadly quarrel? Iput it in the interrogative; but he himself smarted under the answer toit, and although he never formulated the thought, and made no plans, and could make none, I have no doubt but that his wounded self-esteem, seeking a salve, found it in the assurance that he would protectManuela from the consequences of her desperate act; that his protectionwas his duty and her need. The English mind works that way; we cannotendure a breath upon our fair surface. We must direct the operationsof this world, or the devil's in it. 

Manvers was not, of course, in love with Manuela. He was sentimentallyengaged in her affairs, and very sure that they were, and must be, hisown. Yet I don't know whether the waking dream which he had upon thesummit of that plateau of brown rock which bounds Valladolid upon thenorth was the cause or consequence of his implication. 

He had climbed this sharp ridge because a track wavered up it which cutoff some miles of the road. It was not easy going by any means, butthe view rewarded him. The land stretched away to the four quarters ofthe compass and disappeared into a copper-brown haze. He stood wellabove the plain, which seemed infinite. Corn-land and waste, river-bedand moor, were laid out below him as in a geographer's model. Hethought that he stood up there apart, contemplating time and existence. He was indeed upon the convex of the world, projecting from it intoillimitable space, consciously sharing its mighty surge. 

This did not belittle him. On the contrary, he felt something of thehelmsman's pride, something of the captain's on the bridge. He wasdriving the world. He soared, perched up there, apart from men andtheir concerns. All Spain lay at his feet; he marked the way it mustgo. It was possible for him now to watch a man crawl, like a maggot, from his cradle, and urge a painful way to his grave. And, to hisexalted eye, from cradle to grave was but a span's length. 

From such sublime investigation it was but a step to sublimity itself. His soul seemed separate from his body; he was dispassionate, superhuman, all-seeing and all-comprehending. Now he could see men aswinged ants, crossing each other, nearing, drifting apart, interweaving, floating in a cloud, blown high, blown low by wafts ofair; and here, presently, came one Manvers, and there, driven by agust, went another, Manuela. 

At these two insects, as one follows idly one gull out of a flock, hecould look with interest, and without emotion. He saw them drift, touch and part, and each be blown its way, helpless mote in the dust ofthe great plain. From one to the other he turned his eyes. TheManvers gnat flew the straighter course, holding to an upper current;the Manuela wavered, but tended ever to a lower plane. The wind fromthe mountains of Asturias freshened and blew over him. In a singularmoment of divination he saw the two insects of his vision caught in thedraught and whirled together again. A spiral flight upwards was begun;in ever-narrowing circles they climbed, bid fair to soar. They reacheda steadier stream, they sped along together; but then, as a gust tookthem, they dipped below it and steadily declined, wavering, whirlingabout each other. Down and down they went, until they were lost to hiseye in the dust of heat. He saw them no more. 

Manvers came to himself, and shook his senses back into his head. Thesun was sinking over Portugal, the evening wind was chill. Had he beendreaming? What sense of fate was upon him? "Come up, Rosinante, takeme out of the cave of Montesinos. " He guided his horse in and out ofthe boulder-strewn track to the edge of the plateau; and there beforehim, many leagues away, like a patch of whitewash splodged down upon ablue field, lay Valladolid, the city of burning and pride. 

[Illustration: Upon a blue field lay Valladolid. ]

CHAPTER IX

A VISIT TO THE JEWELLER'S

If God in His majesty made the Spains and the nations which peoplethem, perhaps it was His mercy that convoked the Spanish cities--as Hisservant Philip piled rock upon rock and called it Madrid--and madecess-pits for the cleansing of the country. 

Behold the Castilian, the Valencian, the Murcian on his glebe, you findan exact relation established; the one exhales the other. The man iswhat his country is, tragic, hag-ridden, yet impassive, patient underthe sun. He stands for the natural verities. You cannot change him, move, nor hurt him. He can earn neither your praises nor reproach. Aswell might you blame the staring noon of summer or throw a kind word tothe everlasting hills. The bleak pride of the Castillano, the flintand steel of Aragon, the languor which veils Andalusianfire--travelling the lands which gave them birth, you find them scoredin large over mountain and plain and riverbed, and bitten deep into thehearts of the indwellers. They are as seasonable there as the flowersof waste places, and will charm you as much. So Spanish travel is oneof the restful relaxations, because nothing jars upon you. You feelthat you are assisting a destiny, not breaking it. Not discovery isbefore you so much as realisation. 

But in the city Spanish blood festers, and all that seemed plausible inthe open air is now monstrous, full of vice and despair. Whereas, outside, the man stood like a rock, and let Fate seam or bleach himbare; here, within walls, he rages, shows his teeth, blasphemes, orsinks into sloth. You will find him heaped against the walls likeordure, hear him howl for blood in the bull-ring, appraise women, as ifthey were dainties, in the _alamedas_, loaf, scratch, pry where noneshould pry, go begging with his sores, trade his own soul for hismother's. His pride becomes insolence, his tragedy hideous revolt, hisimpassivity swinish, his rock of sufficiency a rook of offence. God inHis mercy, or the Devil in his despite, made the cities of Spain. 

And yet the man, so superbly at his ease in his enormous spaces, is hisown conclusion when he goes to town; the permutation is logical. He istoo strong a thing to break his nature; it will be aggravated but notdeflected. Leave him to swarm in the _plaza_ and seek his noblerbrother. Go out by the gate, descend the winding suburb, which givesyou the burnt plains and far blue hills, now on one hand, now on theother, as you circle down and down, with the walls mounting as youfall; touch once more the dusty earth, traverse the deep shade of theilex-avenue; greet the ox-teams, the filing mules, as they creep up thehill to the town: you are bound for their true, great Spain. Andthough it may be ten days since you saw it, or fifty years, you willfind nothing altered. The Spaniard is still the flower of his rocks. _O dura tellus Iberiae_!

From the window of his garret Don Luis Ramonez de Alavia could overlookthe town wall, and by craning his neck out sideways could have seen, ifhe had a mind, the cornice-angle of the palace of his race. It was abarrack in these days, and had been so since ruin had settled down onthe Ramonez with the rest of Valladolid. That had been in thesixteenth century, but no Ramonez had made any effort to repair it. Every one of them did as Don Luis was doing now, and accepted misery intrue Spanish fashion. Not only did he never speak of it, he neverthought of it either. It was; therefore it had to be. 

He rose at dawn, every day of his life, and took his sop in coffee inhis bedgown, sitting on the edge of his bed. He heard mass in theChurch of Las Angustias, in the same chapel at the same hour. Once amonth he communicated, and then the sop was omitted. He was shaved inthe barber's shop--Gomez the Sevillian kept it--at the corner of the_plaza_. Gomez, the little dapper, black-eyed man, was a friend ofhis, his newspaper and his doctor. 

He took a high line with Gomez, as you may when you owe a man twopencea week. 

That over, he took the sun in the _plaza_, up and down the centre lineof flags in fine weather, up and down the arcade if it rained. He sawthe _diligence_ from Madrid come in, he saw the _diligence_ for Madridgo out. He knew, and accepted the salutes of every _arriero_ whoworked in and out of the city, and passed the time of day with Micaelthe lame water-seller, who never failed to salute him. 

At noon he ate an onion and a piece of cheese, and then he dozed tillthree. As the clock of the University struck that hour he put on his_capa_--summer and winter he wore it, with melancholy and good reason;by ten minutes past he was entering the shop of Sebastian thegoldsmith, in the Plaza San Benito, in the which he sat till dusk, motionless and absorbed in thought, talking little, seeming to observelittle, and yet judging everything in the light of strong common sense. 

Summer or winter, at dusk he arose, flecked a mote or two of dust fromhis _capa_, seated his beaver upon his grey head, grasped his malacca, and departed with a "Be with God, my friend. " To this Sebastian thegoldsmith invariably replied, "At the feet of your grace, Don Luis. "

He supped sparingly, and the last act of his day was his one act ofluxury; his cup of chocolate or glass of _agraz_, according to season, at the Café de la Luna in the Plaza Mayor. This was his title to tableand chair, and the respect of all Valladolid from dusk until nine--onthe last stroke of which, saluting the company, who rose almost to aman, he retired to his garret and thin bed. 

Pepe, the head waiter at the Luna, who had been there for thirty years, Gomez the barber, who was sixty-three and looked forty, Sebastian thegoldsmith, well over middle age, and the old priest of Las Angustias, who had confessed him every Friday and said mass at the same altarevery morning since his ordination (God knows how long ago), would havetestified to the fact that Don Luis had never once varied his dailyhabits within time of memory. 

They would have been wrong, of course, like all clean sweepers; for inaddition to his inheritance of ruin, misfortunes had graved him deeply. Valladolid knew it well. His wife had left him, his son had gone tothe devil. He bore the first blow like a stoic, not moving a musclenor varying a habit: the second sent him on a journey. The barber, thewater-seller, Pepe the waiter, Sebastian the deft were troubled abouthim for a week or more. He came back, and hid his wound, speaking tono one of it; and no one dared to pity him. And although he resumedhis routine and was outwardly the same man, we may trace to that laststroke of Fortune the wasted splendour of his eyes, the look of a dyingstag, which, once seen, haunted the observer. He was extraordinarilyhandsome, except for his narrow shoulders and hollow eyes, flawlesslyclean in person and dress; a tall, straight, hawk-nosed, sallowgentleman. The Archbishop of Toledo was his first cousin, a cadet ofhis house. He was entitled to wear his hat in the presence of theQueen, and he lived upon fivepence a day. 

Manvers, reaching Valladolid in the evening, reposed himself for a dayor two, and recovered from his shock. He saw the sights, conversedwith affability with all and sundry, drank _agraz_ in the Café de laLuna. He must have beamed without knowing it upon Don Luis, for hisbrisk appearance, twisted smile and abrupt manner were familiar to thatwatchful gentleman by the time that, sweeping aside the curtain like abuffet of wind, he entered the goldsmith's shop in the Plaza SanBenito. He came in a little before twilight one afternoon, holding bya string in one hand some swinging object, taking off his hat with theother as soon as he was past the curtain of the door. 

"Can you, " he said to Sebastian, in very fair Spanish, "take up a jobfor me a little out of the common?" As he spoke he swung the objectinto the air, caught it and enclosed it with his hand. Don Luis, in adark corner of the shop, sat back in his accustomed chair, and watchedhim. He sat very still, a picture of mournful interest, shrouding hismouth in his hand. 

Sebastian, first master of his craft in a city of goldsmiths, was fartoo much the gentleman to imply that any command of his customer neednot be extraordinary. Bowing with gravity, and adjusting the glassesupon his fine nose, he replied that when he understood the nature ofthe business he should be better instructed for his answer. ThereuponManvers opened his hand and passed over the counter a brass crucifix. 

It is difficult to disturb the self-possession of a gentleman of Spain;Sebastian did not betray by a twitch what his feelings or thoughts mayhave been. He gravely scrutinised the battered cross, back and front, was polite enough to ignore the greasy string, and handed it backwithout a single word. It may have been worth half a _real_; to watchhis treatment of it was cheap at a dollar. 

Manvers, however, flushed with annoyance, and spoke somewhat loftily. "Am I to understand that you will, or will not oblige me?"

Sebastian temperately replied, "You are to understand, señor caballero, that I am at your disposition, but also that I do not yet know what youwish me to do. " Manvers laughed, and the air was clearer. 

"A thousand pardons, " he said, "a thousand pardons for my stupidity. Ican tell you in two minutes what I want done with this thing. " He heldit in the flat of his hand, and looked from it to the jeweller, as hesuccinctly explained his wishes. 

"I want you, " he said, "to encase this cross completely, in thin goldplates. " Conscious of Sebastian's portentous gravity, perhaps of DonLuis in his dark corner, he showed himself a little self-conscious alsoand added, "It's a curious desire of mine, I know, but there's a reasonfor it, which is neither here nor there. Make for me then, " he wenton, "of thin gold plates, a matrix to hold this cross. It must have alid, also, which shall open upon hinges, here--" he indicated theprecise points--"and close with a clasp, here. Let the string also beencased in gold. I don't know how you will do it--that is a matter foryour skill; but I wish the string to remain where it is, intact, withina gold covering. This casing should be pliable, so that the crosscould hang, if necessary, round the neck of a person--as it used tohang. Do I make myself understood?"

The Castilians are not a curious people, but this commission didundoubtedly interest Sebastian the jeweller. Professionally speaking, it was a delicate piece of work; humanly, could have but oneexplanation. So, at least, he judged. 

What Don Luis may have thought of it, there's no telling. If you hadwatched him closely you would have seen the pupils of his eyes dilate, and then contract--just like those of a caged owl, when he becomesaware of a mouse circling round him. 

But while Don Luis could be absorbed in the human problem, it was notso with his friend. Points of detail engaged him in a series ofsuggestions which threatened to be prolonged, and which maddened theEnglishman. Was the outline of the cross to be maintained in thecasing? Undoubtedly it was, otherwise you might as well hang acard-case round your neck! The hinges, now--might they not better behere, and here, than there, and there? Manvers was indifferent as tothe hinges. The fastening? Let the fastening be one which could besnapped-to, and open upon a spring. The chain--ah, there was somenicety required for that. From his point of view, Sebastian said, withthe light of enthusiasm irradiating his face, that that was the creamof the job. 

Manvers, wishing to get out of the shop, begged him to do the best hecould, and turned to go. At the door he stopped short and came back. There was one thing more. Inside the lid of the case, in the centre ofthe cross, he wished to have engraved the capital letter M, and belowthat a date--12 May, 1861. That was really all, except that he wasstaying at the Parador de las Diligencias, and would call in a week'stime. He left his card--Mr. Osmund Manvers, Filcote Hall, Taunton;Oxford and Cambridge Club--elegantly engraved. And then he departed, with a jerky salute to Don Luis, grave in his corner. 

That card, after many turns back and face, was handed to Don Luis forinspection, while Sebastian looked to him for light over the rim of hisspectacles. 

"M for Manvers, " he said presently, since Don Luis returned the cardwithout comment. "That is probable, I imagine. "

"It is possible, " said Don Luis with his grand air of indifference. "With an Englishman anything is possible. "

Sebastian did not pretend to be indifferent. He hummed an air, andplayed it out with his fingers on the counter as he thought. Then heflashed into life. "The twelfth of May! That is just a week ago. Ihave it, Señor Don Luis! Hear my explanation. This thing of noughtwas presented to the gentleman upon his birthday--the twelfth of May. The giver was poor, or he would have made a more considerable present;and he was very dear to the gentleman, or he would not have dared topresent such a thing. Nor would the gentleman, I think, have treatedit so handsomely. Handsomely!" He made a rapid calculation. "_Ah, que_! He is paying its weight in gold. " Now--this was in his air oftriumph--_now_ what had Don Luis to say?

That weary but unbowed antagonist of hunger and despair, aftershrugging his shoulders, considered the matter, while Sebastian waited. "Why do you suppose, " he asked at length, "that the giver of this thingwas a man?"

"I do not suppose it, " cried Sebastian. "I never did suppose it. Thecross has been worn"--he passed his finger over its smooth back--"andrecently worn. Men do not carry such things about them, unless theyare----"

"What this gentleman is, " said Don Luis. "A woman gave him this. Awench. "

Sebastian bowed, and with sparkling eyes re-adjusted his inferences. 

"That being admitted, we are brought a little further. M does notstand for Manvers--for what gentleman would give himself the trouble toengrave his own name upon a cross? It is the initial of the giver'sname--and observe. Señor Don Luis, he is very familiar with her, sincehe knows her but by one. " He looked through his shop window to thelight, as he began a catalogue. "Maria--Mariquita--Maritornes--Margarita--Mariana--Mercedes--Miguela----" He stopped short, and his eyesencountered those of his friend, fast upon him, ominous and absorbing. He showed a certain confusion. "Any one of these names, it might be, Señor Don Luis. "

"Or Manuela, " said the other, still regarding him steadily. 

"Or Manuela--true, " said Sebastian with a bow, and a perceptibledeepening of colour. 

"In any case--" Don Luis rose, removed a speck of dust from his _capa_, and adjusted his beaver--"In any case, my friend, we may assume the12th of May to be our gentleman's birthday. _Adios, hermano_. "

Sebastian was about to utter his usual ceremonial assurance, when athought drove it out of his head. 

"Stay, stay a moment, Don Luis of my soul!" He snapped his fingerstogether in his excitement. 

"_Ah, que_!" muttered Don Luis, who had his hand upon the latch. 

"A birthday--what is it? A thing of every year. Is he likely toreceive a brass crucifix worth two maravedis every year, and every yearto sheathe it in gold? Never! This marks a solemnity--a greatsolemnity. Listen, I will tell you. It marks the end of a liaison. She has left him--but tenderly; or he has left her--but regretfully. It becomes a touching affair. Do you not agree with me?"

Don Luis raised his eyebrows. "I have no means of agreeing with you, Sebastian. It may mark the end of a story--or the beginning. Whoknows?" He threw out his arms and let them drop. "Señor God, whocares?"

CHAPTER X

FURTHER EPISODES IN THE LIFE OF DON LUIS RAMONEZ

Goldsmithing is the art of Valladolid, and Sebastian was its master. That was the opinion of the mystery, and his own opinion. He neverconcealed it; but he had now to confess that Manvers had given him atask worthy of his powers. To cut out and rivet the links of thechain, which was to sheathe a piece of string and leave it all itspliancy--"I tell you, Don Luis of my soul, " he said, peering up fromhis board, "there is no man in our mystery who could cope with it--andvery few frail ladies who could be worthy of it. " Don Luis added thatthere could be few young men who could be capable of commanding it; butSebastian had now conceived an admiration for his client. 

"Fantasia, vaya! The English have the hearts of poets in the bodies ofbeeves. Did your grace ever hear of Doña Juanita--who in the Frenchwar ran half over Andalusia in pursuit of an Englishman? I heard myfather tell the tale. Not his person claimed her, but his heart of apoet. Well, he married her, and from camp to camp she trailed afterhim, while he helped our nation beat Bonaparte. But one day theyreceived the hospitality of a certain hidalgo, and had removed manyleagues from him by the next night, when they camped beside a river. Dinner was eaten in the tents, and dessert served up in a fine bowl. 'Sola!' says the Englishman, 'that bowl--it is not ours, my heart?''No, ' says Juanita, 'it is the hidalgo's, and was packed with ourfurniture in the hurry of departing. ' 'Por dios!' says the Englishman, 'it must be returned to him. ' But how? He could not go himself, forat that moment there entered an alguazil with news of the enemy. Whatthen? 'Juanita will go, ' says the Englishman, and went out, bucklinghis sword. Señor Don Luis, she went, on horseback, all those leagues, beset with foes, in the night, and rendered back the bowl. I tell you, the hearts of poets!"

Don Luis, who had been nodding his high approval, now stared. "_Ah, que_! But the poet was Doña Juanita, it seems to me, " he said. 

"Pardon me, dear sir, not at all. Our Spanish ladies are not fond oftravel. It was the Englishman who inspired her. He was a poet with avision. In his vision he saw her going. Safely then, he could say, she will go, because he, to whom time was nothing, saw her in the act. He did not give directions--he went out to engage the enemy. Then shewent--vaya!"

"You may be sure, " Sebastian went on, "that my client is a poet and afine fellow. You may be sure that the gift of this trifle has touchedhis heart. It was not given lightly. The measure of his care is themeasure of its worth in his eyes. "

Don Luis allowed the possibility, by raising his eyebrows and tiltinghis head sideways; a shrug with an accent, as it were. Then he allowedSebastian to clinch his argument by saying that the Englishman seemedto be getting the better of his emotion; for here was a week, said he, and he had not once been into the shop to inquire for his relic. Sebastian was down upon the admission. "What did I tell you, myfriend? Is not that the precise action of our Englishman who said, 'Juanita will ride, ' and went out and left her at the table? Preciselythe same! And Juanita rode--and I, by God, have wrought at the work hegave me to do, and finished it. Vaya, Don Luis, it is not amiss. "

It had to be confessed that it was not; and Manvers calling one morninglater was as warm in his praises as his Spanish and his temperamentwould admit. He paid the bill without demur. 

Sebastian, though he was curious, was discreet. Don Luis, however, thought proper to remark upon the crucifix, when he chanced to meet itsowner in the Church of Las Angustias. 

That church contains a famous statue of Juan de Juni's, a _Materdolorosa_ most tragic and memorable. Manvers, in his week's prowlingof the city, had come upon it by accident, and visited it more thanonce. She sits, Our Lady of Sorrows, upon a rock, in her widow'sweeds, exhibiting a grief so intense that she may well have been madelarger than life, in order to support a misery which would crush amortal woman. It is so fine, this emblem of divine suffering, that itobscures its tawdry surroundings, its pinchbeck tabernacle, gilding andred paint. When she is carried in a _paso_, as whiles she is, nospangled robe is put over her, no priest's vestment, no crown or veil. Seven swords are driven into her bosom: she is unconscious of them. Her wounds are within; but they call her in Valladolid Señora de losChuchillos. 

It was in the presence of this august mourner that Manvers was found byDon Luis Ramonez after mass. He had been present at the ceremony, butnot assisting, and had his crucifix open in the palm of his hand whenthe other rose from his knees and saw him. 

After a moment's hesitation the old gentleman stayed till theworshippers had departed, and then drew near to Manvers, and bowedceremoniously. 

"You will forgive me for remarking upon what you have in your hand, señor caballero, " he said, "when I tell you that I was present, notonly at the commissioning of the work, but at its daily progress to theperfection it now bears. My friend, Don Sebastian, had every reason tobe contented with his masterpiece. I am glad to learn from him thatyou were no less satisfied. "

Manvers, who had immediately shut down his hand, now opened it. "Yes, "he said, "it's a beautiful piece of work. I am more than pleased. "

"It is a setting, " said Don Luis, "which, in this country, we shouldgive to a relic of the True Cross. "

Manvers looked quickly up. "I know, I know. It must seem to you apiece of extravagance on my part----; but there were reasons, goodreasons. I could hardly have done less. "

Don Luis bowed gravely, but said nothing. Manvers felt impelled tofurther discussion. Had he been a Spaniard he would have left thematter where it was; but he was not, so he went awkwardly on. 

"It's a queer story. For some reason or another I don't care to speakof it. The person who gave me this trinket did me--or intended me--animmense service, at a great cost. "

"She too, " said Don Luis, looking at the Dolorosa, "may have had herreasons. "

"It was a woman, " said Manvers, with quickening colour, "I see no harmin saying so. I was going to tell you that she believed herselfindebted to me for some trifling attention I had been able to show herpreviously. That is how I explain her giving me the crucifix. It washer way of thanking me--a pretty way. I was touched. "

Don Luis waved his hand. "It is very evident, señor caballero. Yourway of recording it is exemplary: her way, perhaps, was no less so. "

"You will think me of a sentimental race, " Manvers laughed, "and Iwon't deny it--but it's a fact that I was touched. "

Don Luis, who, throughout the conversation, had been turning thecrucifix about, now examined the inscription. He held it up to thelight that he might see it better. Manvers observed him, but did nottake the hint which was thus, rather bluntly, conveyed him. The caseonce more in his breast-pocket, he saluted Don Luis and went his way. 

Shortly afterwards he left Valladolid on horseback. 

Perhaps a week went by, perhaps ten days; and then Don Luis had avisitor one night in the Café de la Luna, a mean-looking, pale andharassed visitor with a close-cropped head, whose eyebrows flickeredlike summer fires in the sky, who would not sit down, who kept his felthat rolled in his hands, whose deference was extreme, and accepted as amatter of course. He was known in Valladolid, it seemed. Pepe knewhim, called him Tormillo. 

"A sus piés, " was the burthen of his news so far, "a los piés de V|d|, Señor Don Luis. "

Don Luis took no sort of notice of him, but continued to smoke hiscigarette. He allowed the man to stand shuffling about for some threeminutes before he asked him what he wanted. 

That was exactly what Tormillo found it so difficult to explain. Hiseyebrows ran up to hide in his hair, his hands crushed his hat into hischest. "Quien sabe?" he gasped to the company, and Don Luis drainedhis glass. 

Then he looked at the man. "Well, Tormillo?"

Tormillo shifted his feet. "Ha!" he gasped, "who knows what theseñores may be pleased to say? How am I to know? They ask for aninterview, a short interview in the light of the moon. Two caballerosin the Campo Grande--ready to oblige your Excellency. "

"And who, pray, are these caballeros? And why do they stand in theCampo?" Don Luis asked in his grandest manner. Tormillo wheedled inhis explanations. 

"That which they have to report, Señor Don Luis, " he began, craningforward, whispering, grinning his extreme goodwill--"Oho! it is notmatter for the Café. It is matter for the moon, and the shade oftrees. And these caballeros----"

Don Luis paid the hovering Pepe his shot, rose and threw his cloak overhis shoulder. "Follow me, " he said, and, saluting the company, walkedinto the _plaza_. He crossed it, and entered a narrow street, wherethe overhanging houses make a perpetual shade. There he stopped. "Whoare these gentlemen?" he said abruptly. Tormillo seemed to be swimming. 

"Worthy men, Señor Don Luis, worthy of confidence. To me they saidlittle; it is for your grace's ear. They have titles. They arewritten across their foreheads. It is not for me to speak. Who am I, Tormillo, but the slave of your nobility?"

The more he prevaricated, the less Don Luis pursued him. Stiffeninghis neck, shrouded in, his cloak, he now stalked stately from street tostreet until he came to the Puerta del Carmen, through the battlementsof which the moon could be seen looking coldly upon Valladolid. He wasknown to the gatekeeper, who bowed, and opened for him the wicket. 

The great space of the Campo Grande lay like a silver pool, traversedonly by the thin shadows of the trees. At the farther end of theavenue, which leads directly from the gate, two men were standing closetogether. Beyond them a little were two horses, one snuffing at thebare earth, the other with his head thrown up, and ears prickedforward. Don Luis turned sharply on his follower. 

"Guardia Civil?"

"Si, señor, si, " whispered Tormillo, and his teeth clattered likecastanets. Don Luis went on without faltering, and did not stay untilhe was within easy talking distance of the two men. Then it was thathe threw up his head, with a fine gesture of race, and acknowledged thesaluting pair. Tormillo, at this point, turned aside and stoodmiserably under a tree, wringing his hands. 

"Good evening to you, friends. I am Don Luis Ramonez, at your service. "

The pair looked at each other: presently one of them spoke. 

"At the feet of Señor Don Luis. "

"Your business is pressing, and secret?"

"Si, Señor Don Luis, pressing, and secret, and serious. We have to askyour grace to be prepared. "

"I thank you. My preparations are made already. Present your report. "

He took a cigarette from his pocket, and lit it with a steady hand. The flame of the match showed his brows and deep-set eyes. If ever aman had acquaintance with grief printed upon him, it was he. Butthroughout the interview the glowing weed could be seen, a waxing andwaning rim of fire, lighting up his grey moustache and then hovering inmid-air, motionless. 

The officer appointed to speak presented his report in these terms. 

"We were upon our round about the wood of La Huerca six days ago, andhad occasion to visit the Convent of La Peña. Upon informationreceived from the Prior we questioned a certain religious, who admittedthat he had recently buried a man in the wood. After some hesitation, which we had the means of overcoming, he conducted us to the grave. Wedisinterred the deceased, who had been murdered. Señor Don Luis----"

"Proceed, " said Don Luis coldly. "I am listening. "

"Sir, " said the officer. "It was the body of a young man who had comefrom Pobledo. He called himself Estéban Vincaz. " Tormillo, under histree across the avenue, howled and rent himself. Don Luis heard him. 

"Precisely, " he said to the officer. "Have the goodness to wait whileI silence that dog over there. " He went rapidly over the roadway toTormillo, grasped him by the shoulder and spoke to him in a vehementwhisper. That was the single action by which he betrayed himself. Hereturned to his interview. 

"I am now at leisure again. Let us resume our conversation. Youquestioned the religious, you say? When did the assassination takeplace?"

"Don Luis, it was upon the twelfth of May. "

"Ah, " said Don Luis, "the twelfth of May? And did he know whocommitted it?"

"Señor Don Luis, it was a woman. "

The wasted eyes were upon the speaker, and made him nervous. He turnedaway his head. But Don Luis continued his cross-examination. 

"She was a fair woman, I believe? A Valencian?"

"Señor, si, " said the man. "Fair and false, a Valencian. "

Of Valencia they say, "_La carne es herba, la herba agua, el hombremuger, la muger nada_. "

"Her name, " said Don Luis, "began with M. "

"Señor, si. It was Manuela, the dancing girl--called La Valenciana, LaFierita, and a dozen other things. But, pardon me the liberty, yourworship had been informed?"

"I knew something, " said Don Luis, "and suspected something. I am muchobliged to you, my friends. Justice will be done. Good night to you. "He turned, touching the brim of his hat; but the man went after him. 

"A thousand pardons, señor Don Luis, but we have our duty to the State. "

"Eh!" said Don Luis sharply. "Well, then, you had best set to workupon it. "

"If your worship has any knowledge of the whereabouts of this woman----"

"I have none, " said Don Luis. "If I had I would impart it, and when Ihave it shall be yours. Go now with God. "

He crossed the pathway of light, laid his hand on the shoulder of theweeping Tormillo. "Come, I need you, " he said. Tormillo crept afterhim to his lodging, and the Guardias Civiles made themselves cigarettes. 

The following day a miracle was reported in Valladolid. Don LuisRamonez was not in his place in the Café de la Luna. Sebastian thegoldsmith, Gomez the pert barber, Pepe the waiter, Micael thewater-seller of the Plaza Mayor knew nothing of his whereabouts. Theold priest of Las Angustias might have told if his lips had not beensealed. But in the course of the next morning it was noised about thathis Worship had left the city for Madrid, accompanied by a servant. 

CHAPTER XI

GIL PEREZ DE SEGOVIA

Before he left Valladolid Manvers had sold his horse for what he couldget, and had taken the _diligencia_ as far as Segovia. Not a restfulconveyance, the _diligencia_ of Spain: therefore, in that wonderfulcity of towers, silence, and guarded windows, he stayed a full week, inorder, as he put it, that his bones might have time to set. 

[Illustration: The towers of Segovia. ]

There it was that he became the property of Gil Perez, who met him oneday on the doorstep of his hotel, saluted him with a flourish and saidin dashing English, "Good morning, Mister. I am the man for you. Iespeak English very good, Dutch, what you like. I show you my city;you pleased--eh?" He had a merry brown face, half of a quiz and halfof a rogue, was well-dressed in black, wore his hat, which was now inhis hand, rather over one ear. Manvers met his saucy eyes for aminute, saw anxiety behind their impudence, could not be angry, burstinto a laugh, and was heartily joined by Gil Perez. 

"That very good, " said Gil. "You laugh, I very glad. That tell me isall right. " He immediately became serious. "I serve you well, sir, there's no mistake. I am Gil Perez, too well known to the landlord ofthis hotel. You see?" He showed his teeth, which were excellent, andhe had also, Manvers reflected, shown his hand, for what it wasworth--which argued a certain security. 

"Gil Perez, " he said, on an impulse, "I shall take you at your word. Do you wait where you are. " He turned back into the inn and sought hislandlord, who was smoking a cigar in the kitchen while the maidsbustled about. From him he learned what there was to be known of GilPerez; that he was a native of Cadiz who had been valet to an Englishofficer at Gibraltar, followed him out to the Crimea, nursed himthrough dysentery (of which he had died), and had then begged his wayhome again to Spain. He had been in Segovia a year or two, acting asguide or interpreter when he could, living on nothing a day mostly anddoing pretty well on it. 

"He has been in prison, I shall not conceal from your honour, " said thelandlord. "He stabbed a man under the ribs because he had insulted theEnglish. Gil Perez loves your nation. He considers you to be thenatural protectors of the poor. He will serve you well, you may besure. "

"That's what he told me himself, " said Manvers. 

The landlord rested his eyes--large, brown and solemn as those of anox--upon his guest. "He told you the truth, señor. He will serve youbetter than he would serve me. You will be his god. "

"I hope not, " said Manvers, and went out to the door again. Gil Perez, who had been smoking out in the sun, threw his _papelito_ away, stoodat attention and saluted smartly. 

"What was the name of your English master?" Manvers asked him. Gilreplied at once. 

"'E call Capitan Rodney. Royalorse Artillery. 'E say 'Gunner. ' 'Ewas a gentleman, sir. "

"I'm sure he was, " said Manvers. 

"My master espeak very good Espanish. 'E say 'damn your eyes' all thetime; and call me 'Little devil' just the same. Ah, " said Gil Perez, shaking his head. "'E very good gentleman to me, sir--good master. Iloved 'im. 'E dead. " For a minute he gazed wistfully at the sky;then, as if to clinch the sad matter, he turned to Manvers. "I bury'im all right, " he said briskly, and nodded inward the fact. 

Manvers considered for a moment. "I'll give you, " he said, and lookedat Gil keenly as he said it, "I'll give you one _peseta_ a day. " Hesaw his eyes fade and grow blank, though the genial smile hovered stillon his lips. Then the light broke out upon him again. 

"All right, sir, " he said. "I take, and thank you very much. "

Manvers said immediately, "I'll give you two, " and Gil Perez acceptedthe correction silently, with a bow. By the end of the day they wereon the footing of friends, but not without one short crossing ofswords. After dinner, when Manvers strolled to the door of the inn, hefound his guide waiting for him. Gil was in a confidential humour, itseemed. 

"You care see something, sir?"

"What sort of a thing, for instance?" he was asked. 

Gil Perez shrugged. "What you like, sir. " He peered into his patron'sface, and there was infinite suggestion in his next question. "You seefine women?"

Manvers had expected something of the sort and had a steely stare readyfor him. "No, thanks, " he said drily, and Gil saluted and withdrew. He was at the door next morning, affable yet respectful, confident inhis powers of pleasing, of interesting, of arranging everything; but henever presumed again. He knew his affair. 

Three days' sightseeing taught master and man their bearings. Manversgot into the way of forgetting that Gil Perez was there, except when itwas convenient to remember him; Gil, on his part, learned todistinguish between his patron's soliloquies and his conversation. Henever made a mistake after the third day. If Manvers, in the course ofa ramble, stopped abruptly, buried a hand in his beard and said aloudthat he would be shot if he knew which way to turn, Gil Perez watchedhim closely, but made no remark. 

Even, "Look here, you know, this won't do, " failed to move him beyond astate of tension, like that of a cat in the act to pounce. He hadfound out that Manvers talked to himself, and was put about byinterruptions; and if you realise how sure and certain he was that heknew much better than his master what was the very thing, or the lastthing, he ought to do, you will see that he must have put considerablerestraint upon himself. 

But loyalty was his supreme virtue. From the moment Manvers had takenhim on at two pesetas a day he became the perfect servant of a perfectmaster. He could have no doubt, naturally, of his ability toserve--his belief in himself never wavered; but he had none either inhis gentleman's right to command. I believe if Manvers had desired himto cut off his right hand he would have complied with a smile. "Verygood, master. You wanta my 'and? I do. "

If he had a failing it was this: nothing on earth would induce him totalk his own language to his master. He was unmoved by encouragement, unconvinced by the fluency of Manvers' Castilian periods; he would haverisked his place upon this one point of honour. 

"Espanish no good, sir, for you an' me, " he said once with anirresistible smile. "Too damsilly for you. Capitan Rodney, 'e teach, me Englisha speech. Now I know it too much. No, sir. You know whatthey say--them _filosofistas_?" he asked him on another encounter. "They say, God Almighty 'e maka this world in Latin--ver' fine forthata big job. Whata come next? Adamo 'e love his lady inEspanish--esplendid for maka women love. That old Snaka 'e speak to'er in French--that persuade 'er too much. Then Eva she esplain inItalian--ver' soft espeech. Adamo 'e say, That all righta. Then GodAlmighty ver' savage. 'E turn roun' on them two. 'E say, That beblowed, 'e say in English. They understan' 'im too much. Believeme--is the best for you an' me, sir. All people understan' thatespeech. "

Taken as a guide, he installed himself as body servant, silently, tactfully, but infallibly. Manvers caught him one morning puttingboots by his door. "Hulloa, Gil Perez, " he called out, "what are youdoing with my boots?"

Gil's confidential manner was a thing to drink. "That _mozo_, master--'e fool. 'E no maka shine. I show him how Capitan Rodney lika'is boots. See 'is a face in 'em. " He smirked at his own as he spoke, and was so pleased that Manvers said no more. 

The same night he stood behind his master's chair. Manvers contentedhimself by staring at him. Gil Perez smiled with his bright eyes andbecame exceedingly busy. Manvers continued to stare, and presently GilPerez was observed to be sweating. The poor fellow was self-consciousfor once in his life. Obliged to justify himself, he leaned to hismaster's ear. 

"That _mozo_, sir, too much of a dam fool. Imposs' you estand 'im. Itell 'im, This gentleman no like garlic down his neck. I say, Youbreathe too 'ard, my fellow--too much garlic. This gentleman say, Crikey, what a stink! That no good. "

There was no comparison between the new service and the old; and so itwas throughout. Gil Perez drove out the chambermaid and made Manvers'bed; he brushed his clothes as well as his boots, changed his linen forhim, saw to the wash--in fine, he made himself indispensable. But whenManvers announced his coming departure, there was a short tussle, preceded by a pause for breath. 

Gil Perez inquired of the sky, searched up the street, searched down. A group of brown urchins hovered, as always, about the stranger, readyto risk any deadly sin for the chance of a maravedi or the stump of acigar. 

Gil snatched at one by the bare shoulder and spoke him burning words. "_Canalla_, " he cried him, "horrible flea! Thou makest the air toreek--impossible to breathe. Fly, thou gnat of the midden, or I crackthee on my thumb. "

The boys retired swearing, and Gil, with desperate calling-up ofreserves, faced his ordeal. "Ver' good, master, we go when you like. We see Escorial--fine place--see La Granja, come by Madrid thata way. I get 'orses 'ow you please. " Then he had an inspiration, and beamedall over his face. "Or mules! We 'ave mules. Mules cheap, 'orsesdear too much in Segovia. "

Manvers could see very well what he was driving at. "I think I'll takethe _diligencia_, Gil Perez. "

Gil shrugged. "'Ow you like, master. Fine air, thata way. Ver' cheapway to go. You take my advice, you go _coupé_. I go _redonda_ morecheap. Give me your passport, master--I take our place. "

"Yes, I know, " said Manvers. "But I'm not sure that I need take you onwith me. I travel without a servant mostly. "

Gil grappled with his task. He dropped his air of assumption; his eyesglittered. 

"I save you money, master. You find me good servant--make adifference, yes?"

"Oh, a great deal of difference, " Manvers admitted. "I like you; yousuit me excellently well, but----" He considered what he had to do inMadrid, and frowned over it. Manuela was there, and he wished to seeManuela. He had not calculated upon having a servant when he hadpromised himself another interview with her, and was not at all surethat he wanted one. On the other hand, Gil might be useful in a numberof ways--and his discretion and tact were proved. While he hesitated, Gil Perez saw his opportunity and darted in. 

"I know Madrid too much, " he said. "All the ways, all the peoples Iknow. Imposs' you live 'appy in Madrid withouta me. " He smiled allover his face--and when he did that he was irresistible. "You try, " heconcluded, just like a child. 

Manvers, on an impulse, drew from his pocket the gold-set crucifix. "Look at that, Gil Perez, " he said, and put it in his hands. 

Gil looked gravely at it, hack and front. He nodded his approval. "Pretty thing----" and he decided off-hand. "In Valladolid they make. "

"Open it, " said Manvers; but it was opened, before he had spoken. Gil's eyes widened, while the pupils of them contracted intensely. Heread the inscription, pondered it; to the crucifix itself he gave but amomentary glance. Then he shut the case and handed it back to hismaster. 

"I find 'er for you, " he said soberly; and that settled it. 

CHAPTER XII

A GLIMPSE OF MANUELA

Gil Perez had listened gravely to the tale which his master told him. He nodded once or twice, and asked a few questions in the course of thenarrative--questions of which Manvers could not immediately see thebearing. One was concerned with her appearance. Did she wear rings inher ears? He had to confess that he had not observed. Another wasinterjected when he described how she had grown stiff under his armwhen Estéban drew alongside. 

Gil had nodded rapidly, and became impatient as Manvers insisted on thefact. "Of course, of course!" he had said, and then he asked, Did shestiffen her arm and point the first and last fingers of it, keeping themiddle pair clenched?

Manvers understood him, and replied that he had not noticed any suchthing, but that he did not believe she feared the Evil Eye. He went onwith his story uninterrupted until the climax. He had found thecrucifix, he said, on his return from bathing, and had been pleasedwith her for leaving it. Then he related the discovery of the body andhis talk with Fray Juan de la Cruz. Here came in Gil's third question. "Did she return your handkerchief?" he asked--and sharply. 

Manvers started. "By George, she never did!" he exclaimed. "And Idon't wonder at it, " he said on reflection. "If she had to knife thatfellow, and confess to Fray Juan, and escape for her life, she hadenough to do. Of course, she may have left it in the wood. "

Gil Perez pressed his lips together. "She got it still, " he said. "Wefind 'er--I know where to look for it. "

If he did he kept his knowledge to himself, though he spoke freelyenough of Manuela on the way to Madrid. 

"This Manuela, " he explained, "is a Valenciana--where you find fairwomen with black men. Valencianos like Moors--love too much whitewomen. I think Manuela is not Gitanilla; she is what you call aAlfanalf. Then she is like the Gitanas, as proud as a fire, but allthe same a Christian--make free with herself. A Gitana never dare loveChristian man--imposs' she do that. Sometimes all the same she do it. I think Manuela made like that. "

Committed to the statement, he presently saw a cheerful solution of it. "Soon see!" he added, and considered other problems. "That dead manfollow Manuela to kill 'er, " he decided. "When 'e find 'er with you, master, 'e say, 'Now I know why you run, _hija de perra_. Now I killtwo and get a 'orse. ' You see?"

"Yes, " said Manvers, "I see that. And you think that he told her whathe meant to do?"

"Of course 'e tell, " said Gil Perez with scorn. "Make it too bad for'er. Make 'er feel sick. "

"Brute!" cried Manvers; but Gil went blandly on. 

"'E 'ate 'er so much that 'e feel 'ungry and thirsty. 'E eat before 'ekill. Must do it--too 'ungry. Then she go near 'im, twisting 'erselfabout--showing 'erself to please him. 'You kiss me, my 'eart, ' shesay; 'I love you all the same. Kiss me--then you kill. ' 'E look at'er--she very fine girl--give pleasure to see. 'E think, 'I love 'erfirst--strangle after'--and go on looking. She 'old 'im fast and dragdown 'is 'ead--all the time she know where 'e keep _navaja_. She clingand kiss--then nip out _navaja_, and _click_! 'E dead man. "Enthusiasm burned in his black eyes, he stood cheering in his stirrups. "Señor Don Dios! that very fine! I give twenty dollars to see 'er make'im love. "

Manvers for his part, grew the colder as his man waxed warm. He wasclear, however, that he must find the girl and protect her from anytrouble that might ensue. She had put herself within the law to savehim from the knife; she must certainly be defended from the perils ofthe law. 

From what he could learn of Spanish justice that meant money andinfluence. These she should have; but there should be no morepastorals. Her kisses had been sweet, the aftertaste was sour in themouth. Gil Perez with his eloquence and dramatic fire had cured him ofhankering after more of them. The girl was a rip, and there was an endof it. 

He did not blame himself in the least for having kissed a rip--once. There was nothing in that. But he had kissed her twice--and thatsecond kiss had given significance to the first. To think of it madehim sore all over; it implied a tender relation, it made him seem thegirl's lover. Why, it almost justified that sick-faced, grinningrascal, whose staring eyes had shocked him out of his senses. And whata damned fool he had made of himself with the crucifix! He ground histeeth together as he cursed himself for a sentimental idiot. 

For the rest of the way it was Gil Perez who cried up the quest--untilhe was curtly told by his master to talk about something else; and thenGil could have bitten his tongue off for saying a word too much. 

A couple of days at the Escorial, with nothing of Manuela to interfere, served Manvers to recover his tone. Before he was in the capital hewas again that good and happy traveller, to whom all things come wellin their seasons, to whom the seasons of all things are the seasons atwhich they come. He liked the bustle and flaunt of Madrid, he likedits brazen front, its crowded _carreras_, and appetite for shows. There was hardly a day when the windows of the Puerta del Sol had notcarpets on their balconies. Files of halberdiers went daily to andfrom the Palace and the Atocha, escorting some gilded, swinging coach;and every time the Madrileños serried and craned their heads. "_VivaIsabella!_" "_Abajo Don Carlos!_" or sometimes the other way about, thecries went up. Politics buzzed all about the square in the mornings;evening brimmed the cafés. 

Manvers resumed his soul, became again the amused observer. Gil Perezbided his time, and contented himself with being the perfectbody-servant, which he undoubtedly was. 

On the first Sunday after arrival, without any order, he laid beforehis master a ticket for the _corrida_, such a one as comported with hisdignity; but not until he was sure of his ground did he presume todiscuss the gory spectacle. Then, at dinner, he discovered thatManvers had been more interested in the spectators than the fray, andallowed himself free discourse. The Queen and the Court, the _alcaldé_and the Prime Minister, the _manolos_ and _manolas_--he had plenty tosay, and to leave unsaid. He just glanced at theperformers--impossible to omit the _espada_--Corchuelo, the first inSpain. But the fastidious in Manvers was awake and edgy. He had notliked the bull-fight; so Gil Perez kept out of the arena. "I see onevery grand old gentleman there, master, " was one of his chance casts. "You see 'im? 'E grandee of Espain, too much poor, proud all the same. Put 'is 'at on so soon the Queen come in--Don Luis Ramonez de Alavia. "

"Who's he?" asked Manvers. 

"Great gentleman of Valladolid, " said Gil Perez. "Grandee ofEspain--no money--only pride. " He did not add, as he might, that hehad seen Manuela, or was pretty sure that he had. That was delicateground. 

But Manvers, who had forgotten all about her, went cheerfully his ways, and amused himself in his desultory fashion. After the close-pentstreets of Segovia, where the wayfarer seems throttled by the houses, and one looks up for light and pants towards the stars and the air, hewas pleased by the breadth of Madrid. The Puerto del Sol wasmagnificent--like a lake; the Alcalá and San Geronimo were noblerivers, feeding it. He liked them at dawn when the hose-pipe had beennewly at work and these great spaces of emptiness lay gleaming in themild sunlight, exhaling freshness like that of dewy lawns. When, underthe glare of noon, they lay slumbrous, they were impressive by theirprodigality of width and scope; in the bustle and hum of dusk, with thecafés filling, and spilling over on to the pavements, he could not tireof them; but at night, the mystery of their magic enthralled him. Howcould one sleep in such a city? The Puerto del Sol was then a sea ofdark fringed with shores of bright light. The two huge feeders ofit--with what argosies they teemed! Shrouded craft!

[Illustration: Madrid by night. ]

That touch of the East, which you can never miss in Spain, wherever youmay be, was unmistakable in Madrid, in spite of Court and commerce, inspite of newspaper, Stock Exchange, or Cortes. The cloaked figuresmoved silently, swiftly, seldom in pairs, without speech, with footfallscarcely audible. Now and again Manvers heard the throb of a guitar, now and again, with sudden clamour, the clack of castanets. But suchnoises stopped on the instant, and the traffic was resumed--whatever itwas--secret, swift, impenetrable business. 

For the most part this traffic of the night was conducted by men--youngor old, as may be. The _capa_ hid them all, kept their semblance assecret as their affairs. Here and there, but rarely, walked a woman, superbly, as Spanish women will, with a self-sufficiency almostarrogantly strong, robed in white, hooded with a white veil. Themantilla came streaming from the comb, swathed her pale cheeks andenhanced her lustrous eyes; but from top to toe she was (whatever else;she may have been, and it was not difficult to guess) in white. 

Manvers watched them pass and repass; at a distance they looked likemoths, but close at hand showed the carriage and intolerance of queens. They looked at him fairly as they passed, unashamed and unconcerned. Their eyes asked nothing from him, their lips wooed him not. There wasnone of the invitation such women extend elsewhere; far otherwise, itwas the men who craved, the women who dispensed. When they listened itwas as to a petitioner on his knees, when they gave it was like analms. Imperious, free-moving, high-headed creatures, they interestedhim deeply. 

It was true, as Gil Perez was quick to see, that at his firstbull-fight Manvers had been unmoved by the actors, but stirred to thedeeps by the spectators; if he had cared to see another it would havebeen to explore the secrets of this wonderful people, who could becomeanimals without ceasing to be men and women. But why jostle on abench, why endure the dust and glare of a _corrida_ when you can seewhat Madrid can show you: the women by the Manzanares, or the nightlydramas of the streets?

Love in Spain, he began to learn, is a terrible thing; a grim tussle ofwills, a matter of life and death, of meat and drink. He saw lovers, still as death, with upturned faces, tense and white, eating the ironof guarded balconies. Hour by hour they would stand there, waiting, watching, hoping on. No one interfered, no one remarked them. Heheard a woman wail for her lover--wail and rock herself about, carelessof who saw or heard her, and indeed neither seen nor heard. Once hesaw a couple close together, vehement speech between them. A lovers'quarrel, terrible affair! The words seemed to scald. The man had hadhis say, and now it was her turn. He listened to her, touched but notpersuaded--had his reasons, no doubt. But she! Manvers had notbelieved the heart of a girl could hold such a gamut of emotions. Shewas young, slim, very pale; her face was as white as her robe. But hereyes were like burning lakes; and her voice, hoarse though she had madeherself, had a cry in it as sharp as a violin's, to out the very soulof you. She spoke with her hands too, with her shoulders and bosom, with her head and stamping foot. She never faltered though she ranfrom scorn of him to deep scorn of herself, and appealed in turn to hispride, his pity, his honour and his lust. She had no reticence, set nobounds: she was everything, or nothing; he was a god, or dirt of thekennel. In the end--and what a climax!--she stopped in the middle of asentence, covered her eyes, sobbed, gave a broken cry, turned and fledaway. 

The man, left alone, spread his arms out, and lifted his face to thesky, as if appealing for the compassion of Heaven. Manvers could seeby the light of a lamp which fell upon him that there were tears in hiseyes. He was pitying himself deeply. "Señor Jesu, have pity!" Manversheard him saying. "What could I do? Woe upon me, what could I do?"

To him there, as he stood wavering, returned suddenly the girl. Asswiftly as she had gone she came back, like a white squall. "Ah, sonof a thief? Ah, son of a dog!" and she struck him down with a knifeover the shoulder-blade. He gasped, groaned, and dropped; and she wasupon his breast in a minute, moaning her pity and love. She strokedhis face, crooned over him, lavished the loveliest vocables of hertongue upon his worthless carcase, and won him by the very excess ofher passion. The fallen man turned in her arms, and met her lips withhis. 

Manvers, shaking with excitement, left them. Here again was a Manuela!Manuela, her burnt face on fire, her eyes blown fierce by rage, hertawny hair streaming in the wind; Manuela with a knife, hacking thelife out of Estéban, came vividly before him. Ah, those soft lips ofhers could bare the teeth; within an hour of his kissing her she musthave bared them, when she snarled on that other. And her eyes whichhad peered into his, to see if liking were there--how had they gleamed. Upon the man she slew? Her sleekness then was that of the cat; but shehad had no claws for him. 

Why had she left him her crucifix? After all, had she murdered thefellow, or protected herself? She told the monk that she had beendriven into a corner--to save Manvers and herself. Was he to believethat--or his own eyes? His eyes had just seen a Spanish girl with herlover, and his judgment was warped. Manuela might be of that sort--shehad not been so to him. Nor could she ever be so, since there was noquestion of love between them now, and never could be. 

"Come now, " thus he reasoned with himself. "Come now, let us bereasonable. " He had pulled her out of a scuffle and she had beengrateful; she was pretty, he had kissed her. She was grateful, and hadknifed a man who meant him mischief--and she had left him a crucifix. 

Gratitude again. What had her gipsy skin and red kerchief to do withher heart and conscience? "Beware, my son, of the pathetic fallacy, "he told himself, and as he turned into the carrera San Geronimo, beheldManuela robed in white pass along the street. 

He knew her immediately, though her face had but flashed upon him, andthere was not a stitch upon her to remind him of the ragged creature ofthe plain. A white mantilla covered her hair, a white gown hid her tothe ankles. He had a glimpse of a white stocking, and remarked herhigh-heeled white slippers. Startling transformation! But she walkedlike a free-moving creature of the open, and breasted the hot night asif she had been speeding through a woodland way. That was Manuela, whohad lulled a man to save him. 

After a moment or so of hesitation he followed her, keeping hisdistance. She walked steadily up the _carrera_, looking neither toright nor to left. Many remarked her, some tried to stop her. Asoldier followed her pertinaciously, till presently she turned upon himin splendid rage and bade him be off. 

Manvers praised her for that, and, quickening, gained upon her. Sheturned up a narrow street on the right. It was empty. Manvers, gaining rapidly, drew up level. They were now walking abreast, withonly the street-way between them; but she kept a rigid profile tohim--as severe, as proud and fine as the Arethusa's on a coin ofSyracuse. The resemblance was striking; straight nose, short lip, rounded chin; the strong throat; unwinking eyes looking straight beforeher; and adding to these beauties of contour her splendid colouring, and carriage of a young goddess, it is not too much to say that Manverswas dazzled. 

It is true; he was confounded by the excess of her beauty and by hisknowledge of her condition. His experiences of life and cities couldgive him no parallel; but they could and did give him a dangerous senseof power. This glowing, salient creature was for him, if he would. One word, and she was at his feet. 

For a moment, as he walked nearly abreast of her, he was ready to throweverything that was natural to him to the winds. She stirred a depthin him which he had known nothing of. He felt himself trembling allover--but while he hesitated a quick step behind caused him to lookround. He saw a man following Manuela, and presently knew that it wasGil Perez. 

And Gil, with none of his own caution, walked on her side of the streetand, overtaking her, took off his hat and accosted her by some namewhich caused her to turn like a beast at bay. Nothing abashed, Gilasked her a question which clapped a hand to her side and sent hercowering to the wall. She leaned panting there while he talkedrapidly, explaining with suavity and point. It was very interesting toManvers to watch these two together, to see, for instance, how GilPerez comported himself out of his master's presence; or how Manueladealt with one of her own nation. They became strangers to him, peoplehe had never known. He felt a foreigner indeed. 

The greatest courtesy was observed, the most exact distance. Gil Perezkept his hat in his hand, his body at a deferential angle. His weavinghands were never still. Manuela, her first act of royal rage ended, held herself superbly. Her eyes were half closed, her lips tightly so;and she so contrived as to get the effect of looking down upon him froma height. Manvers imagined that his name or person was being broughtinto play, for once Manuela looked at her companion and bowed her headgravely. Gil Perez ran on with his explanations, and apparentlyconvinced her judgment, for she seemed to consent to something which heasked of her; and presently walked on her way with a high head, whileGil Perez, still holding his hat, and still explaining, walked withher, but a little way behind her. 

A cooling experience. Manvers strolled back to his hotel and his bed, with his unsuspected nature deeply hidden again out of sight. Hewondered whether Gil Perez would have anything to tell him in themorning, or whether, on the other hand, he would be discreetly silentas to the adventure. He wondered next where that adventure would end. He had no reason to suppose his servant a man of refined sensibilities. Remembering his eloquence on the road to Madrid, the paean he blew uponthe fairness of Valencian women, he laughed. "Here's a muddy wash uponmy blood-boltered pastoral, " he said aloud. "Here's an end of myknight-errantry indeed!"

There was nearly an end of him--for almost at the same moment he wasconscious of a light step behind him and of a sharp stinging pain and ablow in the back. He turned wildly round and struck out with hisstick. A man, doubled in two, ran like a hare down the empty streetand vanished into the dark. Manvers, feeling sick and faint, leaned torecover himself against a doorway, and probably fell; for when he cameto himself he was in his bed in the hotel, with Gil Perez and a gravegentleman in black standing beside him. 

CHAPTER XIII

CHIVALRY OF GIL PEREZ

He felt stiff and stupid, with a roasting spot in his back between hisshoulders; but he was able to see the light in Gil Perez' eyes--whichwas a good light, saying, "Well so far--but I look for more. " NeitherGil nor the spectacled gentleman in black--the surgeon, hepresumed--spoke to him, and disinclined for speech himself, Manvers laywatching their tip-toe ministrations, with spells of comfortable dozingin between, in the course of which he again lost touch with the worldof Spain. 

When he came to once more he was much better and felt hungry. He sawGil Perez by the window, reading a little book. The sun-blinds weredown to darken the room; Gil held his book slantwise to a chink andread diligently, moving his lips to pronounce the words. 

"Gil Perez, " said Manvers, "what are you reading?" Gil jumped up atonce. 

"You better, sir? Praised be God! I read, " he said, "a littlecatholic book which calls itself 'The Garden of the Soul'--ver' goodlittle book. What you call ver' 'ealthy--ver' good for 'im. But youare better, master. You 'ungry--I get you a broth. " Which he did, having it hot and hot in the next room. 

"Now I tell you all the 'istory of this affair, " he said. "Last nightI see Manuela out a walking. I follow 'er too much--salute 'er--shelift 'er 'ead back to strike me dead. I say, 'Señorita, one word. Whyyou give your crucifix to my master--ha?' Sir, she began toshake--'ead shake, knee shake; I think she fall into 'erself. You seeflowers in frost all estiff, stand up all right. By'nbye the sun, 'eclimb the sky--thosa flowers they fall esquash--all rotten insida. SoManuela fall into 'erself. Then I talk to 'er--she tell me all the'istory of thata time. She kill Estéban Vincaz, she tell me--kill 'imquick, just what I told you. Becausa why? Becausa she dicksureEstéban kill you. But I say to 'er, Manuela, that was too bad, lady. Kill Estéban all the same. Ver' good for 'im, send 'im what you callkingdom-come like a shot. But you leava that crucifix on my master'splate--make 'im tender, too sorry for you. He think, Thata nice girl, very. I like 'er too much. Now 'e 'as your crucifix in gold, likapiece of Vera Cruz, lika Santa Teresa's finger, and all the world knowyou kill Estéban Vincaz and 'e like you. Sir, I make 'er sorry--shebegin to cry. I think--" and Gil Perez walked to the window--"I thinkManuela ver' fine girl--like a rose. Now, master--" and he returned tothe bed--"I tell you something. That man who estab you las' night wasTormillo. You know who?"

Manvers shook his head. "Never heard of him, my friend. Who is he?"

"He is servant to Don Luis Ramonez, the same I see at the _corrida_. Itell you about 'im--no money, all pride. "

Manvers stared. "And will you have the goodness to tell me why DonLuis should want to have me stabbed?"

"I tell you, sir, " said Gil Perez. "Estéban Vincaz was Don BartoloméRamonez, son to Don Luis. Bad son 'e was, if you like, sir. Wil'oats, what you call. All the sama nobleman, all the sama only son toDon Luis. "

Manvers considered this oracle with what light he had. "Don Luissupposes that I killed his son, then, " he said. "Is that it?"

"'E damsure, " said Gil Perez, blinking fast. 

"On Manuela's account--eh?"

"Like a shot!" cried Gil Perez with enthusiasm. 

"So of course he thinks it his duty to kill me in return. "

"Of course 'e does, sir, " said Gil. "I tell you, 'e is proud like thedevil. "

"I understand you, " said Manvers. "But why does he hire a servant todo his revenges?"

"Because 'e think you dog, " Gil replied calmly. "'E not beara touchyou witha poker. "

Manvers laughed, and said, "We'll leave it at that. Now I want to knowone more thing. How on earth did Don Luis find out that I was in thewood with Manuela and his son?"

"Ah, " said Gil Perez, "now you aska me something. Who knows?" Heshrugged profusely. Then his face cleared. "Leave it to me, sir. Iask Tormillo. " He was on his feet, as if about to find the assassinthere and then. 

"Stop a bit, " said Manvers, "stop a bit, Gil. Now I must tell you thatI also saw Manuela last night. "

"Ah, " said Gil Perez softly; and his eyes glittered. 

"I saw her in the street, " Manvers continued, watching his servant. "She was all in white. "

Gil Perez blinked this fact. "Yes, sir, " he said. "That is true. Poor girl. " His eyes clouded over. "Poor Manuela!" he was heard tosay to himself. 

"I followed her for a while, " said Manvers, "and saw you catch her up, and stop her. Then I went away; and then that rascal struck me in theback. Now do you suppose that Don Luis means to serve Manuela the sameway?"

Gil Perez did not blink any more. "I think 'e wisha that, " he said;"but I think 'e won't. "

"Why not?"

"Because I tell Manuela what I see at the _corrida_. She was theretoo. She know it already. Bless you, she don't care. "

"But I care, " said Manvers sharply. "I've got her on my conscience. Idon't intend her to suffer on my account. "

"That, " said Gil Perez, "is what she wanta do. " He looked piercinglyat his master. "You know, sir, I ask 'er for your 'andkerchief. "

"Well?" Manvers raised his eyebrows. 

"I tell you whata she do. She look allaways in the dark. Nobodythere. Then she open 'er gown--so!" and Gil held apart the bosom ofhis shirt. "I see it in there. " There were tears in Gil's eyes. "Poor Manuela!" he murmured, as if that helped him. "I make 'er giveit me. No good she keepa that in there. "

"Where is it?" he was asked. He tried to be his jaunty self, butfailed. 

"Not 'ere, sir. I 'ave it--I senda to the wash. " Manvers lookedkeenly at him, but said nothing. He had a suspicion that Gil Perez wastelling a lie. 

"You had better get her out of Madrid, " he said, after a while. "Theremay be trouble. Let her go and hide herself somewhere until this hasblown over. Give me my pocket-book. " He took a couple of bills outand handed them to Gil. "There's a hundred for her. Get her into somesafe place--and the sooner the better. We'll see her through thisbusiness somehow. "

Gil Perez--very unlike himself--suddenly snatched at his hand andkissed it. Then he sprang to his feet again and tried to look as if hehad never done such a thing. He went to the door and put his head out, listening. "Doctor coming, " he said. "All righta leave you with 'im. "

"Of course it's all right, " said Manvers. But Gil shook his head. 

"Don Luis make me sick, " he said. "No use 'e come 'ere. "

"You mean that he might have another shot at me?"

Gil nodded; very wide-eyed and serious he was. "'E try. I know 'imtoo much. " Manvers shut his eyes. 

"I expect he'll have the decency to wait till I'm about again. Anyhow, I'll risk it. What you have to do is to get Manuela away. "

"Yessir, " said Gil in his best English, and admitted the surgeon with abow. Then he went lightfooted out of the room and shut the door afterhim. 

He was away two hours or more, and when he returned seemed perfectlyhappy. 

"Manuela quite safa now, " he told his master. 

"Where is she, Gil?" he was asked, and waved his hand airily for reply. 

"She all right, sir. Near 'ere. Quita safe. Presently I see 'er. "He could not be brought nearer than that. Questioned on other matters, he reported that he had failed to find either Don Luis or Tormillo, andwas quite unable to say how they knew of his master's relations withthe Valencian girl, or what their further intentions were. His chagrinat having been found wanting in any single task set him was a greatdelight to Manvers and amused the slow hours of his convalescence. 

His wound, which was deep but not dangerous, healed well and quickly. In ten days he was up again and inquiring for Manuela's whereabouts. Better not see her, he was advised, until it was perfectly certain thatDon Luis was appeased. Gil promised that in a few days' time he wouldgive an account of everything. 

It is doubtful, however, whether he would have kept his word, had notevents been too many for him. One day after dinner he asked his masterif he might speak to him. On receiving permission, he drew him apartinto a little room, the door of which he locked. 

"Hulloa, Gil Perez, " said Manvers, "what is your game now?"

"Sir, " said Gil, holding his head up, and looking him full in the face. "I must espeak to you about Manuela. She is in the Carcel de laCorte--to-morrow they take 'er to the Audiencia about thatassassination. " He folded his arms and waited, watching the effect ofhis words. 

Manvers was greatly perturbed. "Then you've made a mess of it, " hesaid angrily. "You've made a mess of it. "

"No mess, " said Gil Perez. "She tell me must go to gaol. I say, allrighta, lady. "

"You had no business to say anything of the sort, " Manvers said. "I amsorry I ever allowed you to interfere. I am very much annoyed withyou, Perez. " He had never called him Perez before--and that hurt Gilmore than anything. His voice betrayed his feelings. 

"You casta me off--call me Perez, lika stranger! All right, sir--whatyou like, " he stammered. "I tell you, Manuela very fine girl--and whythe devil I make 'er bad? No, sir, that imposs'. She too good for me. She say, Don Luis estab my saviour! Never, never, for me! I show DonLuis what's whata, she say. I give myself up to justice; then 'e keepaquiet--say, That's all right. So she say to Paquita--that big girl whosleep with 'er when--when----" he was embarrassed. "Mostly alwayssleep with 'er, " he explained--"She say, 'Give me your veil, Paquita demi alma. ' Then she cover 'erself and say to me, 'Come, Gil Perez. ' Isay, 'Señorita, where you will. ' We go to the Carcel de la Corte. Three or four alguazils in the court see 'er come in; saluta 'er, 'Good-day, señora--at the feet of your grace, ' they say; for they think''ere come a dam fine woman to see 'er lover. ' She eshiver and lift'erself. 'I am no señora, ' she essay. 'Bad girl. Nama Manuela. Iestab Don Bartolomé Ramonez de Alavia in the wood of La Huerca. Youtaka me--do what you like. ' Sir, I say, thata very fine thing. Iwould kissa the 'and of any girl who do that--same I kiss your 'and. "His voice broke. "By God, I would!"

"What next?" said Manvers, moved himself. 

"Sir, " said Gil Perez, "those alguazils clacka the tongue. 'Soho, laManola!' say one, and lift 'er veil and look at 'er. All those otherscome and look too. They say she dam pretty woman. She standa thereand look at them, lika they were dirt down in the street. Then Iessay, 'Señores, you pleasa conduct this lady to the carcelero in twominutes, or you pay me, Gil Perez, 'er esservant. Thisa lady 'avefriends, ' I say. 'Better for you, señores, you fetcha carcelero. 'They look at me sharp--and they thinka so too. Then the carcelero 'ecome, and I espeak with him and say, 'We 'ave too much money. Do whatyou like. '"

"And what did he do?" Manvers asked. 

"He essay, 'Lady, come with me. ' So then we go away witha carcelero, and I eshow my fingers--so--to those alguazils and say, 'Dam your eyes, you fellows, vayan ustedes con Dios!' Then the carcelero maka bow. 'Esay to Manuela, 'Señora, you 'ave my littla room. All by yourself. Mywifa she maka bed--you first-class in there. Nothing to do with themdogs down there. I give them what-for lika shot, ' say the carcelero. So I pay 'im well with your bills, sir, and see Manuela all the timeevery day. "

He took rapid strides across the room--but stopped abruptly and lookedat Manvers. There was fire in his eyes. "She lika saint, sir. Icatch 'er on 'er knees before our Lady of Atocha. I 'ear 'er words allbroken to bits. I see 'er estrike 'er breasts--Oh, God, that make memad! She say, 'Oh, Lady, you with your sorrow and your love--you knowme very well. Bad girl, too unfortunate, too miserable--your daughterall the sama, and your lover. Give me a great 'eart, Lady, that I maytell all the truth--all--all--all! If 'e thoughta well of me, ' shesay, crying like one o'clock, 'let 'im know me better. No good 'ethink me fine woman--no good he kissa me'"--the delicacy with which GilPerez treated this part of the history, which Manvers had never toldhim, was a beautiful thing--"'I wanta tell 'im all my 'istory. Then hesay, Pah, what a beast! and serva me right. ' Sir, then she bow rightadown to the grounda, she did, and covered 'er 'ead. I say, 'Manuela, Ilove you with alla my soul--but you do well, my 'eart. ' And then sheturn on me and tell me to go quick. "

"So you are in love with her, Gil?" Manvers asked him. Gil admitted it. 

"I love 'er the minute I see 'er at the _corrida_. My 'earta go allawater--but I know 'er. I say to myself, "That is la Manuela of mymaster Don Osmondo. You be careful, Gil Perez. '"

Manvers said, "Look here, Gil, I'm ashamed of myself. I kissed her, you know. "

"Yessir, " said Gil, and touched his forehead like a groom. 

"If I had known that you--but I had no idea of it until this moment. Ican only say----"

"Master, " said Gil, "saya nothing at all. I love Manuela likamad--that quite true; but she thinka me dirt on the pavement. "

"Then she's very wrong, " Manvers said. 

"No, sir, " said Gil, "thata true. All beautiful girls lika that. Iunderstanda too much. But look 'ere--if she belong to me, that all thesame, because I belong to you. You do what you like with 'er. I say, That all the same to me!"

"Gil Perez, " said Manvers, "you're a gentleman, and I'm very muchashamed of myself. But we must do what we can for Manuela. I shallgive evidence, of course. I think I can make the judge understand. "

Gil was inordinately grateful, but could not conceal his nervousness. "I think the Juez, 'e too much friend with Don Luis. I think 'e knowwhat to do all the time before. Manuela have too mucha trouble. Allasame she ver' fine girl, most beautiful, most unhappy. That do 'ergood if she cry. "

"I don't think she'll cry, " Manvers said, and Gil Perez snorted. 

"She cry! By God she never! She Espanish girl, too mucha proud, toomucha dicksure what she do with Don Bartolomé. She know she serve 'imright. Do againa all the time. What do you think 'e do with 'er when'e 'ave 'er out there in Pobledo an' all those places? Vaya! I tellyou, sir. 'E want to live on 'er. 'E wanta make 'er too bad. Thenshe run lika devil. Sir, I tell you what she say to me other days. 'When I saw 'im come longside Don Osmundo, ' she say, 'I look in 'isface an' I see Death. 'E grin at me--then I know why 'e come. 'E talkvery nice--soft, lika gentleman--then I know what 'e want. I say, Sonof a dog, never!'"

"Poor girl, " said Manvers, greatly concerned. 

"Thata quite true, sir, " Gil Perez agreed. "Very unfortunate finegirl. But you know what we say in Espain. Make yourself 'oney, wesay, and the flies willa suck you. Manuela too much 'oney all thetime. I know that, because she tell me everything, to tell you. "

"Don't tell me, " said Manvers. 

"Bedam if I do, " said Gil Perez. 

CHAPTER XIV

TRIAL BY QUESTION

The court was not full when Manvers and his advocate, with Gil Perez inattendance, took their places; but it filled up gradually, and theJudge of First Instance, when he took his seat upon the tribunal, faceda throng not unworthy of a bull-fight. Bestial, leering, inflamedfaces, peering eyes agog for mischief, all the nervous expectation ofthe sudden, the bloody or terrible were there. 

There was the same dead hush when Manuela was brought in as when theythrow open the doors of the _toril_, and the throng holds its breath. Gil Perez drew his with a long whistling sound, and Manvers, who coulddare to look at her, thought he had never seen maidenly dignity morebeautifully shown. She moved to her place with a gentle consciousnessof what was due to herself very touching to see. 

The crowded court thrilled and murmured, but she did not raise hereyes; once only did she show her feeling, and that was when she passednear the barrier where the spectators could have touched her by leaningover. More than one stretched his hand out, one at least his walkingcane. Then she took hold of her skirt and held it back, just as a girldoes when she passes wet paint. This little touch, which made theyoung men jeer and whisper obscenity, brought the water to Manvers'eyes. He heard Gil Perez draw again his whistling breath, and felt himtremble. Directly Manuela was in her place, standing, facing theassize, Gil Perez looked at her, and never took his eyes from heragain. She was dressed in black, and her hair was smooth over herears, knotted neatly on the nape of her neck. 

The Judge, a fatigued, monumental person with a long face, pointedwhiskers, and the eyes of a dead fish, told her to stand up. As shewas already standing, she looked at him with patient inquiry; but hetook no notice of that. Her self-possession was indeed remarkable. She gave her answers quietly, without hesitation, and when anything wasasked her which offended her, either ignored it or told the questionerwhat she thought of it. From the outset Manvers could see that theJudge's business was to incriminate her beyond repair. Her plea ofguilty was not to help her. She was to be shown infamous. 

The examination ran thus:--

_Judge_: "You are Manuela, daughter of Incarnacion Presa of Valencia, and have never known your father?" (_Manuela bows her head_. ) "Answerthe Court. "

_Manuela_: "It is true. "

_Judge_: "It is said that your father was the _gitano_ Sagruel?"

_Manuela_: "I don't know. "

_Judge_: "You may well say that. Remember that you are condemning yourmother by such answers. Your mother sold you at twelve years old to anunfrocked priest named Tormes?"

_Manuela_: "Yes. For three _pesos_. "

_Judge_: "Disgraceful transaction! This wretch taught you dancing, posturing, and all manner of wickedness?"

_Manuela_: "He taught me to dance. "

_Judge_: "How long were you in his company?"

_Manuela_: "For three years. "

_Judge_: "He took you from fair to fair. You were a public dancer?"

_Manuela_: "That is true. "

_Judge_: "I can imagine--the court can imagine--your course of lifeduring this time. This master of yours, this Tormes, how did he treatyou?"

_Manuela_: "Very ill. "

_Judge_: "Be more explicit, Manuela. In what way?"

_Manuela_: "He beat me. He hurt me. "

_Judge_: "Why so?"

_Manuela_: "I cannot tell you any more about him. "

_Judge_: "You refuse?"

_Manuela_: "Yes. "

Judge: "The court places its interpretation upon your silence. " (Helooked painfully round as if he regretted the absence of the propermeans of extracting answers. Manvers heard Gil Perez curse him underhis breath. )

The Judge made lengthy notes upon the margin of his docquet, and thenproceeded. 

_Judge_: "The young gentleman, Don Bartolomé Ramonez, first saw you atthe fair of Salamanca in 1859?"

_Manuela_: "Yes. "

_Judge_: "He saw you often, and followed you to Valladolid, where hisfather Don Luis lived?"

_Manuela_: "Yes. "

_Judge_: "He professed his passion for you, gave you presents?"

_Manuela_: "Yes. "

_Judge_: "You persuaded him to take you away from Tormes?"

_Manuela_: "No. "

_Judge_: "What do I hear?"

_Manuela_: "I said 'No. ' It was because he said that he loved me thatI went with him. He wished to marry me, he said. "

_Judge_: "What! Don Bartolomé Ramonez marry a public dancer! Becareful what you say there, Manuela. "

_Manuela_: "He told me so, and I believed him. "

_Judge_: "I pass on. You were with him until the April of thisyear--you were with him two years?"

_Manuela_: "Yes. "

_Judge_: "And then you found another lover and deserted him?"

_Manuela_: "No. I ran away from him by myself. "

_Judge_: "But you found another lover?"

_Manuela_: "No. "

_Judge_: "Be careful, Manuela. You will trip in a moment. You ranaway from Don Bartolomé when you were at Pobledo, and you went toPalencia. What did you do there?"

_Manuela_: "I cannot answer you. "

_Judge_: "You mean that you will not?"

_Manuela_: "I mean that I cannot. "

_Judge_: "This is wilful prevarication again. I have authority tocompel you. "

_Manuela_: "You have none. "

_Judge_: "We shall see, Manuela, we shall see. You left Palencia onthe 12th of May in the company of an Englishman?"

_Manuela_: "Yes. "

_Judge_: "He is here in court?"

_Manuela_: "Yes. "

_Judge_: "Do you see him at this moment?"

_Manuela_: "Yes. " (But she did not turn her head to look at Manversuntil the Judge forced her. )

_Judge_: "I am not he. I am not likely to have taken you from Palenciaand your proceedings there. Look at the Englishman. " (She hesitatedfor a little while, and then turned her eyes upon him with such gentlemodesty that Manvers felt nearer to loving her than he had ever done. He rose slightly in his seat and bowed to her: she returned the salutelike a young queen. The Judge had gained nothing by that. ) "I seethat you treat each other with ceremony; there may be reasons for that. We shall soon see. This gentleman then took you away from Palencia inthe direction of Valladolid, and made you certain proposals. What werethey?"

_Manuela_: "He proposed that I should return to Palencia. "

_Judge_: "And you refused?"

_Manuela_: "Yes. "

_Judge_: "Why?"

_Manuela_: "I could not go back to Palencia. "

_Judge_: "Why?"

_Manuela_: "There were many reasons. One was that I was afraid ofseeing Estéban there. "

_Judge_: "You mean Don Bartolomé Ramonez de, Alavia?" (She nodded. )"Answer me. "

_Manuela_: "Yes, yes. "

_Judge_: "You are impatient because your evil deeds are coming tolight. I am not surprised; but you must command yourself. There ismore to come. " (Manvers, who was furious, asked his advocate whethersomething could not be done. Directly her fear of Estéban was touchedupon, he said, the Judge changed his tactics. The advocate smiled. "Be patient, sir, " he said. "The Judge has been instructedbeforehand. " "You mean, " said Manvers, "that he has been bribed?" "Idid not say so, " the advocate replied. )

The Judge returned to Palencia. "What other reasons had you?" was hisnext question, but Manuela was clever enough to see where her strengthlay. "My fear of Estéban swallowed all other reasons. " She savedherself, and with unconcealed chagrin the Judge went on towards thereal point. 

_Judge_: "The Englishman then made you another proposal?"

_Manuela_: "Yes, sir. He proposed to take me to a convent. "

_Judge_: "You refused that?"

_Manuela_: "No, sir. I should have been glad to go to a convent. "

_Judge_: "You, however, accepted his third proposal, namely, that youshould be under his protection?"

_Manuela_: "I was thankful for his protection when I saw Estébancoming. "

_Judge_: "I have no doubt of that. You had reason to fear DonBartolomé's resentment?"

_Manuela_: "I knew that Estéban intended to murder me. "

_Judge_: "Don Bartolomé overtook you. You were riding before theEnglishman on his horse?"

_Manuela_: "Yes. I could not walk. I was ill. "

_Judge_: "Don Bartolomé remained with you until the Englishman ranaway?"

_Manuela_: "He did not run away. Why should he? He went away on hisown affairs. "

_Judge_ (after looking at his papers): "I see. The Englishman wentaway after the pair of you had killed Don Bartolomé?"

_Manuela_: "That is not true. He went away to bathe, and then I killedEstéban with his own knife. I killed him because he told me that heintended to murder me, and the English gentleman who had been kind tome. I confess it--I confessed it to the _alguazils_ and the_carcelero_. You may twist what I say as you will, to please yourfriends, but the truth is in what I say. "

_Judge_: "Silence! It is for you to answer the questions which I putto you. You forget yourself, Manuela. But I will take your confessionas true for the moment. Supposing it to be true, did you not stab DonBartolomé in the neck in order that you might be free?"

_Manuela_: "I killed him to defend myself and an innocent person. Ihave told you so. "

_Judge_: "Why should Don Bartolomé wish to kill you?"

_Manuela_: "He hated me because I had refused to do his pleasure. Hewished to make me bad----"

_Judge_ (lifting his hands and throwing his head up): "Bad! Was he notjealous of the Englishman?"

_Manuela_: "I don't know. "

_Judge_: "Did he not tell you that the Englishman was your lover? Didyou not say so to Fray Juan de la Cruz?"

_Manuela_: "He spoke falsely. It was not true. He may have believedit. "

_Judge_: "We shall see. Have patience, Manuela. Having slain your oldlover, you were careful to leave a token for his successor. You leftmore than that: your crucifix from your neck, and a message with FrayJuan?"

_Manuela_: "Yes. I told Fray Juan the whole of the truth, and beggedhim to tell the gentleman, because I wished him to think well of me. Itold him that Estéban----"

_Judge_: "Softly, softly, Manuela. Why did you leave your crucifixbehind you?"

_Manuela_: "Because I was grateful to the gentleman who had saved mylife at Palencia; because I had nothing else to give him. Had I hadanything more valuable I would have left it. Nobody had been kind tome before. "

_Judge_: "You know what he has done with your crucifix, Manuela?"

_Manuela_: "I do not. "

_Judge_: "What are you saying?"

_Manuela_: "The truth. "

_Judge_: "I have the means of confuting you. You told Fray Juan thatyou were going to Madrid?"

_Manuela_: "I did not. "

_Judge_: "In the hope that he would tell the Englishman?"

_Manuela_: "If he told the gentleman that, he lied. "

_Judge_: "It is then a singular coincidence which led to your meetinghim here in Madrid?"

_Manuela_: "I did not meet him. "

_Judge_: "Did you not meet him a few nights before you surrendered tojustice?"

_Manuela_: "No. "

_Judge_: "Did you meet his servant?"

_Manuela_: "I cannot tell you. "

_Judge_: "Did not the Englishman pay for your lodging in the Carcel dela Corte? Did he not send his servant every day to see you?"

_Manuela_: "The gentleman was lying wounded at the hotel. He had beenstabbed in the street. "

_Judge_: "We are not discussing the Englishman's private affairs. Answer my questions?"

_Manuela_: "I cannot answer them. "

_Judge_: "You mean that you will not, Manuela. Did you not know thatthe Englishman caused your crucifix to be set in gold, like a holyrelic?"

_Manuela_: "I did not know it. "

_Judge_: "We have it on your own confession that you slew Don BartoloméRamonez in the wood of La Huerca, and you admit that the Englishman wasprotecting you before that dreadful deed was done, that he has sincepaid for your treatment in prison, and that he has treasured yourcrucifix like a sacred relic?"

_Manuela_: "You are pleased to say these things. I don't say them. You wish to incriminate a person who has been kind to me. "

_Judge_: "I will ask you one more question, Manuela. Why did you giveyourself up to justice?"

_Manuela_ (after a painful pause, speaking with high fervour and someapproach to dramatic effect): "I will answer you, señor Juez. It wasbecause I knew that Don Luis would contrive the death of Don Osmundo ifI did not prove him innocent. "

_Judge_ (rising, very angry): "Silence! The court cannot entertainyour views of persons not concerned in your crime. "

_Manuela_: "But----" (She shrugged, and looked away. )

_Judge_: "You can sit down. "

CHAPTER XV

NEMESIS--DON LUIS

Manvers' reiterated question of how in the name of wonder Don Luis oranybody else knew what he had done with Manuela's crucifix was answeredbefore the day was over; but not by Gil Perez or the advocate whom hehad engaged to defend the unhappy girl. 

This personage gave him to understand without disguise that there wasvery little chance for Manuela. The Judge, he said, had been"instructed. " He clung to that phrase. When Manvers said, "Let usinstruct him a little, " he took snuff and replied that he fearedprevious "instruction" might have created a prejudice. He undertook, however, to see him privately before judgment was delivered, butintimated that he must have a very free hand. 

Manvers' rejoinder took the shape of a blank cheque with his signatureupon it. The advocate, fanning himself with it in an abstractedmanner, went on to advise the greatest candour in the witness-box. "Beware of irritation, dear sir, " he said. "The Judge will plant abanderilla here and there, you may be sure. That is his method. Youlearn more from an angry man than a cool one. For my own part, " hewent on, "you know how we stand--without witnesses. I shall do what Ican, you may be sure. "

"I hope you will get something useful from the prisoner, " Manvers said. "A little of Master Estéban's private history should be useful. "

"It would be perfectly useless, if you will allow me to say so, "replied the advocate. "The Judge will not hear a word against a familylike the Ramonez. So noble and so poor! Perhaps you are not awarethat the Archbishop of Toledo is Don Luis' first cousin? That is so. "

"But is that allowed to justify his rip of a son in goading a girl onto murder?" cried Manvers. 

The advocate again took snuff, shrugging as he tapped his fingers onthe box. "The Ramonez say, you see, sir, that Don Bartolomé may havethreatened her, moved by jealousy. Jealousy is a well-understoodpassion here. The plea is valid and good. "

"Might it not stand for Manuela too?" he was asked. 

"I don't think we had better advance it, Don Osmundo, " he said, after asignificant pause. 

Gil Perez, pale and all on edge, had been walking the room like a cagedwolf. He swore to himself--but in English, out of politeness to hismaster. "Thata dam thief! Ah, Juez of my soul, if I see you twist in'ell is good for me. " Presently he took Manvers aside and, his eyesfull of tears, asked him, "Sir, you escusa Manuela, if you please. Shemaka story ver' bad to 'ear. She no like--I see 'er red as fire, burnlike the devil, sir. She ver' unfortunata girl--too beautiful to live. And all these 'ogs--Oh, my God, what can she do?" He opened his arms, and turned his pinched face to the sky. "What can she do, Oh, my God?"he cried. "So beautiful as a rose, an' so poor, and so a child! Yousorry, sir, hey?" he asked, and Manvers said he was more sorry than hecould say. 

That comforted him. He kissed his master's hand, and then told himthat Manuela was glad that he knew all about her. "She dam glad, sir, that I know. She say to me las' night--'What I shall tell the Juezwill be the very truth. Señor Don Osmundo shall know what I am, ' shesay. 'To 'im I could never say it. To thata Juez too easy say it. To-morrow, ' she say, ''e know me for what I am--too bad girl!'"

"I think she is a noble girl, " said Manvers. "She's got more couragein her little finger than I have in my body. She's a girl in athousand. "

Gil Perez glowed, and lifted up his beaten head. "Esplendid--eh?" hecried out. "By God, I serve 'er on my knees!"

On returning to the court, the beard and patient face of Fray Juangreeted our friend. He had very little to testify, save that he wassure the Englishman had known nothing of the crime. The prisoner hadtold him her story without haste or passion. He had been struck bythat. She said that she killed. Don Bartolomé in a hurry lest heshould kill both her and her benefactor. She had not informed him, norhad he reported to the gentleman, that she was going to Madrid. TheEnglishman said that he intended to find her, and witness had stronglyadvised him against it. He had told him that his motives would bemisunderstood. "As, in fact, they have been, brother?" the advocatesuggested. Fray Juan raised his eyebrows, and sighed. "_Quien sabe?_"was his answer. 

Manvers then stood up and spoke his testimony. He gave the facts asthe reader knows then, and made it clear that Manuela was in terror ofEstéban from the moment he appeared, and even before he appeared. Hehad noticed that she frequently glanced behind them as they rode, andhad asked her the reason. Her fear of him in the wood was manifest, and he blamed himself greatly for leaving her alone with the young man. 

"I was new to the country, you must understand, " he said. "I could seethat there was some previous acquaintance between those two, but couldnot guess that it was so serious. I thought, however, that they hadmade up their differences and gone off together when I returned frombathing. When Pray Juan showed me the body and told me what had beendone I was very much shocked. It had been, in one sense, my fault, forif I had not rescued her, Estéban would not have suspected me, orintended my death. That I saw at once; and my desire of meetingManuela again was that I might defend her from the consequences of anact which I had, in that one sense, brought about--to which she had, atany rate, been driven on my account. "

"I will ask you, sir, " said the Judge, "one question upon that. Wasthat also your motive in having the crucifix set in pure gold?"

"No, " said Manvers, "not altogether. I doubt if I can explain that toyou. "

"I am of that opinion myself, " said the Judge, with an elaborate bow. "But the court will be interested to hear you. "

The court was. 

"This girl, " Manvers said, "was plainly most unfortunate. She wasragged, poorly fed, had been ill-used, and was being shamefully handledwhen I first saw her. I snatched her out of the hands of the wretcheswho would have torn her to pieces if I had not interfered. Frombeginning to end I never saw more shocking treatment of a woman than Isaw at Palencia. Not to have interfered would have shamed me for life. What then? I rescued her, as I say, and she showed herself grateful ina variety of ways. Then Estéban Vincaz came up and chose to treat meas her lover. I believe he knew better, and think that my horse andhaversack had more to do with it. Well, I left Manuela with him in thewood--hardly, I may suggest, the act of a lover--and never saw Estébanalive again. But I believe Manuela's story absolutely; I am certainshe would not lie at such a time, or to such a man as Fray Juan. Thefacts were extraordinary, and her crime, done as it was in defence ofmyself, was heroic--or I thought so. Her leaving of the crucifix was, to me, a proof of her honest intention. I valued the gift, partly forthe sake of the giver, partly for the act which it commemorated. Shehad received a small service from me, and had returned it fifty-fold byan act of desperate courage. To crown her charity, she left me allthat she had in the world. I do not wonder myself at what I did. Itook the crucifix to a jeweller at Valladolid, had it set as I thoughtit deserved--and I see now that I did her there a cruel wrong. "

"Permit me to say, sir, " said the triumphant Judge, "that you also didDon Luis Ramonez a great service. Through your act, however intended, he has been enabled to bring a criminal to justice. "

"I beg pardon, " said Manvers, "she brought herself to justice--so soonas Don Luis Ramonez sent his assassin out to stab me in the back, andin the dark. And this again was a proof of her heroism, since shethought by these means to satisfy his craving for human blood. "

Manvers spoke incisively and with severity. The court thrilled, andthe murmuring was on his side. The Judge was much disturbed. Manuelaalone maintained her calm, sitting like a pensive Hebe, her cheek uponher hand. 

The Judge's annoyance was extreme. It tempted him to wrangle. 

"I beg you, sir, to restrain yourself. The court cannot listen toextraneous matter. It is concerned with the consideration of a seriouscrime. The illustrious gentleman of your reference mourns the loss ofhis only son. "

"I fail, " said Manvers, "to see how my violent death can assuage hisgrief. " The Judge was not the only person in court to raise hiseyebrows; if Manvers had not been angry he would have seen the wholeassembly in the same act, and been certified that they were not withhim now. His advocate whispered him urgently to sit down. He did, still mystified. The Judge immediately retired to consider hisjudgment. 

Manvers' advocate left the court and was away for an hour. He returnedvery sedately to his place, with the plainly expressed intention ofsaying nothing. The court buzzed with talk, much of it directed at thebeautiful prisoner, whose person, bearing, motives, and fate werefreely discussed. Oddly enough, at that moment, half the men in thehall were ready to protect her. 

Manvers felt his heart beating, but could neither think nor speakcoherently. If Manuela were to be condemned to death, what was he todo? He knew not at all; but the crisis to which his own affairs andhis own life were now brought turned him cold. He dared not look atGil Perez. The minutes dragged on----

The Judge entered the court and sat in his chair. He looked very muchlike a codfish--with his gaping mouth and foolish eyes. He pulled oneof his long whiskers and inspected the end of it; detected a splithair, separated it from its happier fellows, shut his eyes, gave avicious wrench to it and gasped as it parted. Then he stared at theassembly before him, as if to catch them laughing, frowned at Manvers, who sat before him with folded arms; lastly he turned to the prisoner, who stood up and looked him in the face. 

"Manuela, " he said, "you stand condemned upon your own confession ofmurder in the first degree--murder of a gentleman who had been yourbenefactor, of whose life and protection you desired, for reasons ofyour own, to be ridded. The court is clear that you are guilty andcannot give you any assurance that your surrender to justice hasassisted the ministers of justice. Those diligent guardians would havefound you sooner or later, you may be sure. If anyone is to be thankedit is, perhaps, the foreign gentleman, whose candour"--and here he hadthe assurance to make Manvers a bow--"whose candour, I say, hasfavourably impressed the court. But, nevertheless, the court, in itsclemency, is willing to allow you the merits of your intention. It istrue that justice would have been done without your confession; but itmay be allowed that you desired to stand well with the laws, afterhaving violated them in an outrageous manner. It is this desire ofyours which inclines the court to mercy. I shall not inflict the lastpenalty upon you, nor exact the uttermost farthing which your crimedeserves. The court is willing to believe that you are penitent, andcondemns you to perpetual seclusion in the Institution of the Recogidasde Santa Maria Magdalena. "

Manuela was seen to close her eyes; but she collected herself directly. She looked once, piercingly, at Manvers, then surrendered herself tohim who touched her on the shoulder, turned, and went out of the court. 

Everybody was against her now: they jeered, howled, hissed and cursedher. A spoiled plaything had got its deserts. Manvers turned uponthem in a white fury. "Dogs, " he cried, "will nothing shame you?" Butnobody seemed to hear or heed him at the moment, and Gil Perezwhispered in his ear, "That no good, master. This _canalla_ all thesame swine. You come with me, sir, I tell you dam good thing. " He hadrecovered his old jauntiness, and swaggered before his master, clearingthe way with oaths and threatenings. 

Manvers followed him in a very stern mood. By the door he felt a touchon the arm, and turning, saw a tall, elderly gentleman cloaked inblack. He recognised him at once by his hollow eye-sockets andsmouldering, deeply set eyes. "You will remember me, señor caballero, in the shop of Sebastian the goldsmith, " he said; and Manvers admittedit. He received another bow, and the reminder. "We met again, Ithink, in the Church of Las Angustias in Valladolid. "

"Yes, indeed, " Manvers said, "I remember you very well. "

"Then you remember, no doubt, saying to me with regard to yourcrucifix, which I had seen in Sebastian's hands, then in your own, thatit was a piece of extravagance on your part. You will not withdrawthat statement to-day, I suppose. "

That which lay latent in his words was betrayed by the gleam of coldfire in his eyes. Manvers coloured. "You have this advantage of me, señor, " he said, "that you know to whom you are speaking, and I do not. "

"It is very true, señor Don Osmundo, " the gentleman said severely. "Iwill enlighten you. I am Don Luis Ramonez de Alavia, at your service. "

Manvers turned white. He had indeed made Manuela pay double. So muchfor sentiment in Spain. 

CHAPTER XVI

THE HERALD

A card of ample size and flourished characters, bearing the name of ElMarqués de Fuenterrabia, was brought up by Gil Perez. 

"Who is he?" Manvers inquired; and Gil waved his hand. 

"This olda gentleman, " he explained, "'e come Embassador from Don Luis. 'E say, 'What you do next, señor Don Osmundo?' You tell 'im, sir--ismy advice. "

"But I don't know what I am going to do, " said Manvers irritably. "Howthe deuce should I know?"

"You tell 'im that, sir, " Gil said softly. "Thata best of all. "

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, sir, then 'e tell you what Don Luis, 'e do. "

"Show him in, " said Manvers. 

The Marqués de Fuenterrabia was a white-whiskered, irascible personage, of stately manners and slight stature. He wore a blue frock-coat, andnankeen trousers over riding-boots. His face was one uniform pink, hiseyes small, fierce, and blue. They appeared to emit heat as well aslight; for it was a frequent trick of their proprietor's to snatch athis spectacles and wipe the mist from them with a bandana handkerchief. Unglazed, his eyes showed a blank and indiscriminate ferocity whichManvers found exceedingly comical. 

They bowed to each other--the Marqués with ceremonious cordiality, Manvers with the stiffness of an Englishman to an unknown visitor. GilPerez hovered in the background, as it were, on the tips of his toes. 

The Marqués, having made his bow, said nothing. His whole attitudeseemed to imply, "Well, what next?"

Manvers said that he was at his service; and then the Marqués explainedhimself. 

"My friend, Don Luis Ramonez de Alavia, " he said, "has entrusted mewith his confidence. It appears that a series of occurrences, involving his happiness, honour and dignity at once, can be traced toyour Excellency's intromission in his affairs. I take it that yourExcellency does not deny----"

"Pardon me, " Manvers said, "I deny it absolutely. "

The Marqués was very much annoyed. "_Que! Que!_" he muttered andsnatched off his spectacles. Glaring ferociously at them, he wipedthem with his bandana. 

"If Don Luis really imagines that I compassed the death of his son, "said Manvers, "I suppose he has his legal remedy. He had better haveme arrested and have done with it. "

The Marqués, his spectacles on, gazed at the speaker with astonishment. "Is it possible, sir, that you can so misconceive the mind of agentleman as to suggest legal process in an affair of the kind?Whatever my friend Don Luis may consider you, he could not be guilty ofsuch a discourtesy. One may think he is going too far in the otherdirection, indeed--though one is debarred from saying so under thecircumstances. But I am not here to bandy words with you. My friendDon Luis commissions me to ask your Excellency, for the name of afriend, to whom the arrangements may be referred for ending a painfulcontroversy in the usual manner. If you will be so good as to obligeme, I need not intrude upon you again. "

"Do you mean to suggest, señor Marqués, " said Manvers, after a pause, "that I am to meet Don Luis on the field?"

"Pardon?" said the Marqués, in such a way as to answer the question. 

"My dear sir, " he was assured, "I would just as soon fight mygrandfather. The thing is preposterous. " The Marqués gasped for air, but Manvers continued. "Had your friend's age been anywhere near myown, I doubt if I could have gratified him after what took place theother day. He caused a man of his to stab me in the back as I waswalking down a dark street. In my country we call that a dastard'sact. "

The Marqués started, and winced as if he was hurt; but he rememberedhimself and the laws of warfare, and when he spoke it was within theextremes of politeness. 

"I confess, sir, " he said, "that I was not prepared for your refusal. It puts me in a delicate position, and to a certain extent I mustinvolve my friend also. It is my duty to declare to you that it is DonLuis' intention to break the laws of Spain. An outrage has beencommitted against his house and blood which one thing only can efface. Moved by extreme courtesy, Don Luis was prepared to take the remedy ofgentlemen; but since you have refused him that, he is driven to the useof natural law. It will be in your power--I cannot deny--to deprivehim of that also; but he is persuaded that you will not take advantageof it. Should you show any signs of doing so, I am to say, Don Luiswill be forced to consider you outside the pale of civilisation, and totreat you without any kind of toleration. To suggest such apossibility is painful to me, and I beg your pardon very truly for it. "

In truth the Marqués looked ashamed of himself. 

Manvers considered the very oblique oration to which he had listened. "I hope I understand you, señor Marqués, " he said. "You intend to saythat Don Luis means to have my life by all means?"

The Marqués bowed. "That is so, señor Don Osmundo. "

"But you suggest that it is possible that I might stop him by informingthe authorities?"

"No, no, " said the Marqués hastily, "I did not suggest that. Theauthorities would never interfere. The British Embassy might perhapsbe persuaded--but you will do me the justice to admit that I apologisedfor the suggestion. "

"Oh, by all means, " said Manvers. "You thought pretty badly of me--butnot so badly as all that. "

"Quite so, " said the Marqués; and then the surprising Gil Perezdescended from mid-air, and lowed to the stranger. 

"My master, Don Osmundo, señor Marqués, is incapable of such conduct, "said he--and looked to Manvers for approval. 

He struggled with himself, but failed. His guffaw must out, andexploded with violent effect. It drove the Marqués back to the door, and sent Gil Perez scudding on tiptoe to the window. 

"You are magnificent, all of you!" cried Manvers. "You flatter me intoconnivance. Let me state the case exactly. Don Luis is to stab orshoot me at sight, and I am to give him a free hand. Is that what youmean? Admirable. But let me ask you one question. Am I not supposedto protect myself?"

The Marqués stared. "I don't think I perfectly understand you, DonOsmundo. Reprisals are naturally open to you. We declare war, that isall. "

"Oh, " said Manvers. "You declare war? Then I may go shooting, too?"

"Naturally, " said the Marqués. "That is understood. "

"No dam fear about that, " said Gil Perez to his master. 

CHAPTER XVII

LA RECOGIDA

Sister Chucha, the nun who took first charge of newcomers to thePenitentiary, was fat and kindly, and not very discreet. It was herbusiness to measure Manuela for a garb and to see to the cutting of herhair. She told the girl that she was by far the most handsome penitentshe had ever had under her hands. 

"It is a thousand pities to cut all this beauty away, " she said; "forit is obvious you will want it before long. So far as that goes youwill find the cap not unbecoming; and I'll see to it that you have apiece of looking-glass--though, by ordinary, that is forbidden. Goodgracious, child, what a figure you have! If I had had one quarter ofyour good fortune I should never have been religious. "

She went on to describe the rules of the Institution, the hours andnature of the work, the offices in Chapel, the recreation times andhours for meals. Manuela, she said, was not the build for rope and matwork. 

"I shall get Reverend Mother to put you to housework, I think, " shesaid. "That will give you exercise, and the chance of an occasionalpeep at the window. You don't deserve it, I fancy; but you are sohandsome that I have a weakness for you. All you have to do is tospeak fairly to Father Vicente and curtsey to the Reverend Motherwhenever you see her. Above all, no tantrums. Leave the others alone, and they'll let you alone. There's not one of them but has her schemefor getting away, or her friend outside. That's occupation enough forher. It will be the same with you. Your friends will find you out. You'll have a _novio_ spending the night in the street beforeto-morrow's over unless I am very much mistaken. " She patted hercheek. "I'll do what I can for you, my dear. "

Manuela curtseyed, and thanked the good nun. "All I have to do, " shesaid, "is to repent of my sin--which has become very horrible to me. "

"La-la-la!" cried Sister Chucha. "Keep that for Father Vicente, ifyou please, my dear. That is his affair. Our patroness led a jollylife before she was a saint. No doubt, you should not have stabbed DonBartolomé, and of course the Ramonez would never overlook such a thing. But we all understand that you must save your own skin if youcould--that's very reasonable. And I hear that there was anotherreason. " Here she chucked her chin. "I don't wonder at it, " she saidwith a meaning smile. 

The girl coloured and hung her head. She was still quivering with theshame of her public torture. She could still see Manvers' eyes starechilly at the wall before them, and believe them to grow colder witheach stave of her admissions. Her one consolation lay in the thoughtthat she could please him by amendment and save him by a conviction; soit was hard to be petted by Sister Chucha. She would have welcomed thewhip, would have hugged it to her bosom--the rod of Salvation, shewould have called it; but compliments on her beauty, caresses of cheekand chin--was she not to be allowed to be good? As for escape, she hadno desire for that. She could love her Don Osmundo best from adistance. What was to be gained, but shame, by seeing him?

Her shining hair was cut off; the cap, the straight prison garb wereput on. She stood up, slim-necked, an arrowy maid, with her burningface and sea-green eyes chastened by real humility. She made a goodconfession to Father Vicente, and took her place among her mates. 

It was true, what Sister Chucha had told her. Every penitent in thatgreat and gaunt building was thrilled with one persistent hope, workedpatiently with that in view, and under its spell refrained fromviolence or clamour. There was not one face of those files ofgrey-gowned girls which, at stated hours, entered the chapel, knelt atthe altar, or stooped at painful labour through the stifling days, which did not show a gleam. Stupid, vacant, vicious, morose, pretty, sparkling, whatever the face might be, there was that expectation toredeem or enhance it, to make it human, to make it womanish. Therewas, or there would be, some day, any day, a lover outside--to whom itwould be the face of all faces. 

Manuela had not been two hours in the company of her fellow-prisonersbefore she was told that there were two ways of escape from theRecogidas. Religion or marriage these were; but the religiousalternative was not discussed. 

Sister Chucha, it transpired, had chosen that way--"But do you wonder?"cried the girl who told Manuela, with shrill scorn. Most of thesisters had once been penitents--"_Vaya_! Look at them, my dear!"cried this young Amazon, conscious of her own charms. 

She was a plump Andalusian, black-eyed, merry, and quick to change hermoods. Love had sent her to Saint Mary Magdalene, and love would takeher out again. 

That Chucha, she owned, was a kind soul. She always put the prettyones to housework--"it gives us a chance at the windows. I haveFernando, who works at the sand-carting in the river. He never failsto look up this way. Some day he will ask for me. " She peered atherself in a pail of water, and fingered her cap daintily. "How doesmy skirt hang now, Manuela? Too short, I fancy. Did you ever see suchshoes as they give you here! Lucky that nobody can see you. "

This was the strain of everybody's talk in the House of LasRecogidas--in the whitewashed galleries where they walked in squadsunder the eye of a nun who sat reading a good book against the wall, inthe court where they lay in the shade to rest, prone, with their faceshidden in their arms, or with knees huddled up and eyes fixed in astare. They talked to each other in the hoarse, tearful staccato ofSpain, which, beginning low, seems to gather force and volume as itruns, until, like a beck in flood, it carries speaker and listener overthe bar and into tossing waves of yeasty water. 

Manuela, through all, kept her thoughts to herself, and spoke nothingof her own affairs. There may have been others like her, fixed to thegreat achievement of justifying themselves to their own standard: shehad no means of knowing. Her standard was this, that she had purgedherself by open confession to the man whom she loved. She was clean, sweetened and full of heart. All she had to do was to open wide herhouse that holiness might enter in. 

Besides this she had, at the moment, the consciousness of a goodaction; for she firmly believed that by her surrender to the law shehad again saved Manvers from assassination. If Don Luis could onlycleanse his honour by blood, he now had her heart's blood. That shouldsuffice him. She grew happier as the days went on. 

Meanwhile it was remarked upon by Mercédes and Dolores, and half adozen more, that distinguished strangers came to the gallery of thechapel. The outlines of them could be descried through the _grille_;for behind the _grille_ was a great white window which threw them intohigh relief. 

It was the fixed opinion of Mercédes and Dolores that Manuela had a_novio_. 

CHAPTER XVII

THE NOVIO

It is true that Manvers had gone to the Chapel of the Recogidas to lookfor, or to look at, Manuela. This formed the one amusing episode inhis week's round in Madrid, where otherwise he was extremely bored, andwhere he only remained to give Don Luis a chance of waging his war. 

To be shot at in the street, or stabbed in the back as you are homingthrough the dusk are, to be sure, not everybody's amusements, and in anordinary way they were not those of Mr. Manvers. But he found that hislife gained a zest by being threatened with deprivation, and so long asthat zest lasted he was willing to oblige Don Luis. The weather wasinsufferably hot, one could only be abroad early in the morning or lateat night--both the perfection of seasons for the assassin's game. 

Yet nothing very serious had occurred during the week following thedeclaration of war. Gil Perez could not find Tormillo, and had todeclare that his suspicions of a Manchegan teamster, who had jostledhis master in the Puerta del Sol and made as if to draw his knife, werewithout foundation. What satisfied him was that the Manchegan, thatsame evening, stabbed somebody else to death. "That show 'e is goodfellow--too much after 'is enemy, " said Gil Perez affably. So Manversfelt justified in his refusal to wear mail or carry either revolver orsword-stick; and by the end of the week he forgot that he was a markedman. 

On Sunday he told Gil Perez that he intended to visit the Chapel of theRecogidas. 

The rogue's face twinkled. "Good, sir, good. We go. I show youManuela all-holy like a nun. I know whata she do. Look for 'eaven allday. That Chucha she tell me something--and the _portero_, 'e damgoodfellow. "

Resplendent in white duck trousers, Mr. Manvers was remarked upon by apurely native company of sightseers. Quick-eyed ladies in mantillaswere there, making play with their fans and scent-bottles; attendantcavaliers found something of which to whisper in the cool-facedEnglishman with his fair beard, blue eyes, and eye-glass, his air ofdetachment, which disguised his real feelings, and of readiness to beentertained, which they misinterpreted. 

The facts were that he was painfully involved in Manuela's fate, anduncomfortably near being in love again with the lovely unfortunate. She was no longer a pretty thing to be kissed, no longer even ahandsome murderess; she was become a heroine, a martyr, a thing enskiedand sainted. 

He had seen more than he had been meant to see during his ordeal in theAudiencia--her consciousness of himself, for instance, as revealed inthat last dying look she had given him, that long look before sheturned and followed her gaolers out of court. He guessed at heragonies of shame, he understood how it was that she had courted it; infine, he knew very well that her heart was in his keeping--and that's adangerous possession for a man already none too sure of the whereaboutsof his own. 

When the organ music thrilled and opened, and the Recogidas filedin--some hundred of them--his heart for a moment stood still, as hescanned them through the gloom. They were dressed exactly alike indull clinging grey, all wore close-fitting white caps, were nearly alldead-white in the face. They all shuffled, as convicts do when theymove close-ordered to their work afield. 

It shocked him that he utterly failed to identify Manuela--and itbrought him sharply to his better senses that Gil Perez saw her atonce. "See her there, master, see there my beautiful, " the man groanedunder his breath, and Manvers looked where he pointed, and saw her; butnow the glamour was gone. Gil was her declared lover. The Squire ofSomerset could not stoop to be his valet's rival. 

The Squire of Somerset, however, observed that she held herself morestiffly than her co-mates, and shuffled less. The prison garb clothedher like a weed; she had the trick of wearing clothes so that theydraped the figure, not concealed it, were as wax upon it, not acerement. That which fell shapeless and heavily from the shoulders ofthe others, upon her seemed to grow rather from the waist--to creepupwards over the shoulders, as ivy steals clinging over a statue in apark. Here, said he, is a maiden that cannot be hid. Call her amurderess, she remains perfect woman; call her convict, Magdalen, sheis some man's solace. He looked: at Gil Perez, motionless and intentby his side, and heard his short breath: There is her mate, he thoughtto himself, and was saved. 

They filed out as they had come in. They all stood, turned towards theexit, and waited until they were directed to move. Then they followedeach other like sheep through a gateway, looking, so far as he couldsee, at nothing, expecting nothing, and remembering nothing. Adown-trodden herd, he conceived them, their wits dulled by toil. Hewas not near enough to see the gleam which kept them alive. Nuns gavethem their orders with authoritative hands, quick always, and callousby routine, probably not intended to be so harsh as they appeared. Hesaw one girl pushed forward by the shoulder with such suddenness thatshe nearly fell; another flinched at a passionate command; anotherscowled as she passed her mistress. He watched to see how Manuela, whohad come in one of the first and must go out one of the last, wouldbear herself, and was relieved by a pretty and enheartening episode. 

Manuela, as she passed, drew her hand along the top of the bench with alingering, trailing touch. It encountered that of the nun in command, and he saw the nun's hand enclose and press the penitent's. He sawManuela's look of gratitude, and the nun's smiling affection; hebelieved that Manuela blushed. That gratified him extremely, andenlarged his benevolent intention. 

Had Gil Perez seen it? He thought not. Gil Perez' black eyes werefixed upon Manuela's form. They glittered like a cat's when he watchesa bird in a shrubbery. The valet was quite unlike himself as hefollowed his master homewards and asked leave of absence for theevening--for the first time in his period of service. Manvers had nodoubt at all how that evening was spent--in rapt attention below thebarred windows of the House of the Recogidas. 

That was so. Gil Perez "played the bear, " as they call it, from dusktill the small hours--perfectly happy, in a rapture of adoration whichthe Squire of Somerset could never have realised. All the romancewhich, if we may believe Cervantes, once transfigured the life ofSpain, and gilded the commonest acts till they seemed confident appealsfor the applause of God, feats boldly done under Heaven's throngedbarriers, is nowadays concentred in this one strange vigil which alllovers have to keep. 

Gil Perez the quick, the admirable servant, the jaunty adventurer, theassured rogue, had vanished. Here he stood beneath the stars, breathing prayers and praises--not a little valet sighing for aconvicted Magdalen, but a young knight keeping watch beneath his lady'stower. And he was not alone there: at due intervals along the frowningwalls were posted other servants of the sleeping girls behind them;other knights at watch and ward. 

The prayer he breathed was the prayer breathed too for Dolores orMercédes in prison. "Virgin of Atocha, Virgin of the Pillar, Virgin ofSorrow, of Divine Compassion, send happy sleep to thy handmaid Manuela, shed the dew of thy love upon her eyelids, keep smooth her brows, keepinnocent her lips. Dignify me, thy servant, Gil Perez, more than othermen, that I may be worthy to sustain this high honour of love. "

His eyes never wavered from a certain upper window. It was as blank asall the rest, differed in no way from any other of a row offive-and-twenty. To him if was the pride of the great building. 

"O fortunate stars!" he whispered to himself, "that can look throughthese and see my love upon her bed. O rays too much blessed, that cankiss her eyelids, and touch lightly upon the scented strands of herhair! O breath of the night, that can fan in her white neck and strokeher arm stretched out over the coverlet! To you, night-wind, and toyou, stars, I give an errand; you shall take a message from me tolovely Manuela of the golden tresses. Tell her that I am watching outthe dark; tell her that no harm shall come to her. Whisper in her ear, mingle with her dreams, and tell her that she has a lover. Tell heralso that the nights in Madrid are not like those in Valencia, and thatshe would do well to cover her arm and shoulder up lest she catch cold, and suffer. "

There spoke the realist, the romantic realist of Spain; for it is to beobserved that Gil Perez did not know at all whereabouts Manuela layasleep, and could not, naturally, know whether her arm was out of bedor in it. He had forgotten also that her hair had been cut off--butthese are trifles. Happy he! he had forgotten much more than that. 

When Manvers told him that he intended to pay Manuela a visit on theday allowed, Gil Perez suffered the tortures of the damned. Jealousrage consumed his vitals like a corroding acid, which reason andloyalty had no power to assuage. Yet reason and loyalty played outtheir allotted parts, and it had been a fine sight to see Gil grinningand gibbering at his own white face in the looking-glass, shaking hisfinger at it and saying to it, in English (since it was his master'sshaving-glass), "Gil Perez, my fellow, you shut up!" He said it manytimes, for he had nothing else to say--jealousy deprived him of hiswits; and he felt better for the discipline. When Manvers returnedthere was no sign upon Gil's brisk person of the stormy conflict whichhad ravaged it. 

Manvers had seen her and, by Sister Chucha's charity, had seen heralone. The poor girl had fallen at his feet and would have kissed themif he had not lifted her up. "No, my dear, no, " he said; "it is I whoought to kneel. You have done wonders for me. You are as brave as alion, Manuela; but I must get you away from this place. "

"No, no, Don Osmundo, " she cried, flushing up, "indeed I am betterhere. " She stood before him, commanding herself, steeling herself inthe presence of this man she loved against any hint of her beatingheart. 

He had himself well in hand. Her beauty, her distress and misfortunecould not touch him now. All that he had for her was admiration andpure benevolence. Fatal offerings for a woman inflamed: so soon as sheperceived it her courage was needed for another tussle. Her blood laylike lead in her veins, her heart sank to the deeps of her, and shemust screw it back again to the work of the day. 

He took her hand, and she let him have it. What could it matter nowwhat he had of hers? "Manuela, " he said, "there is a way of freedomfor you, if you will take it. A man loves you truly, and asks nothingbetter than to work for you. I know him; he's been a good friend tome. Will you let me pay you off my debt? His name is Gil Perez. Youhave seen him, I know. He's an honest man, my dear, and loves you todistraction. What are you going to say to him if he asks for you?"

She stood, handfasted to the man who had kissed her--and in kissing herhad drawn out her soul through her lips; who now was pleading thatanother man might have her dead lips. The mockery of the thing mighthave made a worse woman laugh horribly; but this was a woman made pureby love. She saw no mockery, no discrepancy in what he asked her. Sheknew he was in earnest and wished her nothing but good. 

And she could see, without knowing that she saw, how much he desired tobe rid of his obligation to her. Therefore, she reasoned, she would beserving him again if she agreed to what he proposed. Here--if laughinghad been her mood--was matter for laughter, that when he tried to payher off he was really getting deeper into debt. Look at it in thisway. You owe a fine sum, principal and interest, to a Jew; you go tohim and propose to borrow again of him in order that you may pay offthe first debt and be done with it. The Jew might laugh but he wouldlend; and Manuela, who hoarded love, hugged to her heart the new bondshe was offered. The deeper he went into debt the more she must lendhim! There was pleasure in this--shrill pleasure not far off frompain; but she was a child of pleasure, and must take what she could get. 

Her grave eyes, uncurtained, searched his face. "Is this what youdesire me to do? Is this what you ask of me?"

"My dear, " said he, "I desire your freedom. I desire to see you happyand cared for. I must go away. I must go home. I shall go morewillingly if I know that I have provided for my friend. "

She urged a half-hearted plea. "I am very well here, Don Osmundo. Thesisters are kind to me, the work is light. I might be happy here----"

"What!" he cried, "in prison!"

"It is what I deserve, " she said; but he would not hear of it. 

"You are here through my blunders, " he insisted. "If I hadn't left youwith that scoundrel in the wood this would never have happened. Andthere's another thing which I must say----" He grew very serious. "I'm ashamed of myself--but I must say it. " She looked at her hands inher lap, knowing what was coming. 

"They said, you know, that Estéban must have thought me your lover. "She sat as still as death. "Well--I was. "

Not a word from her. "My dear, " he went on painfully--for EleanorVernon's clear grey eyes were on him now, "I must tell you that I didwhat I had no business to do. There's a lady in England who--whom--Iwas carried away--I thought----" He stopped, truly shocked at what hehad thought her to be. "Now that I know you, Manuela, I tell youfairly I behaved like a villain. "

Her face was flung up like that of a spurred horse; she was on thepoint to reveal herself, --to tell him that in that act of his lay allher glory. But she stopped in time, and resumed her drooping, and herdejection. "I must serve him still--serve him always, " was her burden. 

"I was your lover truly, " he continued, "after I knew what you hadrisked for me, what you had brought yourself to do for me. Not beforethat. Before that, I had been a thief--a brute. But after it, I lovedyou--and then I had your cross set in gold--and betrayed you into DonLuis' mad old hands. All this trouble is my fault--you are herethrough me--you must be got out through me. Gil Perez is a better manthan I am ever likely to be. He loves you sincerely. He loved youbefore you gave yourself up. You know that, I expect... "

She knew it, of course, perfectly well, but she said nothing. 

"He wouldn't wish to bustle you into marriage, or anything of the sort. He's a gentleman, is Gil Perez, and I shall see that he doesn't ask foryou empty-handed. I am sure he can make you happy; and I tell youfairly that the only way I can be happy myself is to know that I havemade you amends. " He got up--at the end of his resources. "Let meleave his case before you. He'll plead it in his own way, you'll find. I can't help thinking that you must know what the state of his feelingsis. Think of him as kindly as you can--and think of me, too, Manuela, as a man who has done you a great wrong, and wants to put himself rightif he may. " He held out his hand. "Good-bye, my dear. I'll see youagain, I hope--or send a better man. "

"Good-bye, Don Osmundo, " she said, and gave him her hand. He pressedit and went away, feeling extremely satisfied with the hour's work. Eleanor Vernon's clear grey eyes smiled approvingly upon him. "Damn itall, " he said to himself, "I've got that tangle out at last. " He beganto think of England--Somersetshire--Eleanor--partridges. "I shall gethome, I hope, by the first, " he said. 

"He's a splendour, your _novio_, Manuelita, " said Sister Chucha, andemphasised her approval with a kiss. "Fie!" she cried, "what a coldcheek! The cheek of a dead woman. And you with a _hidalgo_ for your_novio_!"

CHAPTER XIX

THE WAR OPENS

Returning from his visit, climbing the Calle Mayor at that blankesthour of the summer day when the sun is at his fiercest, ragingvertically down upon a street empty of folk, but glittering like glassand radiant with quivering air, Manvers was shot at from a distance, sofar as he could judge, of thirty yards. He heard the ball go shrillingpast him and then splash and flatten upon a church wall beyond. Heturned quickly, but could see nothing. Not a sign of life was upon thebroad way, not a curtain was lifted, not a shutter swung apart. To allintents and purposes he was upon the Castilian plains. 

Unarmed though he was, he went back upon his traces down the hill, expecting at any moment that the assassin would flare out upon him andshoot him down at point-blank. He went back in all some fifty yards. There was no man in lurking that he could discover. After a fewmoments' irresolution--whether to stand or proceed--he decided that thesooner he was within walls the better. He turned again and walkedbriskly towards the Puerta del Sol. 

Sixty yards or so from the great _plaza_, within sight of it, he wasfired at again, and this time he was hit in the muscles of the leftarm. He felt the burning sting, the shock and the aching. The wellingof blood was a blessed relief. On this occasion he pushed forward, andreached his inn without further trouble. He sent for Gil Perez, whowhisked off for the surgeon; by the time he brought one in Manvers wasfeverish, and so remained until the morning, tossing and jerkingthrough the fervent night, with his arm stiff from shoulder tofinger-points. 

"That a dam thief, sir, 'e count on you never looka back, " said GilPerez, nodding grimly. "Capitan Rodney, 'e all the same as you. Walka'is blessed way, never taka no notice of anybody. See 'im atSevastopol do lika that all the time. So then this assassin 'e creepafter you lika one o'clock up Calle Mayor, leta fly at you twice, threetime, four time--so longa you let 'im. You walka backward, 'e nevershoot--you see. "

Manvers felt that to walk backwards would be at least as tiresome as towalk forwards and be shot at in a city which now held little for himbut danger and _ennui_. Not even Manuela's fortunes could prevailagainst boredom. As he lay upon his hateful bed, disgust with Spaingrew upon him hand over hand. He became irritable. To Gil Perez heannounced his determination. This sort of thing must end. 

Gil bowed and rubbed his hands. "You go 'ome, sir? Is besta place foryou. Don Luis, 'e kill you for sure. You go, 'e go 'ome, esleep on'is olda bed--too mucha satisfy. " Under his breath he added, "PoorManuela--my poor beautiful! She is tormented in vain!"

Manvers told him what had passed in the House of the Recogidas. "Ispoke for you, Gil. I think she will listen to you. "

Gil lifted up his head. "Every nighta, when you are asleep, sir, Iestand under the wall. I toucha--I say 'Keep safa guard of Manuela, you wall. ' If she 'ave me I maka 'er never sorry for it. I love 'ertoo much. But I think she call me dirt. I know all about 'er toomuch. "

What he knew he kept hidden; but one day he went to the Recogidas andasked to see Sister Chucha. He was obsequious, but impassioned, fullof cajolery, but not for a moment did he try to impose upon hiscountrywoman by any assumption of omniscience. That was reserved forhis master, and was indeed a kind of compliment to his needs. SisterChucha heard him at first with astonishment. 

"Then it was for you, Gil Perez, that the gentleman came here?"

Gil nodded. "It was for me, sister. How could it be otherwise?"

"I thought that the gentleman was interested. "

Gil peered closely into her face. "That gentleman is persecuted. Manuela can save him from the danger he stands in--but only through me. Sister, I love her more than life and the sky, but I am content, andshe will be content, that life shall be dumb and the sky dark if thatgentleman may go free. Let me speak with Manuela--you will see. "

The nun was troubled. "Too many see Manuela, " she said. "Onlyyesterday there came here a man. "

"Ha!" said Gil Perez fiercely. "What manner of a man?"

"A little man, " she told him, "that came in creeping, rounding hisshoulders--so, and swimming with his hands. He saw Manuela, and lefther trembling. She was white and grey--and very cold. "

"That man, " said Gil, folding his arms, "was our enemy. Let me now seeManuela. "

It was more a command than an entreaty. Sister Chucha obeyed it. Shewent away without a word, and returned presently, leading Manuela bythe hand. She brought her into the room, released her, and stood, watching and listening. 

Eyes leaped to meet--Manuela was on fire, but Gil's fire ate up hers. 

"Señorita, you have surrendered in vain. These men must have blood forblood. The patron lies wounded, and will die unless we save him. Señorita, you are willing, and I am willing--speak. "

She regarded him steadily. "You know that I am willing, Gil Perez. "

"It was Tormillo you saw yesterday?"

"Yes, Tormillo--like a toad. "

"He was sent to mock you in your pain. He is a fool. We will show hima fool in his own likeness. Are you content to die?"

"You know that I am content. "

He turned to the nun. "Sister Chucha, you will let this lady go. Shegoes out to die--I, who love her, am content that she should die. Ifshe dies not, she returns here. If she dies, you will not ask for her. "

The sister stared. "What do you mean, you two? How is she to die?When? Where?"

"She is to die under the knife of Don Luis, " said Gil Perez. "And I amto lay her there. "

"You, my friend! And what have you to do with Don Luis and hisaffairs?"

"Manuela is young, " said Gil, "and loves her life. I am young, andlove Manuela more than life. If I take her to Don Luis and say, 'Killher, Señor Don Luis, and in that act kill me also, ' I think he will besatisfied. I can see no other way of saving the life of Don Osmundo. "

"And what do you ask me to do?" the nun asked presently. 

"I ask you to give me Manuela presently for one hour or for eternity. If Don Luis rejects her, I bring her back to you here--on the word ofan old Christian. If he takes her, she goes directly to God, where youwould have her be. Sister Chucha, " said Gil Perez finely, "I ampersuaded that you will help us. "

Sister Chucha looked at her hands--fat and very white hands. "You askme to do a great deal--to incur a great danger--for a gentleman who isnothing to me. "

"He is everything to Manuela, " said Gil softly. "That you know. "

"And you, Gil Perez--what is he to you?" This was Sister Chucha'ssharpest. Gil took it with a blink. 

"He is my master--that is something. He is more to Manuela. And sheis everything to me. Sister, you may trust me with her. "

The nun turned from him to the motionless beauty by her side. 

"You, my child, what do you say to this project? Shall I let you go?"

Manuela wavered a little. She swayed about and balanced herself withher hands. But she quickly recovered. 

"Sister Chucha, " she said, "let me go. " The soft green light from hereyes spoke for her. 

CHAPTER XX

MEETING BY MOONLIGHT

By moonlight, in the sheeted park, four persons met to do battle forthe life of Mr. Manvers, while he lay grumbling and burning in his bed, behind the curtains of it. Don Luis Ramonez was there, the first tocome--tall and gaunt, with undying pride in his hollow eyes, like aspectre of rancour kept out of the grave. Behind him Tormillo camecreeping, a little restless man, dogging his master's footsteps, watching for word or sign from him. These two stood by the lake in thehuge empty park, still under its shroud of white moonlight. 

Don Luis picked up the corner of his cloak and threw it over his leftshoulder. He stalked stately up and down the arc of a circle which astone seat defined. Tormillo sat upon the edge of the seat, his elbowson his knees, and looked at the ground. But he kept his master in thetail of his eye. Now and again, furtively, but as if he loved what hefeared, he put his hand into his breast and felt the edge of his longknife. 

Once indeed, when Don Luis on his sentry-march had his back to him, hedrew out the blade and turned it under the moon, watching the coldlight shiver and flash up along it and down. Not fleck or flaw wasupon it; it showed the moon whole within its face. This pair, eachabsorbed in his own business, waited for the other. 

Tormillo saw them coming, and marked it by rising from his seat. Hepeered along the edge of the water to be sure, then he went noiselesslytowards them, looking back often over his shoulder at Don Luis. Buthis master did not seem to be aware of anyone. He stood still, lookingover the gloomy lake. 

Tormillo, having gone half way, waited. Gil Perez hailed him. "Isthat you, Tormillo?" The muffled figure of a girl by his side gave nosign. 

"It is I, Gil Perez. Be not afraid. "

"If I were afraid of anything, I should not be here. I have broughtManuela of her own will. "

"Good, " said Tormillo. "Give her to me. We will go to Don Luis. "

"Yes, you shall take her. I will remain here. Señorita, will you gowith him?"

Manuela said, "I am ready. "

Tormillo turned his face away, and Gil Perez with passion whispered toManuela. 

"My soul, my life, Manuela! One sign from you, and I kill him!"

 She turned him her rapt face. "Nosign from me, brother--no sign from me. "

"My life, " sighed Gil Perez. "Soul of my soul!" She held him out herhand. 

"Pray for me, " she said. He snatched at her hand, knelt on his knee, stooped over it, and then, jumping up, flung himself from her. 

"Take her you, Tormillo. "

Tormillo took her by the hand, and they went together towards thesemicircular seat, in whose centre stood Don Luis like a black statue. Soft-footed went she, swaying a little, like a gossamer caught in alight wind. Don Luis half-turned, and saluted her. 

"Master, " said Tormillo, "Manuela is here. " As if she were a figure tobe displayed he lightly threw back her veil. Manuela stood still andbowed her head to the uncovered gentleman. 

"I am ready, señor Don Luis, " she said. He came nearer, watching her, saying nothing. 

"I killed Don Bartolomé, your son, " she said, "because I feared him. He told me that he had come to kill me; but I was beforehand with himthere. It is true that I loved Don Osmundo, who had been kind to me. "

"You killed my son, " said Don Luis, "and you loved the Englishman. "

"I own the truth, " she said, "and am ready to requite you. I thoughtto have satisfied you by giving myself up--but you have shown me thatthat was not enough. Now then I give you myself of my own will, if youwill let Don Osmundo go free. Will you make a bargain with me? Heknew nothing of Don Bartolomé, your son. "

Don Luis bowed. Manuela turned her head slowly about to the stilltrees, to the sleeping water, to the moon in the clear sky, as if togreet the earth for the last time. For one moment her eyes fell on GilPerez afar off--on his knees with his hands raised to heaven. 

"I am ready, " she said again, and bowed her head. Tormillo put intoDon Luis' hands the long knife. Don Luis threw it out far into thelake. It fled like a streak of light, struck, skimmed along thesurface, and sank without a splash. He went to Manuela and put hishand on her shoulder. She quivered at his touch. 

"My child, " said he, "I cannot touch you. You have redeemed yourself. Go now, and sin no more. "

He left her and went his way, stately, along the edge of the water. Hestalked past Gil Perez at his prayers as if he saw him not--as may wellbe the case. But Gil Perez got upon his feet as he went by and salutedhim with profound respect. 

Immediately afterwards he went like the wind to Manuela. He found hercrying freely on the stone seat, her arms upon the back of it and herface hidden in her arms She wept with passion; her sobs were pitiful tohear. Tormillo, not at all moved, waited for Gil Perez. 

"_Esa te quiere bien que te hace llorar_, " he said: "She loves theewell, that makes thee weep. "

"I weep not, " said Gil Perez; "it is she that weeps. As for me, Ipraise God. "

"Aha, Gil Perez, " Tormillo began--then he chuckled. "For you, myfriend, there's still sunlight on the wall. "

Gil nodded. "I believe it. " Then he looked fiercely at the other man. "Go you with God, Tormillo, and leave me with her. "

Tormillo stared, spat on the ground. "No need of your 'chuck chuck' toan old dog. I go, Gil Perez. _Adios, hermano_. "

Gil Perez sat on the stone seat, and drew Manuela's head to hisshoulder. She suffered him. 

[Illustration: Inside back cover art (left side)]

[Illustration: Inside back cover art (right side)]