[image]"I HUNG ON WITH A GRIP WHICH HE TRIED VAINLY TO SHAKE OFF."—Page411."Can't you get a light, Sarita?" I asked, anxiously, for the whole struggle had taken place in pitchy darkness."Are you hurt?" was her reply, her voice trembling."Not in the least. Don't be a bit afraid, we'll soon be out of this mess." Finding that Livenza lay still, I plunged my hand into my pocket and found my match-box. "Here are matches;" and when our fingers touched in the dark hers were cold and shaking violently. I pressed them gently and whispered: "It's all right now, sweetheart;" and a moment or two later, the candle was found and re-lighted, revealing by its dim flame a scene of confusion and disorder in the humble little room which bore eloquent testimony to the scene which had just been enacted."You must hunt about and find something to tie this mad devil up with; I daren't leave him," I said next; and taking the candle she went out of the room, her face dead white, and her hands shaking so that the candle flickered unsteadily.Meanwhile Livenza lay so still in the darkness that I began to fear he was dead. I could feel no pulse in his listless wrist, which dropped when I released it like the arm of a corpse. I unfastened his coat and laid my hand on his heart, and then I could just detect a faint fluttering; but it was enough to prove he still lived.After a few minutes Sarita came back carrying a small length of cord which she had found; and with this I fastened his legs. Taking the candle I looked with a good deal of anxiety into his eyes; and sending Sarita for water I dashed it on his face, and made such crude efforts as I knew of to bring him back to consciousness. For a long time the effort seemed vain, and the apparent difficulty of restoring him, led me to an act of carelessness that came within an ace of proving fatal to everything.Sarita had been carrying Livenza's revolver which had fallen close to her feet when I had burst in, and now she picked up mine and laid them both on the table; and I, thinking that Livenza would be better if I raised him, dragged him up and set him on a chair close to them. It was the act of a fool. He had evidently been duping me for some time, and now he waited until my hands were off him, when he seized his chance with the cunning of a madman, and snatched up one of the revolvers. A cry from Sarita was my first hint of the peril, and I turned to find the barrel levelled point blank at me.Her cry came just as he was pulling the trigger and he started and missed me. Quick as thought he turned on her as she moved to the other side of the room; but his hand was too shaky for him to aim correctly, and by the mercy of Providence he missed her. Then before I could interfere to stop him, for the three shots followed in rapid succession, he put the pistol to his own temple and fired. This time the aim was true enough, and with a groan, he fell back off the chair dead.The revolver dropped close to him, and I kicked it away and bent over him, and laid my hand on his heart."He is dead, Sarita," I said, and rose to take her out of the room, but the strain and the shock had been too much for her strength. She had fainted and lay white, wan, and helpless in the chair on which she had crouched when he made his last desperate attempt to shoot her.CHAPTER XXXIVA KING'S RIDDLEThe effects of Sebastian Quesada's death were national and dramatic.For some days the political atmosphere was highly charged with electricity; the utmost confusion appeared to prevail, and in the result the war party emerged triumphant and irresistible. Scarcely a voice was to be heard in favour of peace, even from those who had previously been staunch adherents of the dead Minister.The reason of this was to some extent a matter of conjecture on my part. How wide-reaching Quesada's conspiracy had been I never learnt precisely; but enough was told to enable me to guess a great deal more. Quite suddenly, and much to my surprise, the policy of a general amnesty for the Carlists embroiled in the recent outbreak found wide and most influential support.The avowed reason for this was the obvious expediency of uniting all classes in Spain, in order to present a compact front to the common enemy; but I believe the real reason was a very different one. I have grounds for saying that the scrutiny of Quesada's private affairs and papers revealed the fact that so many of the prominent men in the country had been more or less involved in his movement to establish a Republic, that the loyalists were afraid of the results of a strict investigation and rigorous prosecution. The war policy was a good rallying cry, and in view of it the hatchet was to be buried.This unexpected development was of course all in my favour, although there were some days of acute anxiety and suspense.So soon as I was in possession of the needed proofs that Quesada's death was due to murder from private motives and was not an assassination in any way concerning the Carlists, I had been confident enough of ultimate success to take Sarita back to Madrid, place her again with Madame Chansette, and then open up communications with the Duke of Novarro.From my first interview with him I brought away a piece of sorrowful news for Sarita. Her brother was dead. He had been shot at Daroca in the act of escaping from the police who had arrested him. Her grief was very deep, but Ramon's death severed the family tie which bound her to Spain; and when the first pangs of sorrow had passed, it came to be accepted between us that if the amnesty for the Carlists was secured she would go with us to England.Then, just as matters appeared to be going well, an unexpected thing occurred. I had received a summons to attend at the Palace one day, and went down to tell the others, and as I entered Mrs. Curwen's room I heard her say:"I'm glad the tornado's over, Mercy. It's a blessing we shall all go back safe and sound to England. Your brother's a regular storm-centre.""I think the storm-centre is moving at last, and across the Atlantic, as the weather people say, Mrs. Curwen," I said, referring to the war news."Ah, did you hear me, Lord Glisfoyle; but you seem to be the storm-centre. Have you brought any more little volcanoes or blizzards with you now? I shall always think of a cyclone when I think of you," she declared, laughing."I am summoned to the Palace this afternoon, and hope, with you, to find the tornado is over.""Have you any news of Sarita's matters then?""None, but I expect to hear everything this afternoon. Did you see Dolores Quesada this morning, Mercy?""Yes, poor girl; she is awfully broken by her trouble, and holds to her intention to take the veil. She is going to-day to the Convent of the Sacred Heart.""About the best place for her, poor soul!" exclaimed Mrs. Curwen, "for a time, of course. I'm not surprised there are plenty of convents in this most cut-and-thrust country. I should go into one if I were a Spaniard—which, thank goodness, I am not!""I think she would have done better to accept Madame Chansette's offer to go and live with her in Paris," said I. "She's too pretty, too young, and too rich to be shut up for life.""Madame Chansette was with me this morning, and we both tried to persuade her," replied Mercy, "but she wouldn't listen to us. We hope she will come round. Madame Chansette says she will have at least a year of the novitiate, and a good many things may happen in a year.""A good many may happen in a week in Madrid," cried Mrs. Curwen. "It must be in the air, I suppose.""Yes, friendships ripen quickly here, even when people are not Spanish," said I."And feelings stronger than friendship, too," retorted the widow, understanding my reference."Yes, feelings stronger than friendship," I repeated, with a significant accent and glance at her. At that moment, Mayhew came in and I added, "And here's a friend, I hope."She smiled, and turned to greet him."Well, what news?" she asked, a little eagerly, I thought."I've got the leave," he answered.I looked a question at them both, and Mayhew answered it, with a self-conscious smile of forced indifference. "I'm going for a week or two to London, Ferdinand. I've been a bit overdoing it here.""Overdoing what, Silas?""Work, of course; and as you're all going——""It's my doing, Lord Glisfoyle," said Mrs. Curwen. "I hate travelling without someone to look after things; and when we do go I know you will be too much occupied under the circumstances to attend to us, so I told Mr. Mayhew he ought to get leave and come with us.""I hope with all my heart he'll never come back," I said, very earnestly; and Mercy smiled."Not come back? Why?" he asked."Because I hope you'll find a sphere in London that will keep you there.""My dear fellow, a mill-horse like me has no influence.""What leave will you have?""A month.""Ah, well, one can say of London what Mrs. Curwen said just now of Madrid; a good many things may happen in a month, and many good things too." And in that case the generalism was a prophecy, for Mayhew did not return to Madrid except when he and Mrs. Curwen paid a flying honeymoon visit there some months afterwards."Certainly many things have happened here," he replied, drily."And the catalogue isn't filled yet; but I'm going to the Palace to-day, and hope to get the remaining items, so far as I'm concerned;" and we were discussing and canvassing my visit to the King, when Madame Chansette arrived, and told us to my infinite consternation that Sarita had been again arrested. I could not at first believe it."Arrested? My dear madame, are you sure?" I cried."I never feel sure of anything now; but if two officials in uniform arriving with a warrant or a summons or some kind of paper from Government, and the hurrying off of Sarita to some place no one knew where, or at least would tell me where, and taking no denial or excuse and not letting us communicate with anyone, and not even allowing Sarita to make any decent preparations, or even pack a hand-bag with absolute necessaries, not even a brush and comb or a spare handkerchief, and saying no more to me than that they had their orders and must obey them, don't mean arrest, then what can it mean?" She paused for want of breath, and was plunging into another sea of words when I interrupted her."Who signed the paper or warrant or whatever it was? What was the charge?""My dear Lord Glisfoyle, however can I know when I was not even allowed to look at it, much less take it in my hands; and I was so agitated and frightened, I could not even think coolly. It was in this way——""Excuse me, I'll go and see about it," I broke in, and hurried away to the Duke of Novarro in search of some explanation. I had to wait for him, and sat for an hour or more drumming my heels on the floor and controlling my impatience as best I could. It was close to the time of my interview at the Palace when he arrived, full of suave apologies for the delay."I learn that Senorita Castelar has been arrested. May I ask the reason for so unexpected a step?" I asked, getting at once to the point."I am very glad you have come to me, Lord Glisfoyle, although in this matter I fear I cannot give you much satisfactory information. But I have just completed another affair that you will be interested to learn concerning Senorita Castelar.""But this arrest, my lord?" I cried, impatiently, irritated rather than appeased by the scrupulous courtesy of his tone."Yes, it is undoubtedly singular; but bear with me a moment. The other matter is also much in point. It concerns the young lady's property, Lord Glisfoyle. An examination of the Quesada papers has convinced us——""But the arrest, my lord?" I interposed. "I am burning with impatience.""This may be in some way connected with it. We are convinced that Quesada was wrongfully withholding from his two relations property which was theirs by right, and it will be restored to Senorita Castelar, of course, if this matter is satisfactorily arranged.""But the arrest, my lord?" I cried for the third time. "Other matters are nothing compared with this.""And unfortunately I can tell you nothing about it. I cannot think it is of any serious importance, however.""But she has been arrested," I urged, insistently. "Such a drastic step must mean something—even in Spain.""You are severe upon our methods, senor. I wish I could give you a more satisfying answer." And he threw up his hands and smiled."To whom can I go for information?" I asked, rising."I believe the step has been taken at the instance of the Palace; but it cannot be serious, as I say, for we have definitely settled upon the amnesty for all but a very few of the Carlists—where, for instance, it is clear that robbery rather than politics was the motive.""This does not satisfy me," I said, ungraciously; for the mention of exceptions made me uneasy."I can understand that it should not; but if I may offer a word of advice, I would counsel patience. All will come right, I hope and think. Have you not received a summons to the Palace to-day?""Yes. Shall I learn the truth there?" I said bluntly."I hope will have no difficulty in learning the truth anywhere in Spain, Lord Glisfoyle," he answered; and the rebuke was none the less telling because of the quiet, courteous tone in which it was administered."I beg your pardon, my lord. In my great anxiety I spoke in haste.""I am sure of that. At the Palace I am convinced you will at least get an explanation;" and he smiled. There was clearly nothing more to be gleaned from him, and in this condition of anxious unrest I went to the Palace.I was ushered not into any of the public chambers, but into one of the private apartments of the Royal Family, and left there alone, much exercised in mind on account of the strange step which had been taken.Presently the young King came to me, and I was at once struck by his strange manner and the strange expression on his face. He appeared to be very glad to see me, and yet his manner was unquestionably marked by restraint. At first he came gladly and quickly towards me with outstretched hands, as he had before, but checked himself, gave me his hand to kiss, and then searched my face with precocious shrewdness, mingled, as it seemed, with intentionally suppressed friendliness and a dash of furtive concern. When he spoke it was with a gravity far beyond his years, and without any of his spontaneous boyish frankness."I have desired to see you alone, my lord. The Duke of Novarro will have told you of the decision in regard to the amnesty?""He has just done so, your Majesty. I went to him to ask the reason of a most unexpected event—the arrest of Senorita Castelar—a matter that has caused me grave uneasiness.""Did he not tell you that some exceptions had to be made in granting pardons?""He did not tell me that Senorita Castelar was to be an exception, and certainly I had never been led to expect it," I answered, rather bluntly. "Nor did I think that such a thing would ever have been done."He gave me a little eager glance, and was going to reply quickly, when he checked himself, paused, and then in the former tone said—"We wish to consult your desires so far as possible, my lord; but the senorita took a very active part even in the plot against me.""I am in your Majesty's hands, of course, but such a step is a strange way of consulting my desires.""I am not so sure of that," he cried quickly, with a boyish smile. "At least, I mean that you have been such a friend to me that I am convinced you would not wish me to do anything that my advisers consider unwise.""We did not speak in this strain as we rode back that evening from Podrida. I do not recall any conditions about your Majesty's advisers or even mention of them.""You are very difficult to deal with, senor, and are making my task very hard," he said, protestingly."I have not the honour to know what your Majesty's task is," said I, puzzled by his words."It has been found necessary, in the interests which I have at heart, to pass a sentence upon the senorita—in some respects a heavy sentence." He used the same over-serious tone, but as he looked up into my face I saw laughter in his eyes, and when he finished, the smile spread over his face."It is your Majesty's prerogative to command," I answered."Yes," he cried, eagerly. "Yes, this is my own doing. I have seen Senorita Castelar. I spoke of my advisers just now; but this is not their doing, it is all my work. That may make you agree to it, even if the punishment itself may seem to you severe. And, believe me, I should be very sorry if I thought that—on your account. You will believe that?" and he made a motion to place his hands on mine as if to appeal to me."I should be deeply distressed if I thought you of yourself could do anything harsh or unjust. I do not think it possible.""That is more like my Englishman of Podrida," he cried, gleefully; but, reverting to the grave tone, he added: "The senorita knows her punishment and quite acquiesces in its justice; although it carries with it no less than partial imprisonment for life.""Your Majesty is not serious?" I exclaimed."Do I look otherwise?" he cried; but he could not maintain his gravity any longer, and burst into a merry peal of laughter. "Do you think I would do anything like that? Anything against the man who once wore this for me?" and he pulled out the little mask that he had begged of me that day on the road. "I know more now than I did then of the danger you ran for my sake. Can't you guess my riddle?"His eyes were dancing with pleasure and mischief, and he put on the mask, and then thrust his hands into mine."This is not the only mask I've worn to-day, you see. Can't you guess? Have I really beaten you? That's glorious; and I thought it all out myself," he cried, laughing in high glee.I began to see daylight then, and laughed with him. "I am not afraid of anything you would think of, sire.""But you were afraid, you know. I saw it in your face just now, and I could hardly keep it up. I like you too much to wish to hurt you, even in play.""You said the senorita's punishment carried partial imprisonment for life.""A golden prison, senor, for this," he cried, laughing again as he held up the fourth finger of the left hand. "Senorita Sarita Castelar is to be exiled from Spain, never to return; never, never, never. But Lord Glisfoyle's wife, Carlist or not Carlist, will always be able to return," he added, slily, "because Lord Glisfoyle, my Englishman, will always be welcome here. Now do you understand it all?""And thank your Majesty from the bottom of my heart," I replied, earnestly."Have I kept my word?" he added, almost wistfully."As a King should, generously," I said."And you forgive me my prank—though you could not guess my riddle?""It is a riddle, sire, of which the answer could not be better.""Then I hope Spain and I will always have one firm friend in England," he said, very seriously, as he put his hand again in mine."Till the end of my life, your Majesty;" and taking his hand I was pressing my lips upon it when he checked me."No," he said, smiling. "I am not the King to you. We are friends, and friends don't kiss hands, they shake them in your England. Good-bye, my friend, my Englishman of Podrida.""Good-bye," I answered, holding his hand in a firm clasp.Then he led me, still holding my hand, to the door."You are to go there, but—" and his voice shook slightly as he added—"don't forget me, even there; even when you find what you so much desire." He opened the door, and I saw Sarita waiting for me. I went to her with quickly beating heart."Good-bye again," came in a whisper, as the boy King closed the door softly behind me, and opened up at the same time all the new smiling love-life that lay ahead for us two.THE END.*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKSARITA, THE CARLIST***
[image]"I HUNG ON WITH A GRIP WHICH HE TRIED VAINLY TO SHAKE OFF."—Page411.
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"I HUNG ON WITH A GRIP WHICH HE TRIED VAINLY TO SHAKE OFF."—Page411.
"Can't you get a light, Sarita?" I asked, anxiously, for the whole struggle had taken place in pitchy darkness.
"Are you hurt?" was her reply, her voice trembling.
"Not in the least. Don't be a bit afraid, we'll soon be out of this mess." Finding that Livenza lay still, I plunged my hand into my pocket and found my match-box. "Here are matches;" and when our fingers touched in the dark hers were cold and shaking violently. I pressed them gently and whispered: "It's all right now, sweetheart;" and a moment or two later, the candle was found and re-lighted, revealing by its dim flame a scene of confusion and disorder in the humble little room which bore eloquent testimony to the scene which had just been enacted.
"You must hunt about and find something to tie this mad devil up with; I daren't leave him," I said next; and taking the candle she went out of the room, her face dead white, and her hands shaking so that the candle flickered unsteadily.
Meanwhile Livenza lay so still in the darkness that I began to fear he was dead. I could feel no pulse in his listless wrist, which dropped when I released it like the arm of a corpse. I unfastened his coat and laid my hand on his heart, and then I could just detect a faint fluttering; but it was enough to prove he still lived.
After a few minutes Sarita came back carrying a small length of cord which she had found; and with this I fastened his legs. Taking the candle I looked with a good deal of anxiety into his eyes; and sending Sarita for water I dashed it on his face, and made such crude efforts as I knew of to bring him back to consciousness. For a long time the effort seemed vain, and the apparent difficulty of restoring him, led me to an act of carelessness that came within an ace of proving fatal to everything.
Sarita had been carrying Livenza's revolver which had fallen close to her feet when I had burst in, and now she picked up mine and laid them both on the table; and I, thinking that Livenza would be better if I raised him, dragged him up and set him on a chair close to them. It was the act of a fool. He had evidently been duping me for some time, and now he waited until my hands were off him, when he seized his chance with the cunning of a madman, and snatched up one of the revolvers. A cry from Sarita was my first hint of the peril, and I turned to find the barrel levelled point blank at me.
Her cry came just as he was pulling the trigger and he started and missed me. Quick as thought he turned on her as she moved to the other side of the room; but his hand was too shaky for him to aim correctly, and by the mercy of Providence he missed her. Then before I could interfere to stop him, for the three shots followed in rapid succession, he put the pistol to his own temple and fired. This time the aim was true enough, and with a groan, he fell back off the chair dead.
The revolver dropped close to him, and I kicked it away and bent over him, and laid my hand on his heart.
"He is dead, Sarita," I said, and rose to take her out of the room, but the strain and the shock had been too much for her strength. She had fainted and lay white, wan, and helpless in the chair on which she had crouched when he made his last desperate attempt to shoot her.
CHAPTER XXXIV
A KING'S RIDDLE
The effects of Sebastian Quesada's death were national and dramatic.
For some days the political atmosphere was highly charged with electricity; the utmost confusion appeared to prevail, and in the result the war party emerged triumphant and irresistible. Scarcely a voice was to be heard in favour of peace, even from those who had previously been staunch adherents of the dead Minister.
The reason of this was to some extent a matter of conjecture on my part. How wide-reaching Quesada's conspiracy had been I never learnt precisely; but enough was told to enable me to guess a great deal more. Quite suddenly, and much to my surprise, the policy of a general amnesty for the Carlists embroiled in the recent outbreak found wide and most influential support.
The avowed reason for this was the obvious expediency of uniting all classes in Spain, in order to present a compact front to the common enemy; but I believe the real reason was a very different one. I have grounds for saying that the scrutiny of Quesada's private affairs and papers revealed the fact that so many of the prominent men in the country had been more or less involved in his movement to establish a Republic, that the loyalists were afraid of the results of a strict investigation and rigorous prosecution. The war policy was a good rallying cry, and in view of it the hatchet was to be buried.
This unexpected development was of course all in my favour, although there were some days of acute anxiety and suspense.
So soon as I was in possession of the needed proofs that Quesada's death was due to murder from private motives and was not an assassination in any way concerning the Carlists, I had been confident enough of ultimate success to take Sarita back to Madrid, place her again with Madame Chansette, and then open up communications with the Duke of Novarro.
From my first interview with him I brought away a piece of sorrowful news for Sarita. Her brother was dead. He had been shot at Daroca in the act of escaping from the police who had arrested him. Her grief was very deep, but Ramon's death severed the family tie which bound her to Spain; and when the first pangs of sorrow had passed, it came to be accepted between us that if the amnesty for the Carlists was secured she would go with us to England.
Then, just as matters appeared to be going well, an unexpected thing occurred. I had received a summons to attend at the Palace one day, and went down to tell the others, and as I entered Mrs. Curwen's room I heard her say:
"I'm glad the tornado's over, Mercy. It's a blessing we shall all go back safe and sound to England. Your brother's a regular storm-centre."
"I think the storm-centre is moving at last, and across the Atlantic, as the weather people say, Mrs. Curwen," I said, referring to the war news.
"Ah, did you hear me, Lord Glisfoyle; but you seem to be the storm-centre. Have you brought any more little volcanoes or blizzards with you now? I shall always think of a cyclone when I think of you," she declared, laughing.
"I am summoned to the Palace this afternoon, and hope, with you, to find the tornado is over."
"Have you any news of Sarita's matters then?"
"None, but I expect to hear everything this afternoon. Did you see Dolores Quesada this morning, Mercy?"
"Yes, poor girl; she is awfully broken by her trouble, and holds to her intention to take the veil. She is going to-day to the Convent of the Sacred Heart."
"About the best place for her, poor soul!" exclaimed Mrs. Curwen, "for a time, of course. I'm not surprised there are plenty of convents in this most cut-and-thrust country. I should go into one if I were a Spaniard—which, thank goodness, I am not!"
"I think she would have done better to accept Madame Chansette's offer to go and live with her in Paris," said I. "She's too pretty, too young, and too rich to be shut up for life."
"Madame Chansette was with me this morning, and we both tried to persuade her," replied Mercy, "but she wouldn't listen to us. We hope she will come round. Madame Chansette says she will have at least a year of the novitiate, and a good many things may happen in a year."
"A good many may happen in a week in Madrid," cried Mrs. Curwen. "It must be in the air, I suppose."
"Yes, friendships ripen quickly here, even when people are not Spanish," said I.
"And feelings stronger than friendship, too," retorted the widow, understanding my reference.
"Yes, feelings stronger than friendship," I repeated, with a significant accent and glance at her. At that moment, Mayhew came in and I added, "And here's a friend, I hope."
She smiled, and turned to greet him.
"Well, what news?" she asked, a little eagerly, I thought.
"I've got the leave," he answered.
I looked a question at them both, and Mayhew answered it, with a self-conscious smile of forced indifference. "I'm going for a week or two to London, Ferdinand. I've been a bit overdoing it here."
"Overdoing what, Silas?"
"Work, of course; and as you're all going——"
"It's my doing, Lord Glisfoyle," said Mrs. Curwen. "I hate travelling without someone to look after things; and when we do go I know you will be too much occupied under the circumstances to attend to us, so I told Mr. Mayhew he ought to get leave and come with us."
"I hope with all my heart he'll never come back," I said, very earnestly; and Mercy smiled.
"Not come back? Why?" he asked.
"Because I hope you'll find a sphere in London that will keep you there."
"My dear fellow, a mill-horse like me has no influence."
"What leave will you have?"
"A month."
"Ah, well, one can say of London what Mrs. Curwen said just now of Madrid; a good many things may happen in a month, and many good things too." And in that case the generalism was a prophecy, for Mayhew did not return to Madrid except when he and Mrs. Curwen paid a flying honeymoon visit there some months afterwards.
"Certainly many things have happened here," he replied, drily.
"And the catalogue isn't filled yet; but I'm going to the Palace to-day, and hope to get the remaining items, so far as I'm concerned;" and we were discussing and canvassing my visit to the King, when Madame Chansette arrived, and told us to my infinite consternation that Sarita had been again arrested. I could not at first believe it.
"Arrested? My dear madame, are you sure?" I cried.
"I never feel sure of anything now; but if two officials in uniform arriving with a warrant or a summons or some kind of paper from Government, and the hurrying off of Sarita to some place no one knew where, or at least would tell me where, and taking no denial or excuse and not letting us communicate with anyone, and not even allowing Sarita to make any decent preparations, or even pack a hand-bag with absolute necessaries, not even a brush and comb or a spare handkerchief, and saying no more to me than that they had their orders and must obey them, don't mean arrest, then what can it mean?" She paused for want of breath, and was plunging into another sea of words when I interrupted her.
"Who signed the paper or warrant or whatever it was? What was the charge?"
"My dear Lord Glisfoyle, however can I know when I was not even allowed to look at it, much less take it in my hands; and I was so agitated and frightened, I could not even think coolly. It was in this way——"
"Excuse me, I'll go and see about it," I broke in, and hurried away to the Duke of Novarro in search of some explanation. I had to wait for him, and sat for an hour or more drumming my heels on the floor and controlling my impatience as best I could. It was close to the time of my interview at the Palace when he arrived, full of suave apologies for the delay.
"I learn that Senorita Castelar has been arrested. May I ask the reason for so unexpected a step?" I asked, getting at once to the point.
"I am very glad you have come to me, Lord Glisfoyle, although in this matter I fear I cannot give you much satisfactory information. But I have just completed another affair that you will be interested to learn concerning Senorita Castelar."
"But this arrest, my lord?" I cried, impatiently, irritated rather than appeased by the scrupulous courtesy of his tone.
"Yes, it is undoubtedly singular; but bear with me a moment. The other matter is also much in point. It concerns the young lady's property, Lord Glisfoyle. An examination of the Quesada papers has convinced us——"
"But the arrest, my lord?" I interposed. "I am burning with impatience."
"This may be in some way connected with it. We are convinced that Quesada was wrongfully withholding from his two relations property which was theirs by right, and it will be restored to Senorita Castelar, of course, if this matter is satisfactorily arranged."
"But the arrest, my lord?" I cried for the third time. "Other matters are nothing compared with this."
"And unfortunately I can tell you nothing about it. I cannot think it is of any serious importance, however."
"But she has been arrested," I urged, insistently. "Such a drastic step must mean something—even in Spain."
"You are severe upon our methods, senor. I wish I could give you a more satisfying answer." And he threw up his hands and smiled.
"To whom can I go for information?" I asked, rising.
"I believe the step has been taken at the instance of the Palace; but it cannot be serious, as I say, for we have definitely settled upon the amnesty for all but a very few of the Carlists—where, for instance, it is clear that robbery rather than politics was the motive."
"This does not satisfy me," I said, ungraciously; for the mention of exceptions made me uneasy.
"I can understand that it should not; but if I may offer a word of advice, I would counsel patience. All will come right, I hope and think. Have you not received a summons to the Palace to-day?"
"Yes. Shall I learn the truth there?" I said bluntly.
"I hope will have no difficulty in learning the truth anywhere in Spain, Lord Glisfoyle," he answered; and the rebuke was none the less telling because of the quiet, courteous tone in which it was administered.
"I beg your pardon, my lord. In my great anxiety I spoke in haste."
"I am sure of that. At the Palace I am convinced you will at least get an explanation;" and he smiled. There was clearly nothing more to be gleaned from him, and in this condition of anxious unrest I went to the Palace.
I was ushered not into any of the public chambers, but into one of the private apartments of the Royal Family, and left there alone, much exercised in mind on account of the strange step which had been taken.
Presently the young King came to me, and I was at once struck by his strange manner and the strange expression on his face. He appeared to be very glad to see me, and yet his manner was unquestionably marked by restraint. At first he came gladly and quickly towards me with outstretched hands, as he had before, but checked himself, gave me his hand to kiss, and then searched my face with precocious shrewdness, mingled, as it seemed, with intentionally suppressed friendliness and a dash of furtive concern. When he spoke it was with a gravity far beyond his years, and without any of his spontaneous boyish frankness.
"I have desired to see you alone, my lord. The Duke of Novarro will have told you of the decision in regard to the amnesty?"
"He has just done so, your Majesty. I went to him to ask the reason of a most unexpected event—the arrest of Senorita Castelar—a matter that has caused me grave uneasiness."
"Did he not tell you that some exceptions had to be made in granting pardons?"
"He did not tell me that Senorita Castelar was to be an exception, and certainly I had never been led to expect it," I answered, rather bluntly. "Nor did I think that such a thing would ever have been done."
He gave me a little eager glance, and was going to reply quickly, when he checked himself, paused, and then in the former tone said—
"We wish to consult your desires so far as possible, my lord; but the senorita took a very active part even in the plot against me."
"I am in your Majesty's hands, of course, but such a step is a strange way of consulting my desires."
"I am not so sure of that," he cried quickly, with a boyish smile. "At least, I mean that you have been such a friend to me that I am convinced you would not wish me to do anything that my advisers consider unwise."
"We did not speak in this strain as we rode back that evening from Podrida. I do not recall any conditions about your Majesty's advisers or even mention of them."
"You are very difficult to deal with, senor, and are making my task very hard," he said, protestingly.
"I have not the honour to know what your Majesty's task is," said I, puzzled by his words.
"It has been found necessary, in the interests which I have at heart, to pass a sentence upon the senorita—in some respects a heavy sentence." He used the same over-serious tone, but as he looked up into my face I saw laughter in his eyes, and when he finished, the smile spread over his face.
"It is your Majesty's prerogative to command," I answered.
"Yes," he cried, eagerly. "Yes, this is my own doing. I have seen Senorita Castelar. I spoke of my advisers just now; but this is not their doing, it is all my work. That may make you agree to it, even if the punishment itself may seem to you severe. And, believe me, I should be very sorry if I thought that—on your account. You will believe that?" and he made a motion to place his hands on mine as if to appeal to me.
"I should be deeply distressed if I thought you of yourself could do anything harsh or unjust. I do not think it possible."
"That is more like my Englishman of Podrida," he cried, gleefully; but, reverting to the grave tone, he added: "The senorita knows her punishment and quite acquiesces in its justice; although it carries with it no less than partial imprisonment for life."
"Your Majesty is not serious?" I exclaimed.
"Do I look otherwise?" he cried; but he could not maintain his gravity any longer, and burst into a merry peal of laughter. "Do you think I would do anything like that? Anything against the man who once wore this for me?" and he pulled out the little mask that he had begged of me that day on the road. "I know more now than I did then of the danger you ran for my sake. Can't you guess my riddle?"
His eyes were dancing with pleasure and mischief, and he put on the mask, and then thrust his hands into mine.
"This is not the only mask I've worn to-day, you see. Can't you guess? Have I really beaten you? That's glorious; and I thought it all out myself," he cried, laughing in high glee.
I began to see daylight then, and laughed with him. "I am not afraid of anything you would think of, sire."
"But you were afraid, you know. I saw it in your face just now, and I could hardly keep it up. I like you too much to wish to hurt you, even in play."
"You said the senorita's punishment carried partial imprisonment for life."
"A golden prison, senor, for this," he cried, laughing again as he held up the fourth finger of the left hand. "Senorita Sarita Castelar is to be exiled from Spain, never to return; never, never, never. But Lord Glisfoyle's wife, Carlist or not Carlist, will always be able to return," he added, slily, "because Lord Glisfoyle, my Englishman, will always be welcome here. Now do you understand it all?"
"And thank your Majesty from the bottom of my heart," I replied, earnestly.
"Have I kept my word?" he added, almost wistfully.
"As a King should, generously," I said.
"And you forgive me my prank—though you could not guess my riddle?"
"It is a riddle, sire, of which the answer could not be better."
"Then I hope Spain and I will always have one firm friend in England," he said, very seriously, as he put his hand again in mine.
"Till the end of my life, your Majesty;" and taking his hand I was pressing my lips upon it when he checked me.
"No," he said, smiling. "I am not the King to you. We are friends, and friends don't kiss hands, they shake them in your England. Good-bye, my friend, my Englishman of Podrida."
"Good-bye," I answered, holding his hand in a firm clasp.
Then he led me, still holding my hand, to the door.
"You are to go there, but—" and his voice shook slightly as he added—"don't forget me, even there; even when you find what you so much desire." He opened the door, and I saw Sarita waiting for me. I went to her with quickly beating heart.
"Good-bye again," came in a whisper, as the boy King closed the door softly behind me, and opened up at the same time all the new smiling love-life that lay ahead for us two.
THE END.
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKSARITA, THE CARLIST***