XXVIII

[pg 228]XXVIIILet Your Heart SpeakMen do not kill themselves for such things. Fools, or cowards, or children may; but not men who are worthy the name. Yet there was no joy of life left in me, as I went out of theAlcázargarden, having had my answer.Love cannot die in an hour, and I loved Monica still, though I said that she was not the girl to whom I had dedicated my soul in worship.She had let me follow her, only to say at last:“I never wish to see you again. I'm going to marry the Duke of Carmona.”After all, she had proved herself a docile daughter. She had seen what the house of a grandee of Spain can be like. She had seen the Blanca Laguna pearl. Poor child of eighteen years, brought up to know poverty and to loathe it; was I to let my love turn to hate because she was not an angel, but a woman like others?A despairing pity and a sense of hopeless loss weighed upon my spirit with such heaviness as I had never known. Not only had I lost the girl I loved, but there was no such girl; she was a dream, and I had waked up. That was all; but it seemed the end of everything.My errand in Spain was finished, or rather broken short. She did not want me any more. The sooner I took myself out of her life and let her forget what must now seem childish folly, the better. I might have known—she was so young; and she had warned me of disaster when she said,“Don't leave me alone.”[pg 229]I went to Olivero's flat and changed my clothes; then to the hotel where Ropes and the car were waiting. For the first time since we had come into Spain, I drove,“like a demon,”Ropes' surprised face said, though his tongue was discreet; and the wild rush through the air was wine to thirsty lips.At the Cortijo de Santa Rufina they were all sitting in thepatioin floods of moonlight, the great awning which gave shade by day, fully rolled back.“You see,”exclaimed Pilar,“we sat up for you. Well, how did it go off?”I heard myself laughing. It did not feel a pleasant laugh, but I was glad to think that it sounded like any other.“Oh, it went off exactly as I might have expected,”I said, knowing that it was useless to hide my humiliation, though I might hide my misery.“And consequently, my car and I will also go off, to-morrow. As for Dick, he must do as he pleases; but I advise him, now he's here, to stay for theSemana Santa.”“What do you mean?”asked Pilar, almost letting fall the guitar on which she had been playing.“Has—has Lady Monica promised to go with you—to-morrow?”“Not at all,”said I.“But what she's promised to another man makes it better that I should go. She's engaged to Carmona.”“I don't believe it,”cried Pilar.“I shouldn't, if anyone but herself had told me.”“She said it?”“In exactly those words. She said too, that she didn't want to see me again.”“Oh—oh!”breathed Pilar.“ThankHeavenfor that. You frightened me horribly—just for a moment.”I stared.“And now—”“Now I know there's some mistake—dreadful, but not too dreadful to clear up.”I laughed again, as bitterly as I felt this time.“Extraordinary idea! Because she says she doesn't want to see me, there's a mistake—”[pg 230]“Of course. Surely you aren't so cold-hearted, so disloyal, so—sostupidas to believe her? But tell me instantly all about it—everything; every word; every look.”“Easily done,”I said,“if it won't bore you all. There were very few of either; but what there were left nothing to the imagination.”“Imagination indeed!”exclaimed Pilar.“But go on.”So I went on, and she listened to the end without interruption, as did the two others, who were only men, and therefore had no comments to make upon such matters.As I told the wretched story in as few and as bald words as possible, Pilar sat grave-eyed, tense-lipped as Portia in the Court of Justice before her turn to plead. When I finished she was silent for a moment, I thought because, after all, she found herself with nothing to say. But, when her father in his compassion would have begun some murmur of consolation, she broke out quickly,“I suppose sheisengaged to the Duke, or she wouldn't have said so.”“Not much doubt of that,”I assented.“Noranydoubt of her real feelings. Poor little girl, I know she's wishing she could die to-night. Thosedevils!Yes, Iwillsay it, Papa. I shall be forgiven, for theyare. They've told her some hateful lie, and made her so desperate she was ready to do anything. Why, it's just come to me; there's only one thing that would make a girl who loves a man do what she's done.”“What?”I broke in, breathless; for Pilar's fire had flamed into my blood now, and I waited for her answer as a man waits for an antidote to poison.“Believing he's in love with someone else.”“How could she believe that? Who is there—”I stopped. My eyes met Pilar's, and she blushed, stammering as she hurried bravely on.“The greatest nonsense, of course. But—but—oh, don't you remember how she looked that evening at Manzanares when we saw her last? So wistful, as if there were something on her mind she mustn't tell? I caught her looking at me once or[pg 231]twice as if she were wondering—they must have begun, even then, to upset her mind, poor, lonely child; but the worst hadn't happened; she was only a little doubtful. If you could have spoken to her, or if I—”“I did write,”I said,“though I've always been afraid something went wrong with that letter.”“Ah!”Pilar caught at this, and would have the whole story with every detail. I even found myself confessing my old presentiment, the fancy that Monica was calling for me to help her.“I believe she was, calling and praying. Of course she never got the letter. What was in it? If you don't mind my asking?”“I said, a crisis seemed to be coming, and she must make up her mind to let me take her away.”“A splendid letter to fall into her mother's hands. Did you sign your real name?”“No name at all. I wrote in a hurry, and—”“That's lucky. But even if you had, Lady Vale-Avon couldn't have shown such a letter to the Duke, he's too Spanish—too Moorish, I ought to say. She wouldn't have dared, as she wants him for a son-in-law.”“That occurred to me.”“But there aren't many other things she wouldn't dare, to get rid of such a danger as you. If she got the letter—and I'm sure she did—there was your handwriting at her mercy. Supposing she—”“I know what's in your mind. But I don't think such things are done—out of novels.”“Oh, aren't they; when people are clever enough? I know of one case myself. And the girl's life was spoiled. Lady Monica's shan't be though, if I can help it.”“You're taking a great deal for granted,”I said. But I felt as if the radiance of heaven were pouring down upon me, instead of the pensive moonlight.“Doesn't your heart tell you I'm right?”cried Pilar.“Yes!”I answered.“Yes, you good angel, it does.”[pg 232]XXIXThe Garden of Flaming LiliesThe voice of some maid servant singing acoplawaked me early in the morning, after an hour or two of sleep.El amor y la naranjase parecen infinito;Que por muy dulces que seande agrio tienen su poquito.1Yes, always a little bitter, I said to myself. But if for me there were after all to be some sweetness left?Last night before parting, the Cherub, Dick and I had talked matters over from every point of view. I was only too thankful to take the advice of one girl on behalf of another, and give to Monica the benefit of that doubt which at first had not seemed admissible. But even Pilar confessed that Monica's engagement to Carmona made our part a hundred times more difficult.Whatever her motive had been—revenge upon me for supposed disloyalty, dread of her mother, or awakened ambition--she had in any case consented to marry him, and Pilar suggested that the dinner invitations had been sent out as an excuse for a public announcement, which would more firmly bind her to her promise. The news would have flown all over Seville in[pg 233]twenty-four hours; when the King arrived on Tuesday Carmona would certainly lose no time in telling him; Lady Vale-Avon would not wait for Monica to write to the Princess, but would probably wire; and no matter what my private anxieties might be, for Monica's sake I must do nothing openly. As for defying Carmona to use his knowledge of my true name, and challenging him to fight, that must not be thought of. Monica's fair fame would never survive such a scandal, especially in Spain, where a girl's reputation is as easily damaged as the down on a butterfly's wing.But, as the Cherub said, there are many roads which lead to the centre of the world. He had learned at his club that the Duke had lent his box in the tribune to a friend, for such processions as he and his household did not care to see. That friend was a member of the club, and through him the Cherub had found out that the box in question was next to the royal box which would be occupied by the King, the Infanta Doña María Teresa, and her husband. Immediately upon making this discovery, the Cherub had begun to move heaven and earth to obtain a box for himself, either behind, in front of, or on one side of Carmona's box. He did not know yet if he should succeed, for things were not done in a moment in Spain. Of course all the boxes were already subscribed for the whole week by members of the aristocracy and other persons of importance in Seville; but, then, the Cherub had friends and acquaintances in every class. If it were a question of money, money would not be spared; if it were a question of a favour for a favour in return, that favour would be given. There was hope that the thing might be arranged; and once Pilar came within speaking distance of Monica, nothing short of sudden death could prevent her from telling the girl the truth, vowing by all the saints that she had been deceived for the one purpose of separating her from me. If Monica could be made to believe that, she would have courage to be true in spite of all; and then it would be for me to save her from keeping the engagement into which she had been tricked.[pg 234]As for my going to Carmona's house and trying to see Monica, such a plan appeared useless, as I should certainly not be allowed to come near her. Therefore I must wait with such patience as I could, and let my friends help me in the subtle ways favoured in Spain.Now, Palm Sunday had dawned crystal clear; but Pilar had explained that nobody occupied the boxes and chairs to see the procession of palms in the morning; that, though it was pretty to see, it was not one of the great sights; and, as one must be waiting early outside the cathedral, it was unlikely that anyone from Carmona's house would be there. Still there was the chance, and I could not afford to miss it; so the O'Donnels offered to go with me into Seville, Dick, of course, being of the party.Consequently, every one at the Cortijo was astir by six; and before seven Dick and I were in thepatio, just in time to greet Pilar utterly fascinating in a mantilla.She was dressed as a Spanish woman of the upper class should be dressed on Palm Sunday; and though the tight-fitting, rich black brocade silk which she wore would, in any other country, have seemed a costume not for young girlhood but for middle age, it suited her wonderfully. Her clear-skinned, heart-shaped face, with its great soft eyes and red lips, was beautiful in the cloudy frame of black lace; and her piled hair, of so dark a brown as to appear black, except when the sunlight burnished threads of gold in its masses, looked ruddy as the leaves of a copper-beech gleaming through the figured lace.“By Jove!”exclaimed Dick, jumping to his feet when he saw her. No more than that; but Pilar was woman enough to understand the value of the compliment; and she smiled, patting the flounce of her mantilla into still more graceful folds on her breast.“You think me nice like this?”she asked.“I'm proud of my mantilla, you know. It came to me from my great-grandmother, as all the best ones do come to Spanish girls; and I've two lovely white mantillas which I wear on great feast days when I want to be very beautiful.”[pg 235]“At bull-fights?”asked Dick, his eyes adoring her in a way he would have laughed at in any other man only a few weeks ago.“I don't go to bull-fights,”said Pilar.“I love the poor bulls and horses so much, it would make me sad to see them die. Though, if I were a bull, I would myself choose a brave death in the arena, after a life of five glorious years, rather than the slaughter-house, or a weary existence of labour till old age or overstrain finished me. But I drive in thepaseoon the bull-fight days, and for theferia.Ay de mi!A girl in Spain has few other chances to make herself pretty for the world to see, unless she lives in Madrid; and if it were not for the bull-fights, I suppose many girls would never get husbands. But, Our Lady be thanked, I do not have to look for one.”Did she mean that there was any understanding with Don Cipriano?I knew this was the thought which flashed through Dick's mind. And if Pilar had been desirable in motoring days, she was irresistible at home.Before eight o'clock the Gloria was at the gates, and twenty minutes later we were on foot in the street of the Gran Capitán, mingling with the crowd who waited for the first procession ofSemana Santato pour out from the cathedral doors. But the crowd was not a dense one, and the face I hoped to see was not there.“It will be a long time before anything happens,”said the Cherub.“Here, when a thing should be at eight, it is at nine, or maybe half-past. What does a little time matter? But mass is being said. Who knows that the old Duchess may not have had a religious fit, and come to hear it, bringing her friends?”No more was needed to make me anxious to go in; and we entered the cathedral, which is, to my mind, the most beautiful,inspiring, and poetic in the world.The two O'Donnels flitted away in the dusk, mysterious as the twilight of the gods, and we guessed that they were going to[pg 236]hear mass. Soon they found us again. They had not seen those for whom we searched; but the procession was starting.We made haste out before it, and none too soon, for it billowed forth after us in a glitter of gold and purple vestments, and tall, bleached palm-branches like beams of moonlight streaming against the blue of the morning sky.“They're not here,”said Pilar, when the last gleaming crucifix and waving palm, blessed by the bishop, had disappeared.“I was sure they wouldn't come. And—it does seem hard to disappoint you—but I'm afraid they won't be in their box this afternoon. Oh, we shall go, of course! But that will be the time for the Duke to lend the Conde de Ambulato his box. Thursday will be the great day, when the King will be in the royal box, and will walk with hiscofradiaof the cigarette-makers before Our Lady of Victory. You know how anxious the Duke is to win back the favour of the royal family; and he'll hardly think it worth while to sit through the hours of a procession unless he can be next door to the King, with a chance of an invitation to his box.”This was discouraging; still, I determined to be in the crowd during the afternoon; and I knew well that, though the splendid show ofSemana Santawas an old story to the O'Donnels, they would not fail me for a moment.Dick shamefacedly bought from one of many vendors an armful of blessed palms for Pilar to tie under the house windows, as a protection against the rage of thunder-storms throughout the coming year; and we drove to the country with the great glistening fronds blowing behind the motor-car like giant plumes.I spent hours writing, tearing up, and rewriting a letter to Monica which Pilar was to try and deliver if she could, and when she could. We lunched and did our best to make careless conversation, as if we were not anxious and excited—Dick and I for our own selfish reasons; the two others in sympathy. We talked of Seville, past and present—once“Sultana of the[pg 237]South,”still beautiful and gay, though her reign is over.“We are very happy even now, among ourselves, we Sevillanos,”said the Cherub.“You should see atertulia, if you want to know how families can enjoy themselves together. But there's another side of the picture, too. English and American people—there are a few—accuse us of being unsociable. They say we never give invitations to luncheons and dinners as people of other countries do; that a few calls are exchanged, and that is all, in an intercourse, it may be, of many years.”“Oh, I know what they say!”laughed Pilar.“I heard an American girl give a friend of hers a description of families she knew in Seville.‘You go to call,’said she;‘and if the ladies are at home (they won't be if they can help it), you're shown into a shut-up drawing-room smelling of mustiness. In front of the fireplace, if there is any, or else the brazier-table, a hard yellow or red satin sofa is drawn up, an armchair on each side. All the rest of the furniture's ranged in a straight row round the wall. It's in the afternoon, but you wait till the ladies dress, because if they're in they're sure to be in wrappers, unless it's so late that their carriage is ready for thepaseo. After you're nearly gone to sleep, they come, and you talk of any uninteresting things they can think of; never interesting ones, because they're kept for intimate friends' gossip; and the girls simper and stare as if you were a curiosity, because you're allowed to walk in the street without a maid.’That's being‘sociable’in Seville, according to the American girl; and I'm afraid that she's right from a foreigner's point of view.”All this, to amuse us; but unfortunately it was far from amusing to Dick. He sat looking introspective, and wondering no doubt, if Pilar meant to hint that, so far as the door of her heart was concerned, foreigners might save themselves the trouble of knocking.Seeing him taciturn, as hostess she felt it her duty to console him, so when luncheon was over an invitation to go and visit Vivillo, the beloved bull, was delivered to all, with an especially beguiling look at Dick. He accepted with suspicious alacrity,[pg 238]and to please her I said yes; while the Cherub, who was evidently longing for a siesta, shrugged his shoulders dutifully. It seemed that we could see the pasture which was Vivillo's drawing-room without trespassing upon Carmona's land, on which I should have been loth to set my foot, even for Pilar; but when, after twenty minutes' walk across meadows, we arrived at the hedge which divided the Duke'sganaderiafrom Colonel O'Donnel's farm, Dick would not be satisfied with a distant inspection of the grazing bulls. Pilar (denuded of her mantilla, but still in the black brocade, ready for the afternoon in Seville) was going to pay a friendly call upon her darling, and Dick was resolved upon an introduction.Pilar cried gaily to a herdsman visible in the distance, and joyously obedient to the girl's evidently familiar voice, the young fellow came running towards us,garrochain hand. Between him and the hedge which separated the two properties, was a deep ditch which no bull, save in a state of fury, would care to jump. But not far away a long plank lay half hidden in rich grass, and theganaderodragged it nearer, without a question, as if he knew already what was expected of him. Having pushed it across the ditch, to form a bridge at the spot where the hedge was thinnest, he took off his hat, and welcomed the gracious señor and señorita home. Vivillo, said he, was well, but would be the better for a sight of the señorita, who was the one human being he had seemed to love since the day of thetientawhich had proved him brave.Yes, there he was—the“lively one,”well named indeed!—grazing for the moment off there to the south-east. Could not the señorita see his brown back among the grey and black ones, farthest away? But she had only to call. Vivillo knew her voice and would answer to it as to no other. It was really a marvel. And was it true that she had begun negotiating for his purchase? Ah, it was a pity that such atoro bravowould not have his chance to fight in some splendidcorrida, where the noblest bulls of Spain must meet the most skilled of theespadas. He—Mateo—had[pg 239]often thought what a grand spectacle it would be to see Fuentes and Vivillo together. But—well, better waste the best bull that ever grazed on these pastures, and please the señorita. For her interests it was a good thing that the Señor Duque seldom or never troubled to come and seelos toros, for if his eye once lit upon Vivillo he would never part with him for any money, except for the honour of thecorrida.“Then be sure you don't let the Duke have a hint!”laughed Pilar, happy and fearless as a boy, as she squeezed through the hedge and tripped across the plank, followed by Dick.“She is perfectly safe,”said the Cherub, in answer to an uneasy look from me.“She's as well known over there almost as the herdsmen who tend the bulls from their birth; besides, she has some curious influence over animals. I have never seen anything like it in another human being, though I have read of such things. Since she was a child, I have no longer had any fear for her over there; and Señor Waring is safe also, while he keeps with her and Mateo, unless he were foolish enough to make some demonstration. But for me, I am no friend oflos toroswhen they are at home.”Dick and Pilar were in Carmona's pasture now, moving towards a troop of grazing bulls, magnificent creatures whose terrible horns and silken hides (branded with double circles under a crown) glittered in the sun. Scarcely a head was tossed in honour of the new-comers; but as Pilar raised her girlish voice to give a peculiar call, I saw a dark form in the distance separate itself from a group. Then a brown, lean-flanked bull, nobly armed with horns grand as the antlers of a stag, bounded away from his companions, and rushed in so straight a line towards Pilar, that in spite of the Cherub's words, my heart was wrenched.But I need not have feared. While the young herdsman and Dick stood by passive and admiring, thistoro bravoof famous fighting breed reduced his run to a canter, and trotted up to Pilar as tamely as if he had been a belledcabestro.The girl, opening a large knotted handkerchief which she had[pg 240]brought filled with sweet biscuit, took a step or two forward to meet the bull. Nestling against his huge head, powerful enough to bear up a horse and rider impaled upon his horns, she calmly fed the great beast from her store. Never could there have been a more beautiful picture since the day when another bull submitted to the caresses of Europa.Vivillo scarcely deigned to look at Dick, who made some bids for his favour. All his chivalrous soul oftoro bravowas absorbed in pleasure at Pilar's return, gratitude for her remembrance of him. I would scarcely have believed that it could be real, had I not seen it.For ten minutes she stayed, Dick close at her side, always ignored by the bull; then she returned and walked towards us, slowly, the herdsman keeping near and Vivillo marching after in a resolute way which would have turned grey the hair of a nervous man or woman.But if Dick were conscious of his nerves in such an unusual situation, he did not show it. His head was bent over Pilar's, talking earnestly, and though she never looked up at him in answer, once she broke out laughing, so merrily, I wondered what he had said.In our own meadow again, safely delivered from the bulls, Pilar slipped instantly to her father's side and began chattering about Vivillo, who stood by the ditch looking wistfully after her as he chewed his last biscuit. Dick and I were thus thrown together; and though Dick's face is no tell-tale, I guessed somehow that his mind was not as calm as his features.“I should think that might have been a little upsetting to an amateur,”I said.“Maybe,”answered Dick, absent-mindedly.“But it isn't that, if I'm looking queer. Say Ramón, I've done it.”“What?”“Proposed to a girl for the first time in my life. What's more, I grovelled. I called Vivillo a lamb, though at the moment he was looking more like several dozen lions. I told her if she'd[pg 241]marry me, she could have him and any other bulls sitting about on our hearthrug; that we'd have a nice big one on purpose.”“That ought to be an inducement—even from a heretic.”“Oh, confound you, don't harp on that. I'm mad about the girl. I know all you're suffering, and if I ever put on superior airs, I take them back and swallow them.”Even a man heartbroken would have had to grin; and Pilar had persuaded me not to be heartbroken yet. If I laughed, I sympathized too, and liked Dick better than ever because we were eating the same bitter-sweet orange of which the voice had sung. It seemed that Pilar had neither accepted nor refused him, but had asked for time to think; and he would have been a little encouraged if she had not suddenly said,“Don Ciprianolovesbulls.”At five o'clock we spun into Seville, with the car, for nobody knew at what time the procession might begin; nobody ever did know, it appeared. And Pilar was no longer merrily boyish, but feminine and seductive again in her black mantilla.The vast oblong of the Plaza de la Constitución was already humming with the excitement of a moving crowd. The lane between chairs and tribune was thronged with the poor of the town and peasants from the country, who would have no seats and must press for places to see the procession; but there was no ill-natured pushing, and gentlest care was taken not to crush the toddling, star-eyed children who tumbled under people's feet. Soldiers laughed and edged their way past clinging groups of pretty girls. Civil guards, looking as if they had stepped out of old pictures, strove to keep order, their shouts lost among the cries which filled the air; cries of water-sellers bearing big earthen vessels; cries of those who wheeled cargoes of roasted peanuts in painted ships; cries of crab-sellers; cries of shabby old men, and neat, white-capped boys, hawking fresh-friedcalientes, sugared cakes, and all kinds ofdulceson napkin-covered trays.English and American tourists in panamas wandered through[pg 242]the throng searching for their numbered chairs; vendors of seats shouted reduced prices; bareheaded women with brown babies in their arms offered programmes of the week's processions; tattered boys shrieked the daily papers, and coloured post-cards; while from the balconies of private houses ladies in black mantillas, children in white, and foreigners in gay colours looked down upon the scene.So passed an hour, while the boxes and best seats began to fill. Spanish families of the middle class, men and women in black, took front seats of the tribune, where the empty royal box made a brave splash of gold and crimson; but more slowly came members of the aristocracy and officers in blue and gold; and, jostled by the crowd, I waited in suspense.Colonel O'Donnel had gone to his club for news of the box which, by strategic means, he had been trying to get. Pilar and Dick had gone with him, to remain in the car chaperoned by Ropes, until he should come out; so that I had no means of learning whether the Cherub had triumphed or failed. All I knew was, that a club acquaintance whose wife was ill, might be induced to offer his box, close to the royalties, to a second acquaintance in exchange for one directly behind that which the Duke of Carmona had taken. If this could be arranged, the O'Donnels would be given the latter, in exchange for—only the Cherub knew what. Borne back and forth with the moving throng, like a leaf in an eddy, my eyes seldom strayed for long from the tribune. Would the Carmona household come? Would the O'Donnels be their neighbours?At last I saw Pilar and the two men entering the tribune. Yes, they had succeeded, I could tell from the Cherub's description of the Duke's box. But Carmona's was still empty.The procession had not yet appeared, though the firstcofradiahad been due in the Plaza an hour ago, and twilight was falling over the vast square, ethereally clear and pale. Only the figure of Faith on the soaring Giralda, turned as if to watch the scene, still glittered in the sun; and its dazzling brilliance had faded[pg 243]before a bugle note rang out, poignant as a cry of bitter sorrow from a breaking heart.This was the herald of a brotherhood with its sacred images; and the police began to sweep the crowd before them out of the lane between the chairs and tribune. Slowly the flock was forced along by the shepherd dogs; and as the way cleared, forth from the dim tunnel of Las Sierpes marched, with arms reversed, a squad of civil guards; then a company of mounted soldiers, their bugles still wailing that sad warning of some piteous spectacle to come.The cavalry passed; it was but a modern preface to a mediæval poem which, following closely, brought with it into the Plaza sad ghosts, grim ghosts, sainted ghosts of long past days.Headed by one of their number bearing aloft an exquisite crucifix, walked a band of penitents carrying great lighted candles. Their white robes of linen swept in long pointed trains over the cobbles, the silver buckles on their black shoes glinting with each step; through the narrow slits in the bluecapuchas, whose conical peaks tapered far above the wearers' heads, their dark eyes burned with mysterious intensity. Two and two they moved, noiseless as bats save for the tap of silver batons, making an avenue of gliding stars, like will-o'-the-wisps, from the black mouth of Las Sierpes across the length of the Plaza.Then suddenly, in that dark, distant tunnel flashed something luminous, something that moved, swung in air higher than the heads of men, something that was like a great blazing casket of jewels or a cloud of fireflies.It came on, halting, starting again, reaching the open square, and revealing itself as an illuminated platform supporting a crucified Christ, life size, with no detail spared of tragedy and torture.One of those fine sculptures of painted wood, such as I had seen at Valladolid, the sixteenth century artist had spent his soul in showing to believers what Christ had suffered that they might be saved; and so startling was the appeal of this terrible[pg 244]figure to the sympathies, that for an instant I found myself forgetting everything except a wild desire to rescue it.As thepaso, with its quivering silver lamps and strewn flowers, came near to where I stood, I could see, beneath the long velvet curtains which draped the platform, twenty pairs or more of slowly moving feet; and the frequent pauses were accounted for.I watched the heart-rending figure pass round the corner of the Plaza, out of sight, swallows wheeling overhead as if once more to pluck the thorns from that bleeding brow; and as it vanished, far away in the dusk of Las Sierpes appeared another illumined mystery of clustering stars. Out from darkness into hyacinth twilight it floated, a canopied platform of purple velvet, crusted with silver and gold; under the glittering roof a virgin, who seemed to stand praying in a garden of tall lilies, lit by a sacred silver flame.The crowding lilies, as thepasocame nearer, were only white, waxen candles after all, but in their light the image of the Virgin gained a womanliness and beauty extraordinary. Her gorgeous trailing robe of gold-embroidered velvet, her under gown of satin scintillating with diamonds, her blazing crown of jewels, the sparkling rings on her delicate fingers, her necklaces, her bracelets, were such as the Mother of Christ never dreamed of in her simple life; and half the watchers knew grinding poverty, which a few of her gems might relieve.That thought, I knew, would leap to many minds; but they would be the minds of foreigners; and I, being Spanish, understood. I saw what this procession of emblems meant to these people, rich and poor alike. They were being reminded, in the realistic and dramatic way which appealed best to their imaginations, of all Christ had suffered for them, of all the mother-woman had endured. The gems, which to alien minds were incongruous, crystallized their tears, their love, their gratitude; and Our Lady's jewels were the jewels of the poor—rich possessions which could not be taken from them, joys for ever, objects of their highest pride.[pg 245]Bending in gentle grief, the fair face bowed, the graceful figure passed in fragrance of lilies, perfumed wax, and incense sending blue clouds from silver censors swung by white-robed boys. With her, as she moved, went music—our Lady's own music, sad and beautiful as moonlight on a lonely grave, cool as peace after hot pain.Now the box in the tribune I had watched so long was filled with strangers. Pilar had been right. Carmona had given his place to friends. But with that soft, haunting music in my ears, sweet as remembered days of joy, I could not fear anything. Somehow I was at peace, with good thoughts in my mind and hope in my heart.Brotherhoods in black, brotherhoods in purple, andpasoafterpasowent by; Christus bending under the weight of the cross, Christus praying among sleeping disciples in Gethsemane, Our Lady of the Rosary, Our Lady of Tears, flaming rivers of light, suns rising out of purple clouds.Night folded over the great square, with its crowd of people. No one had gone away. Electric lights burst out and made the scene like the auditorium of some vast theatre; but the stage and auditorium were one. Then the full moon, yellow as honey, looked over the thronged roof-gardens of tall houses opposite the tribune, and sailed high in heaven.It was past nine o'clock when Colonel O'Donnel touched me on the shoulder.“We saw you long ago,”he said.“You are so tall. Shall we go home to dinner? But on Thursday you will have another chance.”Thursday! and there were three days in between. I wished that he could have left me in my dream of peace as long as it might last.[pg 246]XXXThe Hand Under the CurtainsLike a dream the three days passed; but not a dream of peace, for that I lost with the last echo of the Virgin music and the fragrance of her lilies.Dick thought himself miserable, but I would gladly have changed my state of mind for his. Sometimes he hoped, sometimes he despaired, but at all times he was really very happy, if only he had known it. He enjoyed visiting the Murillos with Pilar and the Cherub when I had no heart to go. He borrowed the motor to whisk them out to Italica. He went with the O'Donnels late every afternoon for the drive in the fashionablepaseoalong the river side, as pleased with the five handsome mules, in their smart Spanish harness of white and crimson rope and brown leather, as if they had been his own.As for me, I would not go, although Dick urged that, in the never-ending double line of fine carriages, we might meet the Duchess of Carmona's. But I did not dare to see Monica again after what had happened unless there were some hope that Pilar could speak for me, or that I could speak for myself. Still, I could not resist questioning the family in the evening. Had they heard tidings of her? Had they seen her?Presently there was news, but not good news. The engagement was known, and was being talked of everywhere. The story was that the wedding would be soon, as the Duchess was not strong, and professed herself anxious to see her son married. Gossip said also that the marriage would be celebrated in Madrid directly after the festivities of the royal wedding were over, so[pg 247]that the young duchess, as the wife of a grandee of Spain, could become lady-in-waiting to the bride-queen, whenlos Reyesreturned from their honeymoon at La Granja.The Cherub told me these things only because I insisted on hearing all; and on Wednesday evening I dragged further details from Pilar. They had passed the Duchess, Lady Vale-Avon, and Monica in the Carmona carriage, the handsomest in Seville; and the Duke had been on horseback, looking more attractive than Pilar had ever seen him in thechulocostume, worn at times as an amusing affectation by some young aristocrats of Andalucía. I could picture him in the wide-brimmed grey sombrero, the tight short jacket, and trousers fitting close as a glove until they widened below the knee. Yes, the dress would suit him; and Pilar admitted reluctantly that he was a perfect rider. I was horribly jealous, ready to fancy that, after all, Monica had actually begun to care for him.There had been a procession on Wednesday, but it was not an affair of importance; and with Thursday, and the presence of the King, all the greatest events of thisSemana Santawere to begin.Early in the afternoon there was washing of poor men's feet by the great ecclesiastics in the cathedral, the King remaining at theAlcázarto bathe—as Dick put it—a few carefully selected feet on his own account, as a sign of humility. Later, would come the most splendid procession of the week, the King walking with his owncofradia; in the evening, the Miserere in the cathedral, and processions all night, till mass on Good Friday morning. To myself I said, therefore, that I was to have two more chances: the one for which I depended upon Pilar in the afternoon; the one for which I depended on an inspiration of my own in the evening. For all the world was going to hear the Miserere.Though it was a week for penitence and fasting, Seville—honoured by the King—thrilled with excitement. Thousands of strangers had poured into the town for this day, and the crowds were three times as dense as on Sunday. Though there had been[pg 248]disquieting rumours, whispers of anarchist plots and bombs, the police had been alert; the King had taken a swift gunboat up the Guadalquivir, instead of arriving by special train from Cadiz, had reached Seville safely; and now anxiety was forgotten. All the town poured into the Plaza de la Constitución more than an hour before there was any hope that the procession might begin; and I was in the crowd.The boxes filled earlier than before, many of the ladies no longer in black, but wearing Paris hats and pale-tinted dresses, though to-morrow there would be black mantillas again, and red carnations. Pilar, Dick, and Colonel O'Donnel were in their places, and though the Duke's box was still empty, I was sure I should not be disappointed to-day.“He'll appear about the time the King does,”I was saying to myself, when suddenly there came a stir in the royal box. The mayor and town councillors walked in, looking important; four giant halberdiers of the royal guard took position, each in a corner of the box. Then rose a shout,“Viva el Rey!”and against the crimson velvet draperies the figure of the tall young King in white uniform stood out like a slender statue of marble.He was accompanied by his sister, the Infanta, and her husband, three or four ladies, and a retinue of decorated officers; but for an instant I saw only the King, because—rebel as I was supposed to be—my hat waved as high and my cheers rang as loudly as any in the crowd.I had not seen his face—that day at Biarritz long ago—when his automobile stopped for want of petrol. He had worn his motor-mask, and had not removed it, for he was incognito; but now, as he bowed in answer to the people's greeting, the young face was noble under the silver helmet. His smile brought a deep dimple to either cheek, and a pleasant light to the brown eyes. I was proud of my King, and found myself wishing that I could serve him, though it seemed that that could never be; and with a sigh for the perversities of fate I looked away, only to receive a shock of surprise.[pg 249]Among the ladies with the Infanta were the Duchess of Carmona, Lady Vale-Avon, and Monica. With the officers and friends of the King stood the Duke, his dark face radiating satisfaction, as if this were the crowning moment of his life.Not only was Monica with the man as his fiancée, but she was dressed, in compliment to him, like a girl of Spain. She wore a mantilla such as the Infanta wore, and so bright was her hair, so fair her skin framed in the black flounce of lace, that she was almost as much stared at as the King. On her breast, pinning the folds of the mantilla, there was a glint of crimson; and looking closely, I made it out to be a large brooch of rubies, forming the famous“No. 8 Do,”the motto of Seville. Only the Duke could have given her this, I thought; and she had accepted it!There was no more hope, then. It did not matter that her unexpected presence in the royal box would prevent Pilar from speaking, or giving her my letter. Still, I clung desperately to the one chance left; the cathedral and the Miserere.Hardly were the royalties and their friends settled in the red-draped box when the next brotherhood marched out from Las Sierpes, and halted their firstpasobefore the King, that he might see it well. He was on his feet, his head bared and bowed; and while he stood veiled in rising incense, some emotional soul in the audience broke into a Moorish wail, the prayer song orsaetaof the people, improvising words which caught the popular fancy.A murmur of approval ran through the crowd, which pressed close, in spite of the police; and as all eyes for the moment turned upon the King, or upon the white-haired peasant singer, a thing happened which caught my attention.The velvet curtain which hid the bearers of thepasoresting before the royal box, parted very slightly at one side, as if someone were peering out; then a hand darted forth and received from a man in a black coat, who stood with his back half-turned to me, a faded bouquet of flowers, arranged Spanish fashion in a hard, stiff pyramid.Quick as that darting hand a thought flashed through my[pg 250]brain. In a few seconds thepasowould be moving on; the bearers were bracing themselves for a new effort. That bouquet! if it should hold the threatened bomb? This was the moment for such an attempt at wrecking the royal box, for the King was a member of the next brotherhood that must pass; and soon he would be leaving his sister and friends to walk with it, perhaps not returning to his box that day.The passing of light is no more swift than was the flight of these thoughts; and without waiting to calculate the cost to myself, thinking only of the King and of the girl I loved, I instantly thrust both hands between the curtains, following the flowers as they were passed in. I grasped the bouquet firmly round the stiff base of the pyramid, and pulled it out before the hidden man who had received it knew that it had not been withdrawn by his confederate. It was all over in a second, and I had the bouquet. Also I had identified the man who pushed it through the curtains of thepaso, though which among the twenty or twenty-five concealed bearers had taken it from him I could not tell.Whether my act had been wise or foolish, it was done, and thepasohad moved on, carrying the secret of one beating heart under the curtained platform.Prying cautiously among the tightly banked flowers, my blood quickened as I touched something round and hard, a thing about the size of a large orange, fastened into the centre of the pyramid by a network of thin wire. Intuition had not played me a trick. There was death in this bunch of roses, death for many, perhaps. Though it was of first importance to get the bomb as far away as possible from the King and from Monica, and to render it harmless, I would not give up my pursuit of the man in the black coat, who was fighting his way through the crowd, only a few yards in front of me,—a square-set figure, in the holiday clothes of a respectable workman. I saw only his back now, every muscle tense in his desire to escape the vengeance on his track; but I had seen his face for an instant, and could identify it anywhere.[pg 251]What if, in his desperation, he turned, and in the hope of saving himself accused me of the crime he would have committed? It but needed that to ruin me—after Barcelona, and this long journey to Seville, where the King was due. Would any explanation I might make be credited, when the bomb was in my hand?I pushed the crowding thoughts out of my mind. There were other things to think of—the bomb itself, what to do with it; and the man to be followed.Meanwhile I was moving on after that broad back of which I must not lose sight, and away from the neighbourhood of the royal box. I was in the lane of the procession, close in front of the long ranks of occupied chairs, and opposite the tribune. There were only two persons abreast in the moving line which carried me along, driven on by the police, but we were tightly packed, pressed against on one side by the knees of people in the chairs, on the other by the purple brotherhood preceding anotherpaso. The situation seemed desperate, since to give an alarm would endanger the crowd as well as jeopardize my future; and a panic would be a calamity.Suddenly the cry of a water-seller struck my ear sharply.“Agua!—clear as crystal and cold as mountain snow. Agua!”He was just before me with his earthen vessel.“Sell me your jar,”I said.“No, I don't want a glass of water. I want the jar—for a curiosity. Twenty pesetas for it.”This offer saved questionings. The vessel with its contents was worth two pesetas to the vendor, perhaps, and, lest I should change my mind, its owner hastily handed over his jar and pocketed my silver. Even now I had to wait for an opening in the throng, till I had been pushed on as far as the lane leading from the square to the Plaza de San Fernando; and there, to my joy, I jostled against Ropes. Without a word of explanation, I said,“Follow that man in the cloth cap with the black coat and red tie. Get hold of him; take care he doesn't knife or shoot you. Don't let him go—and wait for me.”This was all Ropes needed.“Right, sir,”said he, and forged[pg 252]after the black back, which in this freer space was gaining distance.Unexpectedly relieved of my second task, carefully shielding the bouquet with the water-jar I worked my way into the lane, and struck the head of the earthen vessel against a stone coping.The porous clay cracked like an egg-shell, the top coming off in one piece, with a few flying splinters; and I pressed the bouquet deep into the water.This was the best I could do at the moment, though, if the bomb was made with picric acid, I had accomplished nothing. I could only hope; and pressing on I came up with Ropes, who had collared his man and jammed him against a wall.Not a sound had the wretch uttered. He knew that, if he resisted, he would be instantly denounced and torn to pieces by a crowd not likely to wait for clear proof of such an accusation. Since he had failed, it was better to trust to the mercy of his captor and of the police than to the thousands wild with enthusiasm for the King. Fortunately for him, as for us, the crowd had something better to do than stop to watch what they took for some trifling private quarrel.“He tried to knife me,”said Ropes;“but I stopped that. Knife's in my pocket. What next, sir?”It was characteristic that he did not ask what the man had done.“Give the brute up to the police,”I answered in English.“He was with another chap whom I've lost, in a plot to throw a bomb at the royal box; and the bomb's in this water-jar.”For the first time Ropes' face lost its imperturbable expression.“What, sir!”he exclaimed,“after your troubles—excuse my mentioning them—you concern yourself in an affair like this!”“I've no choice. We can't let this beast escape. If they have him, the police may get his mate. He looks a coward and sneak.”“Beg pardon, sir, you have a choice. I've got the man. Give me the jar with the bomb, and I'll take the whole thing on my shoulders with the police, though it's a shame you should lose[pg 253]the credit. I've a clean bill; chauffeur to Mr. R. Waring, American newspaper correspondent. No need to bring you into it.”“If you're blown up by the bomb—”“Would get blown up just the same sticking to you, for Iwouldstick like a burr, sir. (Now, no good wriggling, you beast, or gabbling about a mistake. There's no mistake, and you won't get away!) Better tell him what's in that jar, sir—my Spanish doesn't run as far—and that'll quiet him.”“You can't manage the man and the jar.”“Could manage two of each. There's a couple of civil guards. Now, if you've any kindness for me, sir, let go that jar; and don't be seen with me.”I gave Ropes his way. But I lingered near enough to watch the scene which followed; and had that innocent-looking jar been broken, or had the contents of the soaked bouquet exploded of its own accord, I should have been near enough to share my chauffeur's fate.He explained in broken Spanish, eked out with gesture; and the fact that he was English, with the most honest of English faces to vouch for his sincerity, helped him. The man in his grasp was Catalán, which was not in his favour at Seville. The civil guards looked at the jar with respectful interest, but did not offer to take it; and, after a moment of lively conversation, Ropes and his captive marched rapidly away with the men in red, black, and white.At least, whatever happened now, the King was safe; and Monica was safe.It was not until eight o'clock, when I went to the quiet hotel where we had appointed to meet and dine, that I found out anything more. Then they told me that the King returned to his box after walking in the procession, and that, soon after, Dick had been surprised by a visit from a member of the police in plain clothes. The man had come to the O'Donnels' box, inquired if the American gentleman were Mr. Waring, asked if he had a[pg 254]chauffeur named Peter Ropes, and being answered in the affirmative had told the story of the bomb. Dick had then gone with the policeman to see Ropes, had made a statement concerning himself, his business, his car, his chauffeur, his occupation in life, and the friends with whom he was staying. All had proved satisfactory. Ropes had been thanked by the police for his promptness and presence of mind, and threatened with active gratitude from higher quarters. Both had been asked to remain within reach for a few days; and the episode was over.But it was not until they heard my part of the story that Dick or the O'Donnels knew precisely where and how Ropes had come into the drama.

[pg 228]XXVIIILet Your Heart SpeakMen do not kill themselves for such things. Fools, or cowards, or children may; but not men who are worthy the name. Yet there was no joy of life left in me, as I went out of theAlcázargarden, having had my answer.Love cannot die in an hour, and I loved Monica still, though I said that she was not the girl to whom I had dedicated my soul in worship.She had let me follow her, only to say at last:“I never wish to see you again. I'm going to marry the Duke of Carmona.”After all, she had proved herself a docile daughter. She had seen what the house of a grandee of Spain can be like. She had seen the Blanca Laguna pearl. Poor child of eighteen years, brought up to know poverty and to loathe it; was I to let my love turn to hate because she was not an angel, but a woman like others?A despairing pity and a sense of hopeless loss weighed upon my spirit with such heaviness as I had never known. Not only had I lost the girl I loved, but there was no such girl; she was a dream, and I had waked up. That was all; but it seemed the end of everything.My errand in Spain was finished, or rather broken short. She did not want me any more. The sooner I took myself out of her life and let her forget what must now seem childish folly, the better. I might have known—she was so young; and she had warned me of disaster when she said,“Don't leave me alone.”[pg 229]I went to Olivero's flat and changed my clothes; then to the hotel where Ropes and the car were waiting. For the first time since we had come into Spain, I drove,“like a demon,”Ropes' surprised face said, though his tongue was discreet; and the wild rush through the air was wine to thirsty lips.At the Cortijo de Santa Rufina they were all sitting in thepatioin floods of moonlight, the great awning which gave shade by day, fully rolled back.“You see,”exclaimed Pilar,“we sat up for you. Well, how did it go off?”I heard myself laughing. It did not feel a pleasant laugh, but I was glad to think that it sounded like any other.“Oh, it went off exactly as I might have expected,”I said, knowing that it was useless to hide my humiliation, though I might hide my misery.“And consequently, my car and I will also go off, to-morrow. As for Dick, he must do as he pleases; but I advise him, now he's here, to stay for theSemana Santa.”“What do you mean?”asked Pilar, almost letting fall the guitar on which she had been playing.“Has—has Lady Monica promised to go with you—to-morrow?”“Not at all,”said I.“But what she's promised to another man makes it better that I should go. She's engaged to Carmona.”“I don't believe it,”cried Pilar.“I shouldn't, if anyone but herself had told me.”“She said it?”“In exactly those words. She said too, that she didn't want to see me again.”“Oh—oh!”breathed Pilar.“ThankHeavenfor that. You frightened me horribly—just for a moment.”I stared.“And now—”“Now I know there's some mistake—dreadful, but not too dreadful to clear up.”I laughed again, as bitterly as I felt this time.“Extraordinary idea! Because she says she doesn't want to see me, there's a mistake—”[pg 230]“Of course. Surely you aren't so cold-hearted, so disloyal, so—sostupidas to believe her? But tell me instantly all about it—everything; every word; every look.”“Easily done,”I said,“if it won't bore you all. There were very few of either; but what there were left nothing to the imagination.”“Imagination indeed!”exclaimed Pilar.“But go on.”So I went on, and she listened to the end without interruption, as did the two others, who were only men, and therefore had no comments to make upon such matters.As I told the wretched story in as few and as bald words as possible, Pilar sat grave-eyed, tense-lipped as Portia in the Court of Justice before her turn to plead. When I finished she was silent for a moment, I thought because, after all, she found herself with nothing to say. But, when her father in his compassion would have begun some murmur of consolation, she broke out quickly,“I suppose sheisengaged to the Duke, or she wouldn't have said so.”“Not much doubt of that,”I assented.“Noranydoubt of her real feelings. Poor little girl, I know she's wishing she could die to-night. Thosedevils!Yes, Iwillsay it, Papa. I shall be forgiven, for theyare. They've told her some hateful lie, and made her so desperate she was ready to do anything. Why, it's just come to me; there's only one thing that would make a girl who loves a man do what she's done.”“What?”I broke in, breathless; for Pilar's fire had flamed into my blood now, and I waited for her answer as a man waits for an antidote to poison.“Believing he's in love with someone else.”“How could she believe that? Who is there—”I stopped. My eyes met Pilar's, and she blushed, stammering as she hurried bravely on.“The greatest nonsense, of course. But—but—oh, don't you remember how she looked that evening at Manzanares when we saw her last? So wistful, as if there were something on her mind she mustn't tell? I caught her looking at me once or[pg 231]twice as if she were wondering—they must have begun, even then, to upset her mind, poor, lonely child; but the worst hadn't happened; she was only a little doubtful. If you could have spoken to her, or if I—”“I did write,”I said,“though I've always been afraid something went wrong with that letter.”“Ah!”Pilar caught at this, and would have the whole story with every detail. I even found myself confessing my old presentiment, the fancy that Monica was calling for me to help her.“I believe she was, calling and praying. Of course she never got the letter. What was in it? If you don't mind my asking?”“I said, a crisis seemed to be coming, and she must make up her mind to let me take her away.”“A splendid letter to fall into her mother's hands. Did you sign your real name?”“No name at all. I wrote in a hurry, and—”“That's lucky. But even if you had, Lady Vale-Avon couldn't have shown such a letter to the Duke, he's too Spanish—too Moorish, I ought to say. She wouldn't have dared, as she wants him for a son-in-law.”“That occurred to me.”“But there aren't many other things she wouldn't dare, to get rid of such a danger as you. If she got the letter—and I'm sure she did—there was your handwriting at her mercy. Supposing she—”“I know what's in your mind. But I don't think such things are done—out of novels.”“Oh, aren't they; when people are clever enough? I know of one case myself. And the girl's life was spoiled. Lady Monica's shan't be though, if I can help it.”“You're taking a great deal for granted,”I said. But I felt as if the radiance of heaven were pouring down upon me, instead of the pensive moonlight.“Doesn't your heart tell you I'm right?”cried Pilar.“Yes!”I answered.“Yes, you good angel, it does.”[pg 232]XXIXThe Garden of Flaming LiliesThe voice of some maid servant singing acoplawaked me early in the morning, after an hour or two of sleep.El amor y la naranjase parecen infinito;Que por muy dulces que seande agrio tienen su poquito.1Yes, always a little bitter, I said to myself. But if for me there were after all to be some sweetness left?Last night before parting, the Cherub, Dick and I had talked matters over from every point of view. I was only too thankful to take the advice of one girl on behalf of another, and give to Monica the benefit of that doubt which at first had not seemed admissible. But even Pilar confessed that Monica's engagement to Carmona made our part a hundred times more difficult.Whatever her motive had been—revenge upon me for supposed disloyalty, dread of her mother, or awakened ambition--she had in any case consented to marry him, and Pilar suggested that the dinner invitations had been sent out as an excuse for a public announcement, which would more firmly bind her to her promise. The news would have flown all over Seville in[pg 233]twenty-four hours; when the King arrived on Tuesday Carmona would certainly lose no time in telling him; Lady Vale-Avon would not wait for Monica to write to the Princess, but would probably wire; and no matter what my private anxieties might be, for Monica's sake I must do nothing openly. As for defying Carmona to use his knowledge of my true name, and challenging him to fight, that must not be thought of. Monica's fair fame would never survive such a scandal, especially in Spain, where a girl's reputation is as easily damaged as the down on a butterfly's wing.But, as the Cherub said, there are many roads which lead to the centre of the world. He had learned at his club that the Duke had lent his box in the tribune to a friend, for such processions as he and his household did not care to see. That friend was a member of the club, and through him the Cherub had found out that the box in question was next to the royal box which would be occupied by the King, the Infanta Doña María Teresa, and her husband. Immediately upon making this discovery, the Cherub had begun to move heaven and earth to obtain a box for himself, either behind, in front of, or on one side of Carmona's box. He did not know yet if he should succeed, for things were not done in a moment in Spain. Of course all the boxes were already subscribed for the whole week by members of the aristocracy and other persons of importance in Seville; but, then, the Cherub had friends and acquaintances in every class. If it were a question of money, money would not be spared; if it were a question of a favour for a favour in return, that favour would be given. There was hope that the thing might be arranged; and once Pilar came within speaking distance of Monica, nothing short of sudden death could prevent her from telling the girl the truth, vowing by all the saints that she had been deceived for the one purpose of separating her from me. If Monica could be made to believe that, she would have courage to be true in spite of all; and then it would be for me to save her from keeping the engagement into which she had been tricked.[pg 234]As for my going to Carmona's house and trying to see Monica, such a plan appeared useless, as I should certainly not be allowed to come near her. Therefore I must wait with such patience as I could, and let my friends help me in the subtle ways favoured in Spain.Now, Palm Sunday had dawned crystal clear; but Pilar had explained that nobody occupied the boxes and chairs to see the procession of palms in the morning; that, though it was pretty to see, it was not one of the great sights; and, as one must be waiting early outside the cathedral, it was unlikely that anyone from Carmona's house would be there. Still there was the chance, and I could not afford to miss it; so the O'Donnels offered to go with me into Seville, Dick, of course, being of the party.Consequently, every one at the Cortijo was astir by six; and before seven Dick and I were in thepatio, just in time to greet Pilar utterly fascinating in a mantilla.She was dressed as a Spanish woman of the upper class should be dressed on Palm Sunday; and though the tight-fitting, rich black brocade silk which she wore would, in any other country, have seemed a costume not for young girlhood but for middle age, it suited her wonderfully. Her clear-skinned, heart-shaped face, with its great soft eyes and red lips, was beautiful in the cloudy frame of black lace; and her piled hair, of so dark a brown as to appear black, except when the sunlight burnished threads of gold in its masses, looked ruddy as the leaves of a copper-beech gleaming through the figured lace.“By Jove!”exclaimed Dick, jumping to his feet when he saw her. No more than that; but Pilar was woman enough to understand the value of the compliment; and she smiled, patting the flounce of her mantilla into still more graceful folds on her breast.“You think me nice like this?”she asked.“I'm proud of my mantilla, you know. It came to me from my great-grandmother, as all the best ones do come to Spanish girls; and I've two lovely white mantillas which I wear on great feast days when I want to be very beautiful.”[pg 235]“At bull-fights?”asked Dick, his eyes adoring her in a way he would have laughed at in any other man only a few weeks ago.“I don't go to bull-fights,”said Pilar.“I love the poor bulls and horses so much, it would make me sad to see them die. Though, if I were a bull, I would myself choose a brave death in the arena, after a life of five glorious years, rather than the slaughter-house, or a weary existence of labour till old age or overstrain finished me. But I drive in thepaseoon the bull-fight days, and for theferia.Ay de mi!A girl in Spain has few other chances to make herself pretty for the world to see, unless she lives in Madrid; and if it were not for the bull-fights, I suppose many girls would never get husbands. But, Our Lady be thanked, I do not have to look for one.”Did she mean that there was any understanding with Don Cipriano?I knew this was the thought which flashed through Dick's mind. And if Pilar had been desirable in motoring days, she was irresistible at home.Before eight o'clock the Gloria was at the gates, and twenty minutes later we were on foot in the street of the Gran Capitán, mingling with the crowd who waited for the first procession ofSemana Santato pour out from the cathedral doors. But the crowd was not a dense one, and the face I hoped to see was not there.“It will be a long time before anything happens,”said the Cherub.“Here, when a thing should be at eight, it is at nine, or maybe half-past. What does a little time matter? But mass is being said. Who knows that the old Duchess may not have had a religious fit, and come to hear it, bringing her friends?”No more was needed to make me anxious to go in; and we entered the cathedral, which is, to my mind, the most beautiful,inspiring, and poetic in the world.The two O'Donnels flitted away in the dusk, mysterious as the twilight of the gods, and we guessed that they were going to[pg 236]hear mass. Soon they found us again. They had not seen those for whom we searched; but the procession was starting.We made haste out before it, and none too soon, for it billowed forth after us in a glitter of gold and purple vestments, and tall, bleached palm-branches like beams of moonlight streaming against the blue of the morning sky.“They're not here,”said Pilar, when the last gleaming crucifix and waving palm, blessed by the bishop, had disappeared.“I was sure they wouldn't come. And—it does seem hard to disappoint you—but I'm afraid they won't be in their box this afternoon. Oh, we shall go, of course! But that will be the time for the Duke to lend the Conde de Ambulato his box. Thursday will be the great day, when the King will be in the royal box, and will walk with hiscofradiaof the cigarette-makers before Our Lady of Victory. You know how anxious the Duke is to win back the favour of the royal family; and he'll hardly think it worth while to sit through the hours of a procession unless he can be next door to the King, with a chance of an invitation to his box.”This was discouraging; still, I determined to be in the crowd during the afternoon; and I knew well that, though the splendid show ofSemana Santawas an old story to the O'Donnels, they would not fail me for a moment.Dick shamefacedly bought from one of many vendors an armful of blessed palms for Pilar to tie under the house windows, as a protection against the rage of thunder-storms throughout the coming year; and we drove to the country with the great glistening fronds blowing behind the motor-car like giant plumes.I spent hours writing, tearing up, and rewriting a letter to Monica which Pilar was to try and deliver if she could, and when she could. We lunched and did our best to make careless conversation, as if we were not anxious and excited—Dick and I for our own selfish reasons; the two others in sympathy. We talked of Seville, past and present—once“Sultana of the[pg 237]South,”still beautiful and gay, though her reign is over.“We are very happy even now, among ourselves, we Sevillanos,”said the Cherub.“You should see atertulia, if you want to know how families can enjoy themselves together. But there's another side of the picture, too. English and American people—there are a few—accuse us of being unsociable. They say we never give invitations to luncheons and dinners as people of other countries do; that a few calls are exchanged, and that is all, in an intercourse, it may be, of many years.”“Oh, I know what they say!”laughed Pilar.“I heard an American girl give a friend of hers a description of families she knew in Seville.‘You go to call,’said she;‘and if the ladies are at home (they won't be if they can help it), you're shown into a shut-up drawing-room smelling of mustiness. In front of the fireplace, if there is any, or else the brazier-table, a hard yellow or red satin sofa is drawn up, an armchair on each side. All the rest of the furniture's ranged in a straight row round the wall. It's in the afternoon, but you wait till the ladies dress, because if they're in they're sure to be in wrappers, unless it's so late that their carriage is ready for thepaseo. After you're nearly gone to sleep, they come, and you talk of any uninteresting things they can think of; never interesting ones, because they're kept for intimate friends' gossip; and the girls simper and stare as if you were a curiosity, because you're allowed to walk in the street without a maid.’That's being‘sociable’in Seville, according to the American girl; and I'm afraid that she's right from a foreigner's point of view.”All this, to amuse us; but unfortunately it was far from amusing to Dick. He sat looking introspective, and wondering no doubt, if Pilar meant to hint that, so far as the door of her heart was concerned, foreigners might save themselves the trouble of knocking.Seeing him taciturn, as hostess she felt it her duty to console him, so when luncheon was over an invitation to go and visit Vivillo, the beloved bull, was delivered to all, with an especially beguiling look at Dick. He accepted with suspicious alacrity,[pg 238]and to please her I said yes; while the Cherub, who was evidently longing for a siesta, shrugged his shoulders dutifully. It seemed that we could see the pasture which was Vivillo's drawing-room without trespassing upon Carmona's land, on which I should have been loth to set my foot, even for Pilar; but when, after twenty minutes' walk across meadows, we arrived at the hedge which divided the Duke'sganaderiafrom Colonel O'Donnel's farm, Dick would not be satisfied with a distant inspection of the grazing bulls. Pilar (denuded of her mantilla, but still in the black brocade, ready for the afternoon in Seville) was going to pay a friendly call upon her darling, and Dick was resolved upon an introduction.Pilar cried gaily to a herdsman visible in the distance, and joyously obedient to the girl's evidently familiar voice, the young fellow came running towards us,garrochain hand. Between him and the hedge which separated the two properties, was a deep ditch which no bull, save in a state of fury, would care to jump. But not far away a long plank lay half hidden in rich grass, and theganaderodragged it nearer, without a question, as if he knew already what was expected of him. Having pushed it across the ditch, to form a bridge at the spot where the hedge was thinnest, he took off his hat, and welcomed the gracious señor and señorita home. Vivillo, said he, was well, but would be the better for a sight of the señorita, who was the one human being he had seemed to love since the day of thetientawhich had proved him brave.Yes, there he was—the“lively one,”well named indeed!—grazing for the moment off there to the south-east. Could not the señorita see his brown back among the grey and black ones, farthest away? But she had only to call. Vivillo knew her voice and would answer to it as to no other. It was really a marvel. And was it true that she had begun negotiating for his purchase? Ah, it was a pity that such atoro bravowould not have his chance to fight in some splendidcorrida, where the noblest bulls of Spain must meet the most skilled of theespadas. He—Mateo—had[pg 239]often thought what a grand spectacle it would be to see Fuentes and Vivillo together. But—well, better waste the best bull that ever grazed on these pastures, and please the señorita. For her interests it was a good thing that the Señor Duque seldom or never troubled to come and seelos toros, for if his eye once lit upon Vivillo he would never part with him for any money, except for the honour of thecorrida.“Then be sure you don't let the Duke have a hint!”laughed Pilar, happy and fearless as a boy, as she squeezed through the hedge and tripped across the plank, followed by Dick.“She is perfectly safe,”said the Cherub, in answer to an uneasy look from me.“She's as well known over there almost as the herdsmen who tend the bulls from their birth; besides, she has some curious influence over animals. I have never seen anything like it in another human being, though I have read of such things. Since she was a child, I have no longer had any fear for her over there; and Señor Waring is safe also, while he keeps with her and Mateo, unless he were foolish enough to make some demonstration. But for me, I am no friend oflos toroswhen they are at home.”Dick and Pilar were in Carmona's pasture now, moving towards a troop of grazing bulls, magnificent creatures whose terrible horns and silken hides (branded with double circles under a crown) glittered in the sun. Scarcely a head was tossed in honour of the new-comers; but as Pilar raised her girlish voice to give a peculiar call, I saw a dark form in the distance separate itself from a group. Then a brown, lean-flanked bull, nobly armed with horns grand as the antlers of a stag, bounded away from his companions, and rushed in so straight a line towards Pilar, that in spite of the Cherub's words, my heart was wrenched.But I need not have feared. While the young herdsman and Dick stood by passive and admiring, thistoro bravoof famous fighting breed reduced his run to a canter, and trotted up to Pilar as tamely as if he had been a belledcabestro.The girl, opening a large knotted handkerchief which she had[pg 240]brought filled with sweet biscuit, took a step or two forward to meet the bull. Nestling against his huge head, powerful enough to bear up a horse and rider impaled upon his horns, she calmly fed the great beast from her store. Never could there have been a more beautiful picture since the day when another bull submitted to the caresses of Europa.Vivillo scarcely deigned to look at Dick, who made some bids for his favour. All his chivalrous soul oftoro bravowas absorbed in pleasure at Pilar's return, gratitude for her remembrance of him. I would scarcely have believed that it could be real, had I not seen it.For ten minutes she stayed, Dick close at her side, always ignored by the bull; then she returned and walked towards us, slowly, the herdsman keeping near and Vivillo marching after in a resolute way which would have turned grey the hair of a nervous man or woman.But if Dick were conscious of his nerves in such an unusual situation, he did not show it. His head was bent over Pilar's, talking earnestly, and though she never looked up at him in answer, once she broke out laughing, so merrily, I wondered what he had said.In our own meadow again, safely delivered from the bulls, Pilar slipped instantly to her father's side and began chattering about Vivillo, who stood by the ditch looking wistfully after her as he chewed his last biscuit. Dick and I were thus thrown together; and though Dick's face is no tell-tale, I guessed somehow that his mind was not as calm as his features.“I should think that might have been a little upsetting to an amateur,”I said.“Maybe,”answered Dick, absent-mindedly.“But it isn't that, if I'm looking queer. Say Ramón, I've done it.”“What?”“Proposed to a girl for the first time in my life. What's more, I grovelled. I called Vivillo a lamb, though at the moment he was looking more like several dozen lions. I told her if she'd[pg 241]marry me, she could have him and any other bulls sitting about on our hearthrug; that we'd have a nice big one on purpose.”“That ought to be an inducement—even from a heretic.”“Oh, confound you, don't harp on that. I'm mad about the girl. I know all you're suffering, and if I ever put on superior airs, I take them back and swallow them.”Even a man heartbroken would have had to grin; and Pilar had persuaded me not to be heartbroken yet. If I laughed, I sympathized too, and liked Dick better than ever because we were eating the same bitter-sweet orange of which the voice had sung. It seemed that Pilar had neither accepted nor refused him, but had asked for time to think; and he would have been a little encouraged if she had not suddenly said,“Don Ciprianolovesbulls.”At five o'clock we spun into Seville, with the car, for nobody knew at what time the procession might begin; nobody ever did know, it appeared. And Pilar was no longer merrily boyish, but feminine and seductive again in her black mantilla.The vast oblong of the Plaza de la Constitución was already humming with the excitement of a moving crowd. The lane between chairs and tribune was thronged with the poor of the town and peasants from the country, who would have no seats and must press for places to see the procession; but there was no ill-natured pushing, and gentlest care was taken not to crush the toddling, star-eyed children who tumbled under people's feet. Soldiers laughed and edged their way past clinging groups of pretty girls. Civil guards, looking as if they had stepped out of old pictures, strove to keep order, their shouts lost among the cries which filled the air; cries of water-sellers bearing big earthen vessels; cries of those who wheeled cargoes of roasted peanuts in painted ships; cries of crab-sellers; cries of shabby old men, and neat, white-capped boys, hawking fresh-friedcalientes, sugared cakes, and all kinds ofdulceson napkin-covered trays.English and American tourists in panamas wandered through[pg 242]the throng searching for their numbered chairs; vendors of seats shouted reduced prices; bareheaded women with brown babies in their arms offered programmes of the week's processions; tattered boys shrieked the daily papers, and coloured post-cards; while from the balconies of private houses ladies in black mantillas, children in white, and foreigners in gay colours looked down upon the scene.So passed an hour, while the boxes and best seats began to fill. Spanish families of the middle class, men and women in black, took front seats of the tribune, where the empty royal box made a brave splash of gold and crimson; but more slowly came members of the aristocracy and officers in blue and gold; and, jostled by the crowd, I waited in suspense.Colonel O'Donnel had gone to his club for news of the box which, by strategic means, he had been trying to get. Pilar and Dick had gone with him, to remain in the car chaperoned by Ropes, until he should come out; so that I had no means of learning whether the Cherub had triumphed or failed. All I knew was, that a club acquaintance whose wife was ill, might be induced to offer his box, close to the royalties, to a second acquaintance in exchange for one directly behind that which the Duke of Carmona had taken. If this could be arranged, the O'Donnels would be given the latter, in exchange for—only the Cherub knew what. Borne back and forth with the moving throng, like a leaf in an eddy, my eyes seldom strayed for long from the tribune. Would the Carmona household come? Would the O'Donnels be their neighbours?At last I saw Pilar and the two men entering the tribune. Yes, they had succeeded, I could tell from the Cherub's description of the Duke's box. But Carmona's was still empty.The procession had not yet appeared, though the firstcofradiahad been due in the Plaza an hour ago, and twilight was falling over the vast square, ethereally clear and pale. Only the figure of Faith on the soaring Giralda, turned as if to watch the scene, still glittered in the sun; and its dazzling brilliance had faded[pg 243]before a bugle note rang out, poignant as a cry of bitter sorrow from a breaking heart.This was the herald of a brotherhood with its sacred images; and the police began to sweep the crowd before them out of the lane between the chairs and tribune. Slowly the flock was forced along by the shepherd dogs; and as the way cleared, forth from the dim tunnel of Las Sierpes marched, with arms reversed, a squad of civil guards; then a company of mounted soldiers, their bugles still wailing that sad warning of some piteous spectacle to come.The cavalry passed; it was but a modern preface to a mediæval poem which, following closely, brought with it into the Plaza sad ghosts, grim ghosts, sainted ghosts of long past days.Headed by one of their number bearing aloft an exquisite crucifix, walked a band of penitents carrying great lighted candles. Their white robes of linen swept in long pointed trains over the cobbles, the silver buckles on their black shoes glinting with each step; through the narrow slits in the bluecapuchas, whose conical peaks tapered far above the wearers' heads, their dark eyes burned with mysterious intensity. Two and two they moved, noiseless as bats save for the tap of silver batons, making an avenue of gliding stars, like will-o'-the-wisps, from the black mouth of Las Sierpes across the length of the Plaza.Then suddenly, in that dark, distant tunnel flashed something luminous, something that moved, swung in air higher than the heads of men, something that was like a great blazing casket of jewels or a cloud of fireflies.It came on, halting, starting again, reaching the open square, and revealing itself as an illuminated platform supporting a crucified Christ, life size, with no detail spared of tragedy and torture.One of those fine sculptures of painted wood, such as I had seen at Valladolid, the sixteenth century artist had spent his soul in showing to believers what Christ had suffered that they might be saved; and so startling was the appeal of this terrible[pg 244]figure to the sympathies, that for an instant I found myself forgetting everything except a wild desire to rescue it.As thepaso, with its quivering silver lamps and strewn flowers, came near to where I stood, I could see, beneath the long velvet curtains which draped the platform, twenty pairs or more of slowly moving feet; and the frequent pauses were accounted for.I watched the heart-rending figure pass round the corner of the Plaza, out of sight, swallows wheeling overhead as if once more to pluck the thorns from that bleeding brow; and as it vanished, far away in the dusk of Las Sierpes appeared another illumined mystery of clustering stars. Out from darkness into hyacinth twilight it floated, a canopied platform of purple velvet, crusted with silver and gold; under the glittering roof a virgin, who seemed to stand praying in a garden of tall lilies, lit by a sacred silver flame.The crowding lilies, as thepasocame nearer, were only white, waxen candles after all, but in their light the image of the Virgin gained a womanliness and beauty extraordinary. Her gorgeous trailing robe of gold-embroidered velvet, her under gown of satin scintillating with diamonds, her blazing crown of jewels, the sparkling rings on her delicate fingers, her necklaces, her bracelets, were such as the Mother of Christ never dreamed of in her simple life; and half the watchers knew grinding poverty, which a few of her gems might relieve.That thought, I knew, would leap to many minds; but they would be the minds of foreigners; and I, being Spanish, understood. I saw what this procession of emblems meant to these people, rich and poor alike. They were being reminded, in the realistic and dramatic way which appealed best to their imaginations, of all Christ had suffered for them, of all the mother-woman had endured. The gems, which to alien minds were incongruous, crystallized their tears, their love, their gratitude; and Our Lady's jewels were the jewels of the poor—rich possessions which could not be taken from them, joys for ever, objects of their highest pride.[pg 245]Bending in gentle grief, the fair face bowed, the graceful figure passed in fragrance of lilies, perfumed wax, and incense sending blue clouds from silver censors swung by white-robed boys. With her, as she moved, went music—our Lady's own music, sad and beautiful as moonlight on a lonely grave, cool as peace after hot pain.Now the box in the tribune I had watched so long was filled with strangers. Pilar had been right. Carmona had given his place to friends. But with that soft, haunting music in my ears, sweet as remembered days of joy, I could not fear anything. Somehow I was at peace, with good thoughts in my mind and hope in my heart.Brotherhoods in black, brotherhoods in purple, andpasoafterpasowent by; Christus bending under the weight of the cross, Christus praying among sleeping disciples in Gethsemane, Our Lady of the Rosary, Our Lady of Tears, flaming rivers of light, suns rising out of purple clouds.Night folded over the great square, with its crowd of people. No one had gone away. Electric lights burst out and made the scene like the auditorium of some vast theatre; but the stage and auditorium were one. Then the full moon, yellow as honey, looked over the thronged roof-gardens of tall houses opposite the tribune, and sailed high in heaven.It was past nine o'clock when Colonel O'Donnel touched me on the shoulder.“We saw you long ago,”he said.“You are so tall. Shall we go home to dinner? But on Thursday you will have another chance.”Thursday! and there were three days in between. I wished that he could have left me in my dream of peace as long as it might last.[pg 246]XXXThe Hand Under the CurtainsLike a dream the three days passed; but not a dream of peace, for that I lost with the last echo of the Virgin music and the fragrance of her lilies.Dick thought himself miserable, but I would gladly have changed my state of mind for his. Sometimes he hoped, sometimes he despaired, but at all times he was really very happy, if only he had known it. He enjoyed visiting the Murillos with Pilar and the Cherub when I had no heart to go. He borrowed the motor to whisk them out to Italica. He went with the O'Donnels late every afternoon for the drive in the fashionablepaseoalong the river side, as pleased with the five handsome mules, in their smart Spanish harness of white and crimson rope and brown leather, as if they had been his own.As for me, I would not go, although Dick urged that, in the never-ending double line of fine carriages, we might meet the Duchess of Carmona's. But I did not dare to see Monica again after what had happened unless there were some hope that Pilar could speak for me, or that I could speak for myself. Still, I could not resist questioning the family in the evening. Had they heard tidings of her? Had they seen her?Presently there was news, but not good news. The engagement was known, and was being talked of everywhere. The story was that the wedding would be soon, as the Duchess was not strong, and professed herself anxious to see her son married. Gossip said also that the marriage would be celebrated in Madrid directly after the festivities of the royal wedding were over, so[pg 247]that the young duchess, as the wife of a grandee of Spain, could become lady-in-waiting to the bride-queen, whenlos Reyesreturned from their honeymoon at La Granja.The Cherub told me these things only because I insisted on hearing all; and on Wednesday evening I dragged further details from Pilar. They had passed the Duchess, Lady Vale-Avon, and Monica in the Carmona carriage, the handsomest in Seville; and the Duke had been on horseback, looking more attractive than Pilar had ever seen him in thechulocostume, worn at times as an amusing affectation by some young aristocrats of Andalucía. I could picture him in the wide-brimmed grey sombrero, the tight short jacket, and trousers fitting close as a glove until they widened below the knee. Yes, the dress would suit him; and Pilar admitted reluctantly that he was a perfect rider. I was horribly jealous, ready to fancy that, after all, Monica had actually begun to care for him.There had been a procession on Wednesday, but it was not an affair of importance; and with Thursday, and the presence of the King, all the greatest events of thisSemana Santawere to begin.Early in the afternoon there was washing of poor men's feet by the great ecclesiastics in the cathedral, the King remaining at theAlcázarto bathe—as Dick put it—a few carefully selected feet on his own account, as a sign of humility. Later, would come the most splendid procession of the week, the King walking with his owncofradia; in the evening, the Miserere in the cathedral, and processions all night, till mass on Good Friday morning. To myself I said, therefore, that I was to have two more chances: the one for which I depended upon Pilar in the afternoon; the one for which I depended on an inspiration of my own in the evening. For all the world was going to hear the Miserere.Though it was a week for penitence and fasting, Seville—honoured by the King—thrilled with excitement. Thousands of strangers had poured into the town for this day, and the crowds were three times as dense as on Sunday. Though there had been[pg 248]disquieting rumours, whispers of anarchist plots and bombs, the police had been alert; the King had taken a swift gunboat up the Guadalquivir, instead of arriving by special train from Cadiz, had reached Seville safely; and now anxiety was forgotten. All the town poured into the Plaza de la Constitución more than an hour before there was any hope that the procession might begin; and I was in the crowd.The boxes filled earlier than before, many of the ladies no longer in black, but wearing Paris hats and pale-tinted dresses, though to-morrow there would be black mantillas again, and red carnations. Pilar, Dick, and Colonel O'Donnel were in their places, and though the Duke's box was still empty, I was sure I should not be disappointed to-day.“He'll appear about the time the King does,”I was saying to myself, when suddenly there came a stir in the royal box. The mayor and town councillors walked in, looking important; four giant halberdiers of the royal guard took position, each in a corner of the box. Then rose a shout,“Viva el Rey!”and against the crimson velvet draperies the figure of the tall young King in white uniform stood out like a slender statue of marble.He was accompanied by his sister, the Infanta, and her husband, three or four ladies, and a retinue of decorated officers; but for an instant I saw only the King, because—rebel as I was supposed to be—my hat waved as high and my cheers rang as loudly as any in the crowd.I had not seen his face—that day at Biarritz long ago—when his automobile stopped for want of petrol. He had worn his motor-mask, and had not removed it, for he was incognito; but now, as he bowed in answer to the people's greeting, the young face was noble under the silver helmet. His smile brought a deep dimple to either cheek, and a pleasant light to the brown eyes. I was proud of my King, and found myself wishing that I could serve him, though it seemed that that could never be; and with a sigh for the perversities of fate I looked away, only to receive a shock of surprise.[pg 249]Among the ladies with the Infanta were the Duchess of Carmona, Lady Vale-Avon, and Monica. With the officers and friends of the King stood the Duke, his dark face radiating satisfaction, as if this were the crowning moment of his life.Not only was Monica with the man as his fiancée, but she was dressed, in compliment to him, like a girl of Spain. She wore a mantilla such as the Infanta wore, and so bright was her hair, so fair her skin framed in the black flounce of lace, that she was almost as much stared at as the King. On her breast, pinning the folds of the mantilla, there was a glint of crimson; and looking closely, I made it out to be a large brooch of rubies, forming the famous“No. 8 Do,”the motto of Seville. Only the Duke could have given her this, I thought; and she had accepted it!There was no more hope, then. It did not matter that her unexpected presence in the royal box would prevent Pilar from speaking, or giving her my letter. Still, I clung desperately to the one chance left; the cathedral and the Miserere.Hardly were the royalties and their friends settled in the red-draped box when the next brotherhood marched out from Las Sierpes, and halted their firstpasobefore the King, that he might see it well. He was on his feet, his head bared and bowed; and while he stood veiled in rising incense, some emotional soul in the audience broke into a Moorish wail, the prayer song orsaetaof the people, improvising words which caught the popular fancy.A murmur of approval ran through the crowd, which pressed close, in spite of the police; and as all eyes for the moment turned upon the King, or upon the white-haired peasant singer, a thing happened which caught my attention.The velvet curtain which hid the bearers of thepasoresting before the royal box, parted very slightly at one side, as if someone were peering out; then a hand darted forth and received from a man in a black coat, who stood with his back half-turned to me, a faded bouquet of flowers, arranged Spanish fashion in a hard, stiff pyramid.Quick as that darting hand a thought flashed through my[pg 250]brain. In a few seconds thepasowould be moving on; the bearers were bracing themselves for a new effort. That bouquet! if it should hold the threatened bomb? This was the moment for such an attempt at wrecking the royal box, for the King was a member of the next brotherhood that must pass; and soon he would be leaving his sister and friends to walk with it, perhaps not returning to his box that day.The passing of light is no more swift than was the flight of these thoughts; and without waiting to calculate the cost to myself, thinking only of the King and of the girl I loved, I instantly thrust both hands between the curtains, following the flowers as they were passed in. I grasped the bouquet firmly round the stiff base of the pyramid, and pulled it out before the hidden man who had received it knew that it had not been withdrawn by his confederate. It was all over in a second, and I had the bouquet. Also I had identified the man who pushed it through the curtains of thepaso, though which among the twenty or twenty-five concealed bearers had taken it from him I could not tell.Whether my act had been wise or foolish, it was done, and thepasohad moved on, carrying the secret of one beating heart under the curtained platform.Prying cautiously among the tightly banked flowers, my blood quickened as I touched something round and hard, a thing about the size of a large orange, fastened into the centre of the pyramid by a network of thin wire. Intuition had not played me a trick. There was death in this bunch of roses, death for many, perhaps. Though it was of first importance to get the bomb as far away as possible from the King and from Monica, and to render it harmless, I would not give up my pursuit of the man in the black coat, who was fighting his way through the crowd, only a few yards in front of me,—a square-set figure, in the holiday clothes of a respectable workman. I saw only his back now, every muscle tense in his desire to escape the vengeance on his track; but I had seen his face for an instant, and could identify it anywhere.[pg 251]What if, in his desperation, he turned, and in the hope of saving himself accused me of the crime he would have committed? It but needed that to ruin me—after Barcelona, and this long journey to Seville, where the King was due. Would any explanation I might make be credited, when the bomb was in my hand?I pushed the crowding thoughts out of my mind. There were other things to think of—the bomb itself, what to do with it; and the man to be followed.Meanwhile I was moving on after that broad back of which I must not lose sight, and away from the neighbourhood of the royal box. I was in the lane of the procession, close in front of the long ranks of occupied chairs, and opposite the tribune. There were only two persons abreast in the moving line which carried me along, driven on by the police, but we were tightly packed, pressed against on one side by the knees of people in the chairs, on the other by the purple brotherhood preceding anotherpaso. The situation seemed desperate, since to give an alarm would endanger the crowd as well as jeopardize my future; and a panic would be a calamity.Suddenly the cry of a water-seller struck my ear sharply.“Agua!—clear as crystal and cold as mountain snow. Agua!”He was just before me with his earthen vessel.“Sell me your jar,”I said.“No, I don't want a glass of water. I want the jar—for a curiosity. Twenty pesetas for it.”This offer saved questionings. The vessel with its contents was worth two pesetas to the vendor, perhaps, and, lest I should change my mind, its owner hastily handed over his jar and pocketed my silver. Even now I had to wait for an opening in the throng, till I had been pushed on as far as the lane leading from the square to the Plaza de San Fernando; and there, to my joy, I jostled against Ropes. Without a word of explanation, I said,“Follow that man in the cloth cap with the black coat and red tie. Get hold of him; take care he doesn't knife or shoot you. Don't let him go—and wait for me.”This was all Ropes needed.“Right, sir,”said he, and forged[pg 252]after the black back, which in this freer space was gaining distance.Unexpectedly relieved of my second task, carefully shielding the bouquet with the water-jar I worked my way into the lane, and struck the head of the earthen vessel against a stone coping.The porous clay cracked like an egg-shell, the top coming off in one piece, with a few flying splinters; and I pressed the bouquet deep into the water.This was the best I could do at the moment, though, if the bomb was made with picric acid, I had accomplished nothing. I could only hope; and pressing on I came up with Ropes, who had collared his man and jammed him against a wall.Not a sound had the wretch uttered. He knew that, if he resisted, he would be instantly denounced and torn to pieces by a crowd not likely to wait for clear proof of such an accusation. Since he had failed, it was better to trust to the mercy of his captor and of the police than to the thousands wild with enthusiasm for the King. Fortunately for him, as for us, the crowd had something better to do than stop to watch what they took for some trifling private quarrel.“He tried to knife me,”said Ropes;“but I stopped that. Knife's in my pocket. What next, sir?”It was characteristic that he did not ask what the man had done.“Give the brute up to the police,”I answered in English.“He was with another chap whom I've lost, in a plot to throw a bomb at the royal box; and the bomb's in this water-jar.”For the first time Ropes' face lost its imperturbable expression.“What, sir!”he exclaimed,“after your troubles—excuse my mentioning them—you concern yourself in an affair like this!”“I've no choice. We can't let this beast escape. If they have him, the police may get his mate. He looks a coward and sneak.”“Beg pardon, sir, you have a choice. I've got the man. Give me the jar with the bomb, and I'll take the whole thing on my shoulders with the police, though it's a shame you should lose[pg 253]the credit. I've a clean bill; chauffeur to Mr. R. Waring, American newspaper correspondent. No need to bring you into it.”“If you're blown up by the bomb—”“Would get blown up just the same sticking to you, for Iwouldstick like a burr, sir. (Now, no good wriggling, you beast, or gabbling about a mistake. There's no mistake, and you won't get away!) Better tell him what's in that jar, sir—my Spanish doesn't run as far—and that'll quiet him.”“You can't manage the man and the jar.”“Could manage two of each. There's a couple of civil guards. Now, if you've any kindness for me, sir, let go that jar; and don't be seen with me.”I gave Ropes his way. But I lingered near enough to watch the scene which followed; and had that innocent-looking jar been broken, or had the contents of the soaked bouquet exploded of its own accord, I should have been near enough to share my chauffeur's fate.He explained in broken Spanish, eked out with gesture; and the fact that he was English, with the most honest of English faces to vouch for his sincerity, helped him. The man in his grasp was Catalán, which was not in his favour at Seville. The civil guards looked at the jar with respectful interest, but did not offer to take it; and, after a moment of lively conversation, Ropes and his captive marched rapidly away with the men in red, black, and white.At least, whatever happened now, the King was safe; and Monica was safe.It was not until eight o'clock, when I went to the quiet hotel where we had appointed to meet and dine, that I found out anything more. Then they told me that the King returned to his box after walking in the procession, and that, soon after, Dick had been surprised by a visit from a member of the police in plain clothes. The man had come to the O'Donnels' box, inquired if the American gentleman were Mr. Waring, asked if he had a[pg 254]chauffeur named Peter Ropes, and being answered in the affirmative had told the story of the bomb. Dick had then gone with the policeman to see Ropes, had made a statement concerning himself, his business, his car, his chauffeur, his occupation in life, and the friends with whom he was staying. All had proved satisfactory. Ropes had been thanked by the police for his promptness and presence of mind, and threatened with active gratitude from higher quarters. Both had been asked to remain within reach for a few days; and the episode was over.But it was not until they heard my part of the story that Dick or the O'Donnels knew precisely where and how Ropes had come into the drama.

[pg 228]XXVIIILet Your Heart SpeakMen do not kill themselves for such things. Fools, or cowards, or children may; but not men who are worthy the name. Yet there was no joy of life left in me, as I went out of theAlcázargarden, having had my answer.Love cannot die in an hour, and I loved Monica still, though I said that she was not the girl to whom I had dedicated my soul in worship.She had let me follow her, only to say at last:“I never wish to see you again. I'm going to marry the Duke of Carmona.”After all, she had proved herself a docile daughter. She had seen what the house of a grandee of Spain can be like. She had seen the Blanca Laguna pearl. Poor child of eighteen years, brought up to know poverty and to loathe it; was I to let my love turn to hate because she was not an angel, but a woman like others?A despairing pity and a sense of hopeless loss weighed upon my spirit with such heaviness as I had never known. Not only had I lost the girl I loved, but there was no such girl; she was a dream, and I had waked up. That was all; but it seemed the end of everything.My errand in Spain was finished, or rather broken short. She did not want me any more. The sooner I took myself out of her life and let her forget what must now seem childish folly, the better. I might have known—she was so young; and she had warned me of disaster when she said,“Don't leave me alone.”[pg 229]I went to Olivero's flat and changed my clothes; then to the hotel where Ropes and the car were waiting. For the first time since we had come into Spain, I drove,“like a demon,”Ropes' surprised face said, though his tongue was discreet; and the wild rush through the air was wine to thirsty lips.At the Cortijo de Santa Rufina they were all sitting in thepatioin floods of moonlight, the great awning which gave shade by day, fully rolled back.“You see,”exclaimed Pilar,“we sat up for you. Well, how did it go off?”I heard myself laughing. It did not feel a pleasant laugh, but I was glad to think that it sounded like any other.“Oh, it went off exactly as I might have expected,”I said, knowing that it was useless to hide my humiliation, though I might hide my misery.“And consequently, my car and I will also go off, to-morrow. As for Dick, he must do as he pleases; but I advise him, now he's here, to stay for theSemana Santa.”“What do you mean?”asked Pilar, almost letting fall the guitar on which she had been playing.“Has—has Lady Monica promised to go with you—to-morrow?”“Not at all,”said I.“But what she's promised to another man makes it better that I should go. She's engaged to Carmona.”“I don't believe it,”cried Pilar.“I shouldn't, if anyone but herself had told me.”“She said it?”“In exactly those words. She said too, that she didn't want to see me again.”“Oh—oh!”breathed Pilar.“ThankHeavenfor that. You frightened me horribly—just for a moment.”I stared.“And now—”“Now I know there's some mistake—dreadful, but not too dreadful to clear up.”I laughed again, as bitterly as I felt this time.“Extraordinary idea! Because she says she doesn't want to see me, there's a mistake—”[pg 230]“Of course. Surely you aren't so cold-hearted, so disloyal, so—sostupidas to believe her? But tell me instantly all about it—everything; every word; every look.”“Easily done,”I said,“if it won't bore you all. There were very few of either; but what there were left nothing to the imagination.”“Imagination indeed!”exclaimed Pilar.“But go on.”So I went on, and she listened to the end without interruption, as did the two others, who were only men, and therefore had no comments to make upon such matters.As I told the wretched story in as few and as bald words as possible, Pilar sat grave-eyed, tense-lipped as Portia in the Court of Justice before her turn to plead. When I finished she was silent for a moment, I thought because, after all, she found herself with nothing to say. But, when her father in his compassion would have begun some murmur of consolation, she broke out quickly,“I suppose sheisengaged to the Duke, or she wouldn't have said so.”“Not much doubt of that,”I assented.“Noranydoubt of her real feelings. Poor little girl, I know she's wishing she could die to-night. Thosedevils!Yes, Iwillsay it, Papa. I shall be forgiven, for theyare. They've told her some hateful lie, and made her so desperate she was ready to do anything. Why, it's just come to me; there's only one thing that would make a girl who loves a man do what she's done.”“What?”I broke in, breathless; for Pilar's fire had flamed into my blood now, and I waited for her answer as a man waits for an antidote to poison.“Believing he's in love with someone else.”“How could she believe that? Who is there—”I stopped. My eyes met Pilar's, and she blushed, stammering as she hurried bravely on.“The greatest nonsense, of course. But—but—oh, don't you remember how she looked that evening at Manzanares when we saw her last? So wistful, as if there were something on her mind she mustn't tell? I caught her looking at me once or[pg 231]twice as if she were wondering—they must have begun, even then, to upset her mind, poor, lonely child; but the worst hadn't happened; she was only a little doubtful. If you could have spoken to her, or if I—”“I did write,”I said,“though I've always been afraid something went wrong with that letter.”“Ah!”Pilar caught at this, and would have the whole story with every detail. I even found myself confessing my old presentiment, the fancy that Monica was calling for me to help her.“I believe she was, calling and praying. Of course she never got the letter. What was in it? If you don't mind my asking?”“I said, a crisis seemed to be coming, and she must make up her mind to let me take her away.”“A splendid letter to fall into her mother's hands. Did you sign your real name?”“No name at all. I wrote in a hurry, and—”“That's lucky. But even if you had, Lady Vale-Avon couldn't have shown such a letter to the Duke, he's too Spanish—too Moorish, I ought to say. She wouldn't have dared, as she wants him for a son-in-law.”“That occurred to me.”“But there aren't many other things she wouldn't dare, to get rid of such a danger as you. If she got the letter—and I'm sure she did—there was your handwriting at her mercy. Supposing she—”“I know what's in your mind. But I don't think such things are done—out of novels.”“Oh, aren't they; when people are clever enough? I know of one case myself. And the girl's life was spoiled. Lady Monica's shan't be though, if I can help it.”“You're taking a great deal for granted,”I said. But I felt as if the radiance of heaven were pouring down upon me, instead of the pensive moonlight.“Doesn't your heart tell you I'm right?”cried Pilar.“Yes!”I answered.“Yes, you good angel, it does.”

Men do not kill themselves for such things. Fools, or cowards, or children may; but not men who are worthy the name. Yet there was no joy of life left in me, as I went out of theAlcázargarden, having had my answer.

Love cannot die in an hour, and I loved Monica still, though I said that she was not the girl to whom I had dedicated my soul in worship.

She had let me follow her, only to say at last:“I never wish to see you again. I'm going to marry the Duke of Carmona.”

After all, she had proved herself a docile daughter. She had seen what the house of a grandee of Spain can be like. She had seen the Blanca Laguna pearl. Poor child of eighteen years, brought up to know poverty and to loathe it; was I to let my love turn to hate because she was not an angel, but a woman like others?

A despairing pity and a sense of hopeless loss weighed upon my spirit with such heaviness as I had never known. Not only had I lost the girl I loved, but there was no such girl; she was a dream, and I had waked up. That was all; but it seemed the end of everything.

My errand in Spain was finished, or rather broken short. She did not want me any more. The sooner I took myself out of her life and let her forget what must now seem childish folly, the better. I might have known—she was so young; and she had warned me of disaster when she said,“Don't leave me alone.”

[pg 229]I went to Olivero's flat and changed my clothes; then to the hotel where Ropes and the car were waiting. For the first time since we had come into Spain, I drove,“like a demon,”Ropes' surprised face said, though his tongue was discreet; and the wild rush through the air was wine to thirsty lips.

At the Cortijo de Santa Rufina they were all sitting in thepatioin floods of moonlight, the great awning which gave shade by day, fully rolled back.

“You see,”exclaimed Pilar,“we sat up for you. Well, how did it go off?”

I heard myself laughing. It did not feel a pleasant laugh, but I was glad to think that it sounded like any other.“Oh, it went off exactly as I might have expected,”I said, knowing that it was useless to hide my humiliation, though I might hide my misery.“And consequently, my car and I will also go off, to-morrow. As for Dick, he must do as he pleases; but I advise him, now he's here, to stay for theSemana Santa.”

“What do you mean?”asked Pilar, almost letting fall the guitar on which she had been playing.“Has—has Lady Monica promised to go with you—to-morrow?”

“Not at all,”said I.“But what she's promised to another man makes it better that I should go. She's engaged to Carmona.”

“I don't believe it,”cried Pilar.

“I shouldn't, if anyone but herself had told me.”

“She said it?”

“In exactly those words. She said too, that she didn't want to see me again.”

“Oh—oh!”breathed Pilar.“ThankHeavenfor that. You frightened me horribly—just for a moment.”

I stared.“And now—”

“Now I know there's some mistake—dreadful, but not too dreadful to clear up.”

I laughed again, as bitterly as I felt this time.“Extraordinary idea! Because she says she doesn't want to see me, there's a mistake—”

[pg 230]“Of course. Surely you aren't so cold-hearted, so disloyal, so—sostupidas to believe her? But tell me instantly all about it—everything; every word; every look.”

“Easily done,”I said,“if it won't bore you all. There were very few of either; but what there were left nothing to the imagination.”

“Imagination indeed!”exclaimed Pilar.“But go on.”

So I went on, and she listened to the end without interruption, as did the two others, who were only men, and therefore had no comments to make upon such matters.

As I told the wretched story in as few and as bald words as possible, Pilar sat grave-eyed, tense-lipped as Portia in the Court of Justice before her turn to plead. When I finished she was silent for a moment, I thought because, after all, she found herself with nothing to say. But, when her father in his compassion would have begun some murmur of consolation, she broke out quickly,“I suppose sheisengaged to the Duke, or she wouldn't have said so.”

“Not much doubt of that,”I assented.

“Noranydoubt of her real feelings. Poor little girl, I know she's wishing she could die to-night. Thosedevils!Yes, Iwillsay it, Papa. I shall be forgiven, for theyare. They've told her some hateful lie, and made her so desperate she was ready to do anything. Why, it's just come to me; there's only one thing that would make a girl who loves a man do what she's done.”

“What?”I broke in, breathless; for Pilar's fire had flamed into my blood now, and I waited for her answer as a man waits for an antidote to poison.

“Believing he's in love with someone else.”

“How could she believe that? Who is there—”I stopped. My eyes met Pilar's, and she blushed, stammering as she hurried bravely on.“The greatest nonsense, of course. But—but—oh, don't you remember how she looked that evening at Manzanares when we saw her last? So wistful, as if there were something on her mind she mustn't tell? I caught her looking at me once or[pg 231]twice as if she were wondering—they must have begun, even then, to upset her mind, poor, lonely child; but the worst hadn't happened; she was only a little doubtful. If you could have spoken to her, or if I—”

“I did write,”I said,“though I've always been afraid something went wrong with that letter.”

“Ah!”Pilar caught at this, and would have the whole story with every detail. I even found myself confessing my old presentiment, the fancy that Monica was calling for me to help her.

“I believe she was, calling and praying. Of course she never got the letter. What was in it? If you don't mind my asking?”

“I said, a crisis seemed to be coming, and she must make up her mind to let me take her away.”

“A splendid letter to fall into her mother's hands. Did you sign your real name?”

“No name at all. I wrote in a hurry, and—”

“That's lucky. But even if you had, Lady Vale-Avon couldn't have shown such a letter to the Duke, he's too Spanish—too Moorish, I ought to say. She wouldn't have dared, as she wants him for a son-in-law.”

“That occurred to me.”

“But there aren't many other things she wouldn't dare, to get rid of such a danger as you. If she got the letter—and I'm sure she did—there was your handwriting at her mercy. Supposing she—”

“I know what's in your mind. But I don't think such things are done—out of novels.”

“Oh, aren't they; when people are clever enough? I know of one case myself. And the girl's life was spoiled. Lady Monica's shan't be though, if I can help it.”

“You're taking a great deal for granted,”I said. But I felt as if the radiance of heaven were pouring down upon me, instead of the pensive moonlight.

“Doesn't your heart tell you I'm right?”cried Pilar.

“Yes!”I answered.“Yes, you good angel, it does.”

[pg 232]XXIXThe Garden of Flaming LiliesThe voice of some maid servant singing acoplawaked me early in the morning, after an hour or two of sleep.El amor y la naranjase parecen infinito;Que por muy dulces que seande agrio tienen su poquito.1Yes, always a little bitter, I said to myself. But if for me there were after all to be some sweetness left?Last night before parting, the Cherub, Dick and I had talked matters over from every point of view. I was only too thankful to take the advice of one girl on behalf of another, and give to Monica the benefit of that doubt which at first had not seemed admissible. But even Pilar confessed that Monica's engagement to Carmona made our part a hundred times more difficult.Whatever her motive had been—revenge upon me for supposed disloyalty, dread of her mother, or awakened ambition--she had in any case consented to marry him, and Pilar suggested that the dinner invitations had been sent out as an excuse for a public announcement, which would more firmly bind her to her promise. The news would have flown all over Seville in[pg 233]twenty-four hours; when the King arrived on Tuesday Carmona would certainly lose no time in telling him; Lady Vale-Avon would not wait for Monica to write to the Princess, but would probably wire; and no matter what my private anxieties might be, for Monica's sake I must do nothing openly. As for defying Carmona to use his knowledge of my true name, and challenging him to fight, that must not be thought of. Monica's fair fame would never survive such a scandal, especially in Spain, where a girl's reputation is as easily damaged as the down on a butterfly's wing.But, as the Cherub said, there are many roads which lead to the centre of the world. He had learned at his club that the Duke had lent his box in the tribune to a friend, for such processions as he and his household did not care to see. That friend was a member of the club, and through him the Cherub had found out that the box in question was next to the royal box which would be occupied by the King, the Infanta Doña María Teresa, and her husband. Immediately upon making this discovery, the Cherub had begun to move heaven and earth to obtain a box for himself, either behind, in front of, or on one side of Carmona's box. He did not know yet if he should succeed, for things were not done in a moment in Spain. Of course all the boxes were already subscribed for the whole week by members of the aristocracy and other persons of importance in Seville; but, then, the Cherub had friends and acquaintances in every class. If it were a question of money, money would not be spared; if it were a question of a favour for a favour in return, that favour would be given. There was hope that the thing might be arranged; and once Pilar came within speaking distance of Monica, nothing short of sudden death could prevent her from telling the girl the truth, vowing by all the saints that she had been deceived for the one purpose of separating her from me. If Monica could be made to believe that, she would have courage to be true in spite of all; and then it would be for me to save her from keeping the engagement into which she had been tricked.[pg 234]As for my going to Carmona's house and trying to see Monica, such a plan appeared useless, as I should certainly not be allowed to come near her. Therefore I must wait with such patience as I could, and let my friends help me in the subtle ways favoured in Spain.Now, Palm Sunday had dawned crystal clear; but Pilar had explained that nobody occupied the boxes and chairs to see the procession of palms in the morning; that, though it was pretty to see, it was not one of the great sights; and, as one must be waiting early outside the cathedral, it was unlikely that anyone from Carmona's house would be there. Still there was the chance, and I could not afford to miss it; so the O'Donnels offered to go with me into Seville, Dick, of course, being of the party.Consequently, every one at the Cortijo was astir by six; and before seven Dick and I were in thepatio, just in time to greet Pilar utterly fascinating in a mantilla.She was dressed as a Spanish woman of the upper class should be dressed on Palm Sunday; and though the tight-fitting, rich black brocade silk which she wore would, in any other country, have seemed a costume not for young girlhood but for middle age, it suited her wonderfully. Her clear-skinned, heart-shaped face, with its great soft eyes and red lips, was beautiful in the cloudy frame of black lace; and her piled hair, of so dark a brown as to appear black, except when the sunlight burnished threads of gold in its masses, looked ruddy as the leaves of a copper-beech gleaming through the figured lace.“By Jove!”exclaimed Dick, jumping to his feet when he saw her. No more than that; but Pilar was woman enough to understand the value of the compliment; and she smiled, patting the flounce of her mantilla into still more graceful folds on her breast.“You think me nice like this?”she asked.“I'm proud of my mantilla, you know. It came to me from my great-grandmother, as all the best ones do come to Spanish girls; and I've two lovely white mantillas which I wear on great feast days when I want to be very beautiful.”[pg 235]“At bull-fights?”asked Dick, his eyes adoring her in a way he would have laughed at in any other man only a few weeks ago.“I don't go to bull-fights,”said Pilar.“I love the poor bulls and horses so much, it would make me sad to see them die. Though, if I were a bull, I would myself choose a brave death in the arena, after a life of five glorious years, rather than the slaughter-house, or a weary existence of labour till old age or overstrain finished me. But I drive in thepaseoon the bull-fight days, and for theferia.Ay de mi!A girl in Spain has few other chances to make herself pretty for the world to see, unless she lives in Madrid; and if it were not for the bull-fights, I suppose many girls would never get husbands. But, Our Lady be thanked, I do not have to look for one.”Did she mean that there was any understanding with Don Cipriano?I knew this was the thought which flashed through Dick's mind. And if Pilar had been desirable in motoring days, she was irresistible at home.Before eight o'clock the Gloria was at the gates, and twenty minutes later we were on foot in the street of the Gran Capitán, mingling with the crowd who waited for the first procession ofSemana Santato pour out from the cathedral doors. But the crowd was not a dense one, and the face I hoped to see was not there.“It will be a long time before anything happens,”said the Cherub.“Here, when a thing should be at eight, it is at nine, or maybe half-past. What does a little time matter? But mass is being said. Who knows that the old Duchess may not have had a religious fit, and come to hear it, bringing her friends?”No more was needed to make me anxious to go in; and we entered the cathedral, which is, to my mind, the most beautiful,inspiring, and poetic in the world.The two O'Donnels flitted away in the dusk, mysterious as the twilight of the gods, and we guessed that they were going to[pg 236]hear mass. Soon they found us again. They had not seen those for whom we searched; but the procession was starting.We made haste out before it, and none too soon, for it billowed forth after us in a glitter of gold and purple vestments, and tall, bleached palm-branches like beams of moonlight streaming against the blue of the morning sky.“They're not here,”said Pilar, when the last gleaming crucifix and waving palm, blessed by the bishop, had disappeared.“I was sure they wouldn't come. And—it does seem hard to disappoint you—but I'm afraid they won't be in their box this afternoon. Oh, we shall go, of course! But that will be the time for the Duke to lend the Conde de Ambulato his box. Thursday will be the great day, when the King will be in the royal box, and will walk with hiscofradiaof the cigarette-makers before Our Lady of Victory. You know how anxious the Duke is to win back the favour of the royal family; and he'll hardly think it worth while to sit through the hours of a procession unless he can be next door to the King, with a chance of an invitation to his box.”This was discouraging; still, I determined to be in the crowd during the afternoon; and I knew well that, though the splendid show ofSemana Santawas an old story to the O'Donnels, they would not fail me for a moment.Dick shamefacedly bought from one of many vendors an armful of blessed palms for Pilar to tie under the house windows, as a protection against the rage of thunder-storms throughout the coming year; and we drove to the country with the great glistening fronds blowing behind the motor-car like giant plumes.I spent hours writing, tearing up, and rewriting a letter to Monica which Pilar was to try and deliver if she could, and when she could. We lunched and did our best to make careless conversation, as if we were not anxious and excited—Dick and I for our own selfish reasons; the two others in sympathy. We talked of Seville, past and present—once“Sultana of the[pg 237]South,”still beautiful and gay, though her reign is over.“We are very happy even now, among ourselves, we Sevillanos,”said the Cherub.“You should see atertulia, if you want to know how families can enjoy themselves together. But there's another side of the picture, too. English and American people—there are a few—accuse us of being unsociable. They say we never give invitations to luncheons and dinners as people of other countries do; that a few calls are exchanged, and that is all, in an intercourse, it may be, of many years.”“Oh, I know what they say!”laughed Pilar.“I heard an American girl give a friend of hers a description of families she knew in Seville.‘You go to call,’said she;‘and if the ladies are at home (they won't be if they can help it), you're shown into a shut-up drawing-room smelling of mustiness. In front of the fireplace, if there is any, or else the brazier-table, a hard yellow or red satin sofa is drawn up, an armchair on each side. All the rest of the furniture's ranged in a straight row round the wall. It's in the afternoon, but you wait till the ladies dress, because if they're in they're sure to be in wrappers, unless it's so late that their carriage is ready for thepaseo. After you're nearly gone to sleep, they come, and you talk of any uninteresting things they can think of; never interesting ones, because they're kept for intimate friends' gossip; and the girls simper and stare as if you were a curiosity, because you're allowed to walk in the street without a maid.’That's being‘sociable’in Seville, according to the American girl; and I'm afraid that she's right from a foreigner's point of view.”All this, to amuse us; but unfortunately it was far from amusing to Dick. He sat looking introspective, and wondering no doubt, if Pilar meant to hint that, so far as the door of her heart was concerned, foreigners might save themselves the trouble of knocking.Seeing him taciturn, as hostess she felt it her duty to console him, so when luncheon was over an invitation to go and visit Vivillo, the beloved bull, was delivered to all, with an especially beguiling look at Dick. He accepted with suspicious alacrity,[pg 238]and to please her I said yes; while the Cherub, who was evidently longing for a siesta, shrugged his shoulders dutifully. It seemed that we could see the pasture which was Vivillo's drawing-room without trespassing upon Carmona's land, on which I should have been loth to set my foot, even for Pilar; but when, after twenty minutes' walk across meadows, we arrived at the hedge which divided the Duke'sganaderiafrom Colonel O'Donnel's farm, Dick would not be satisfied with a distant inspection of the grazing bulls. Pilar (denuded of her mantilla, but still in the black brocade, ready for the afternoon in Seville) was going to pay a friendly call upon her darling, and Dick was resolved upon an introduction.Pilar cried gaily to a herdsman visible in the distance, and joyously obedient to the girl's evidently familiar voice, the young fellow came running towards us,garrochain hand. Between him and the hedge which separated the two properties, was a deep ditch which no bull, save in a state of fury, would care to jump. But not far away a long plank lay half hidden in rich grass, and theganaderodragged it nearer, without a question, as if he knew already what was expected of him. Having pushed it across the ditch, to form a bridge at the spot where the hedge was thinnest, he took off his hat, and welcomed the gracious señor and señorita home. Vivillo, said he, was well, but would be the better for a sight of the señorita, who was the one human being he had seemed to love since the day of thetientawhich had proved him brave.Yes, there he was—the“lively one,”well named indeed!—grazing for the moment off there to the south-east. Could not the señorita see his brown back among the grey and black ones, farthest away? But she had only to call. Vivillo knew her voice and would answer to it as to no other. It was really a marvel. And was it true that she had begun negotiating for his purchase? Ah, it was a pity that such atoro bravowould not have his chance to fight in some splendidcorrida, where the noblest bulls of Spain must meet the most skilled of theespadas. He—Mateo—had[pg 239]often thought what a grand spectacle it would be to see Fuentes and Vivillo together. But—well, better waste the best bull that ever grazed on these pastures, and please the señorita. For her interests it was a good thing that the Señor Duque seldom or never troubled to come and seelos toros, for if his eye once lit upon Vivillo he would never part with him for any money, except for the honour of thecorrida.“Then be sure you don't let the Duke have a hint!”laughed Pilar, happy and fearless as a boy, as she squeezed through the hedge and tripped across the plank, followed by Dick.“She is perfectly safe,”said the Cherub, in answer to an uneasy look from me.“She's as well known over there almost as the herdsmen who tend the bulls from their birth; besides, she has some curious influence over animals. I have never seen anything like it in another human being, though I have read of such things. Since she was a child, I have no longer had any fear for her over there; and Señor Waring is safe also, while he keeps with her and Mateo, unless he were foolish enough to make some demonstration. But for me, I am no friend oflos toroswhen they are at home.”Dick and Pilar were in Carmona's pasture now, moving towards a troop of grazing bulls, magnificent creatures whose terrible horns and silken hides (branded with double circles under a crown) glittered in the sun. Scarcely a head was tossed in honour of the new-comers; but as Pilar raised her girlish voice to give a peculiar call, I saw a dark form in the distance separate itself from a group. Then a brown, lean-flanked bull, nobly armed with horns grand as the antlers of a stag, bounded away from his companions, and rushed in so straight a line towards Pilar, that in spite of the Cherub's words, my heart was wrenched.But I need not have feared. While the young herdsman and Dick stood by passive and admiring, thistoro bravoof famous fighting breed reduced his run to a canter, and trotted up to Pilar as tamely as if he had been a belledcabestro.The girl, opening a large knotted handkerchief which she had[pg 240]brought filled with sweet biscuit, took a step or two forward to meet the bull. Nestling against his huge head, powerful enough to bear up a horse and rider impaled upon his horns, she calmly fed the great beast from her store. Never could there have been a more beautiful picture since the day when another bull submitted to the caresses of Europa.Vivillo scarcely deigned to look at Dick, who made some bids for his favour. All his chivalrous soul oftoro bravowas absorbed in pleasure at Pilar's return, gratitude for her remembrance of him. I would scarcely have believed that it could be real, had I not seen it.For ten minutes she stayed, Dick close at her side, always ignored by the bull; then she returned and walked towards us, slowly, the herdsman keeping near and Vivillo marching after in a resolute way which would have turned grey the hair of a nervous man or woman.But if Dick were conscious of his nerves in such an unusual situation, he did not show it. His head was bent over Pilar's, talking earnestly, and though she never looked up at him in answer, once she broke out laughing, so merrily, I wondered what he had said.In our own meadow again, safely delivered from the bulls, Pilar slipped instantly to her father's side and began chattering about Vivillo, who stood by the ditch looking wistfully after her as he chewed his last biscuit. Dick and I were thus thrown together; and though Dick's face is no tell-tale, I guessed somehow that his mind was not as calm as his features.“I should think that might have been a little upsetting to an amateur,”I said.“Maybe,”answered Dick, absent-mindedly.“But it isn't that, if I'm looking queer. Say Ramón, I've done it.”“What?”“Proposed to a girl for the first time in my life. What's more, I grovelled. I called Vivillo a lamb, though at the moment he was looking more like several dozen lions. I told her if she'd[pg 241]marry me, she could have him and any other bulls sitting about on our hearthrug; that we'd have a nice big one on purpose.”“That ought to be an inducement—even from a heretic.”“Oh, confound you, don't harp on that. I'm mad about the girl. I know all you're suffering, and if I ever put on superior airs, I take them back and swallow them.”Even a man heartbroken would have had to grin; and Pilar had persuaded me not to be heartbroken yet. If I laughed, I sympathized too, and liked Dick better than ever because we were eating the same bitter-sweet orange of which the voice had sung. It seemed that Pilar had neither accepted nor refused him, but had asked for time to think; and he would have been a little encouraged if she had not suddenly said,“Don Ciprianolovesbulls.”At five o'clock we spun into Seville, with the car, for nobody knew at what time the procession might begin; nobody ever did know, it appeared. And Pilar was no longer merrily boyish, but feminine and seductive again in her black mantilla.The vast oblong of the Plaza de la Constitución was already humming with the excitement of a moving crowd. The lane between chairs and tribune was thronged with the poor of the town and peasants from the country, who would have no seats and must press for places to see the procession; but there was no ill-natured pushing, and gentlest care was taken not to crush the toddling, star-eyed children who tumbled under people's feet. Soldiers laughed and edged their way past clinging groups of pretty girls. Civil guards, looking as if they had stepped out of old pictures, strove to keep order, their shouts lost among the cries which filled the air; cries of water-sellers bearing big earthen vessels; cries of those who wheeled cargoes of roasted peanuts in painted ships; cries of crab-sellers; cries of shabby old men, and neat, white-capped boys, hawking fresh-friedcalientes, sugared cakes, and all kinds ofdulceson napkin-covered trays.English and American tourists in panamas wandered through[pg 242]the throng searching for their numbered chairs; vendors of seats shouted reduced prices; bareheaded women with brown babies in their arms offered programmes of the week's processions; tattered boys shrieked the daily papers, and coloured post-cards; while from the balconies of private houses ladies in black mantillas, children in white, and foreigners in gay colours looked down upon the scene.So passed an hour, while the boxes and best seats began to fill. Spanish families of the middle class, men and women in black, took front seats of the tribune, where the empty royal box made a brave splash of gold and crimson; but more slowly came members of the aristocracy and officers in blue and gold; and, jostled by the crowd, I waited in suspense.Colonel O'Donnel had gone to his club for news of the box which, by strategic means, he had been trying to get. Pilar and Dick had gone with him, to remain in the car chaperoned by Ropes, until he should come out; so that I had no means of learning whether the Cherub had triumphed or failed. All I knew was, that a club acquaintance whose wife was ill, might be induced to offer his box, close to the royalties, to a second acquaintance in exchange for one directly behind that which the Duke of Carmona had taken. If this could be arranged, the O'Donnels would be given the latter, in exchange for—only the Cherub knew what. Borne back and forth with the moving throng, like a leaf in an eddy, my eyes seldom strayed for long from the tribune. Would the Carmona household come? Would the O'Donnels be their neighbours?At last I saw Pilar and the two men entering the tribune. Yes, they had succeeded, I could tell from the Cherub's description of the Duke's box. But Carmona's was still empty.The procession had not yet appeared, though the firstcofradiahad been due in the Plaza an hour ago, and twilight was falling over the vast square, ethereally clear and pale. Only the figure of Faith on the soaring Giralda, turned as if to watch the scene, still glittered in the sun; and its dazzling brilliance had faded[pg 243]before a bugle note rang out, poignant as a cry of bitter sorrow from a breaking heart.This was the herald of a brotherhood with its sacred images; and the police began to sweep the crowd before them out of the lane between the chairs and tribune. Slowly the flock was forced along by the shepherd dogs; and as the way cleared, forth from the dim tunnel of Las Sierpes marched, with arms reversed, a squad of civil guards; then a company of mounted soldiers, their bugles still wailing that sad warning of some piteous spectacle to come.The cavalry passed; it was but a modern preface to a mediæval poem which, following closely, brought with it into the Plaza sad ghosts, grim ghosts, sainted ghosts of long past days.Headed by one of their number bearing aloft an exquisite crucifix, walked a band of penitents carrying great lighted candles. Their white robes of linen swept in long pointed trains over the cobbles, the silver buckles on their black shoes glinting with each step; through the narrow slits in the bluecapuchas, whose conical peaks tapered far above the wearers' heads, their dark eyes burned with mysterious intensity. Two and two they moved, noiseless as bats save for the tap of silver batons, making an avenue of gliding stars, like will-o'-the-wisps, from the black mouth of Las Sierpes across the length of the Plaza.Then suddenly, in that dark, distant tunnel flashed something luminous, something that moved, swung in air higher than the heads of men, something that was like a great blazing casket of jewels or a cloud of fireflies.It came on, halting, starting again, reaching the open square, and revealing itself as an illuminated platform supporting a crucified Christ, life size, with no detail spared of tragedy and torture.One of those fine sculptures of painted wood, such as I had seen at Valladolid, the sixteenth century artist had spent his soul in showing to believers what Christ had suffered that they might be saved; and so startling was the appeal of this terrible[pg 244]figure to the sympathies, that for an instant I found myself forgetting everything except a wild desire to rescue it.As thepaso, with its quivering silver lamps and strewn flowers, came near to where I stood, I could see, beneath the long velvet curtains which draped the platform, twenty pairs or more of slowly moving feet; and the frequent pauses were accounted for.I watched the heart-rending figure pass round the corner of the Plaza, out of sight, swallows wheeling overhead as if once more to pluck the thorns from that bleeding brow; and as it vanished, far away in the dusk of Las Sierpes appeared another illumined mystery of clustering stars. Out from darkness into hyacinth twilight it floated, a canopied platform of purple velvet, crusted with silver and gold; under the glittering roof a virgin, who seemed to stand praying in a garden of tall lilies, lit by a sacred silver flame.The crowding lilies, as thepasocame nearer, were only white, waxen candles after all, but in their light the image of the Virgin gained a womanliness and beauty extraordinary. Her gorgeous trailing robe of gold-embroidered velvet, her under gown of satin scintillating with diamonds, her blazing crown of jewels, the sparkling rings on her delicate fingers, her necklaces, her bracelets, were such as the Mother of Christ never dreamed of in her simple life; and half the watchers knew grinding poverty, which a few of her gems might relieve.That thought, I knew, would leap to many minds; but they would be the minds of foreigners; and I, being Spanish, understood. I saw what this procession of emblems meant to these people, rich and poor alike. They were being reminded, in the realistic and dramatic way which appealed best to their imaginations, of all Christ had suffered for them, of all the mother-woman had endured. The gems, which to alien minds were incongruous, crystallized their tears, their love, their gratitude; and Our Lady's jewels were the jewels of the poor—rich possessions which could not be taken from them, joys for ever, objects of their highest pride.[pg 245]Bending in gentle grief, the fair face bowed, the graceful figure passed in fragrance of lilies, perfumed wax, and incense sending blue clouds from silver censors swung by white-robed boys. With her, as she moved, went music—our Lady's own music, sad and beautiful as moonlight on a lonely grave, cool as peace after hot pain.Now the box in the tribune I had watched so long was filled with strangers. Pilar had been right. Carmona had given his place to friends. But with that soft, haunting music in my ears, sweet as remembered days of joy, I could not fear anything. Somehow I was at peace, with good thoughts in my mind and hope in my heart.Brotherhoods in black, brotherhoods in purple, andpasoafterpasowent by; Christus bending under the weight of the cross, Christus praying among sleeping disciples in Gethsemane, Our Lady of the Rosary, Our Lady of Tears, flaming rivers of light, suns rising out of purple clouds.Night folded over the great square, with its crowd of people. No one had gone away. Electric lights burst out and made the scene like the auditorium of some vast theatre; but the stage and auditorium were one. Then the full moon, yellow as honey, looked over the thronged roof-gardens of tall houses opposite the tribune, and sailed high in heaven.It was past nine o'clock when Colonel O'Donnel touched me on the shoulder.“We saw you long ago,”he said.“You are so tall. Shall we go home to dinner? But on Thursday you will have another chance.”Thursday! and there were three days in between. I wished that he could have left me in my dream of peace as long as it might last.

The voice of some maid servant singing acoplawaked me early in the morning, after an hour or two of sleep.

El amor y la naranjase parecen infinito;Que por muy dulces que seande agrio tienen su poquito.1

El amor y la naranja

se parecen infinito;

Que por muy dulces que sean

de agrio tienen su poquito.1

Yes, always a little bitter, I said to myself. But if for me there were after all to be some sweetness left?

Last night before parting, the Cherub, Dick and I had talked matters over from every point of view. I was only too thankful to take the advice of one girl on behalf of another, and give to Monica the benefit of that doubt which at first had not seemed admissible. But even Pilar confessed that Monica's engagement to Carmona made our part a hundred times more difficult.

Whatever her motive had been—revenge upon me for supposed disloyalty, dread of her mother, or awakened ambition--she had in any case consented to marry him, and Pilar suggested that the dinner invitations had been sent out as an excuse for a public announcement, which would more firmly bind her to her promise. The news would have flown all over Seville in[pg 233]twenty-four hours; when the King arrived on Tuesday Carmona would certainly lose no time in telling him; Lady Vale-Avon would not wait for Monica to write to the Princess, but would probably wire; and no matter what my private anxieties might be, for Monica's sake I must do nothing openly. As for defying Carmona to use his knowledge of my true name, and challenging him to fight, that must not be thought of. Monica's fair fame would never survive such a scandal, especially in Spain, where a girl's reputation is as easily damaged as the down on a butterfly's wing.

But, as the Cherub said, there are many roads which lead to the centre of the world. He had learned at his club that the Duke had lent his box in the tribune to a friend, for such processions as he and his household did not care to see. That friend was a member of the club, and through him the Cherub had found out that the box in question was next to the royal box which would be occupied by the King, the Infanta Doña María Teresa, and her husband. Immediately upon making this discovery, the Cherub had begun to move heaven and earth to obtain a box for himself, either behind, in front of, or on one side of Carmona's box. He did not know yet if he should succeed, for things were not done in a moment in Spain. Of course all the boxes were already subscribed for the whole week by members of the aristocracy and other persons of importance in Seville; but, then, the Cherub had friends and acquaintances in every class. If it were a question of money, money would not be spared; if it were a question of a favour for a favour in return, that favour would be given. There was hope that the thing might be arranged; and once Pilar came within speaking distance of Monica, nothing short of sudden death could prevent her from telling the girl the truth, vowing by all the saints that she had been deceived for the one purpose of separating her from me. If Monica could be made to believe that, she would have courage to be true in spite of all; and then it would be for me to save her from keeping the engagement into which she had been tricked.

[pg 234]As for my going to Carmona's house and trying to see Monica, such a plan appeared useless, as I should certainly not be allowed to come near her. Therefore I must wait with such patience as I could, and let my friends help me in the subtle ways favoured in Spain.

Now, Palm Sunday had dawned crystal clear; but Pilar had explained that nobody occupied the boxes and chairs to see the procession of palms in the morning; that, though it was pretty to see, it was not one of the great sights; and, as one must be waiting early outside the cathedral, it was unlikely that anyone from Carmona's house would be there. Still there was the chance, and I could not afford to miss it; so the O'Donnels offered to go with me into Seville, Dick, of course, being of the party.

Consequently, every one at the Cortijo was astir by six; and before seven Dick and I were in thepatio, just in time to greet Pilar utterly fascinating in a mantilla.

She was dressed as a Spanish woman of the upper class should be dressed on Palm Sunday; and though the tight-fitting, rich black brocade silk which she wore would, in any other country, have seemed a costume not for young girlhood but for middle age, it suited her wonderfully. Her clear-skinned, heart-shaped face, with its great soft eyes and red lips, was beautiful in the cloudy frame of black lace; and her piled hair, of so dark a brown as to appear black, except when the sunlight burnished threads of gold in its masses, looked ruddy as the leaves of a copper-beech gleaming through the figured lace.

“By Jove!”exclaimed Dick, jumping to his feet when he saw her. No more than that; but Pilar was woman enough to understand the value of the compliment; and she smiled, patting the flounce of her mantilla into still more graceful folds on her breast.

“You think me nice like this?”she asked.“I'm proud of my mantilla, you know. It came to me from my great-grandmother, as all the best ones do come to Spanish girls; and I've two lovely white mantillas which I wear on great feast days when I want to be very beautiful.”

[pg 235]“At bull-fights?”asked Dick, his eyes adoring her in a way he would have laughed at in any other man only a few weeks ago.

“I don't go to bull-fights,”said Pilar.“I love the poor bulls and horses so much, it would make me sad to see them die. Though, if I were a bull, I would myself choose a brave death in the arena, after a life of five glorious years, rather than the slaughter-house, or a weary existence of labour till old age or overstrain finished me. But I drive in thepaseoon the bull-fight days, and for theferia.Ay de mi!A girl in Spain has few other chances to make herself pretty for the world to see, unless she lives in Madrid; and if it were not for the bull-fights, I suppose many girls would never get husbands. But, Our Lady be thanked, I do not have to look for one.”

Did she mean that there was any understanding with Don Cipriano?

I knew this was the thought which flashed through Dick's mind. And if Pilar had been desirable in motoring days, she was irresistible at home.

Before eight o'clock the Gloria was at the gates, and twenty minutes later we were on foot in the street of the Gran Capitán, mingling with the crowd who waited for the first procession ofSemana Santato pour out from the cathedral doors. But the crowd was not a dense one, and the face I hoped to see was not there.“It will be a long time before anything happens,”said the Cherub.“Here, when a thing should be at eight, it is at nine, or maybe half-past. What does a little time matter? But mass is being said. Who knows that the old Duchess may not have had a religious fit, and come to hear it, bringing her friends?”

No more was needed to make me anxious to go in; and we entered the cathedral, which is, to my mind, the most beautiful,inspiring, and poetic in the world.

The two O'Donnels flitted away in the dusk, mysterious as the twilight of the gods, and we guessed that they were going to[pg 236]hear mass. Soon they found us again. They had not seen those for whom we searched; but the procession was starting.

We made haste out before it, and none too soon, for it billowed forth after us in a glitter of gold and purple vestments, and tall, bleached palm-branches like beams of moonlight streaming against the blue of the morning sky.

“They're not here,”said Pilar, when the last gleaming crucifix and waving palm, blessed by the bishop, had disappeared.“I was sure they wouldn't come. And—it does seem hard to disappoint you—but I'm afraid they won't be in their box this afternoon. Oh, we shall go, of course! But that will be the time for the Duke to lend the Conde de Ambulato his box. Thursday will be the great day, when the King will be in the royal box, and will walk with hiscofradiaof the cigarette-makers before Our Lady of Victory. You know how anxious the Duke is to win back the favour of the royal family; and he'll hardly think it worth while to sit through the hours of a procession unless he can be next door to the King, with a chance of an invitation to his box.”

This was discouraging; still, I determined to be in the crowd during the afternoon; and I knew well that, though the splendid show ofSemana Santawas an old story to the O'Donnels, they would not fail me for a moment.

Dick shamefacedly bought from one of many vendors an armful of blessed palms for Pilar to tie under the house windows, as a protection against the rage of thunder-storms throughout the coming year; and we drove to the country with the great glistening fronds blowing behind the motor-car like giant plumes.

I spent hours writing, tearing up, and rewriting a letter to Monica which Pilar was to try and deliver if she could, and when she could. We lunched and did our best to make careless conversation, as if we were not anxious and excited—Dick and I for our own selfish reasons; the two others in sympathy. We talked of Seville, past and present—once“Sultana of the[pg 237]South,”still beautiful and gay, though her reign is over.“We are very happy even now, among ourselves, we Sevillanos,”said the Cherub.“You should see atertulia, if you want to know how families can enjoy themselves together. But there's another side of the picture, too. English and American people—there are a few—accuse us of being unsociable. They say we never give invitations to luncheons and dinners as people of other countries do; that a few calls are exchanged, and that is all, in an intercourse, it may be, of many years.”

“Oh, I know what they say!”laughed Pilar.“I heard an American girl give a friend of hers a description of families she knew in Seville.‘You go to call,’said she;‘and if the ladies are at home (they won't be if they can help it), you're shown into a shut-up drawing-room smelling of mustiness. In front of the fireplace, if there is any, or else the brazier-table, a hard yellow or red satin sofa is drawn up, an armchair on each side. All the rest of the furniture's ranged in a straight row round the wall. It's in the afternoon, but you wait till the ladies dress, because if they're in they're sure to be in wrappers, unless it's so late that their carriage is ready for thepaseo. After you're nearly gone to sleep, they come, and you talk of any uninteresting things they can think of; never interesting ones, because they're kept for intimate friends' gossip; and the girls simper and stare as if you were a curiosity, because you're allowed to walk in the street without a maid.’That's being‘sociable’in Seville, according to the American girl; and I'm afraid that she's right from a foreigner's point of view.”

All this, to amuse us; but unfortunately it was far from amusing to Dick. He sat looking introspective, and wondering no doubt, if Pilar meant to hint that, so far as the door of her heart was concerned, foreigners might save themselves the trouble of knocking.

Seeing him taciturn, as hostess she felt it her duty to console him, so when luncheon was over an invitation to go and visit Vivillo, the beloved bull, was delivered to all, with an especially beguiling look at Dick. He accepted with suspicious alacrity,[pg 238]and to please her I said yes; while the Cherub, who was evidently longing for a siesta, shrugged his shoulders dutifully. It seemed that we could see the pasture which was Vivillo's drawing-room without trespassing upon Carmona's land, on which I should have been loth to set my foot, even for Pilar; but when, after twenty minutes' walk across meadows, we arrived at the hedge which divided the Duke'sganaderiafrom Colonel O'Donnel's farm, Dick would not be satisfied with a distant inspection of the grazing bulls. Pilar (denuded of her mantilla, but still in the black brocade, ready for the afternoon in Seville) was going to pay a friendly call upon her darling, and Dick was resolved upon an introduction.

Pilar cried gaily to a herdsman visible in the distance, and joyously obedient to the girl's evidently familiar voice, the young fellow came running towards us,garrochain hand. Between him and the hedge which separated the two properties, was a deep ditch which no bull, save in a state of fury, would care to jump. But not far away a long plank lay half hidden in rich grass, and theganaderodragged it nearer, without a question, as if he knew already what was expected of him. Having pushed it across the ditch, to form a bridge at the spot where the hedge was thinnest, he took off his hat, and welcomed the gracious señor and señorita home. Vivillo, said he, was well, but would be the better for a sight of the señorita, who was the one human being he had seemed to love since the day of thetientawhich had proved him brave.

Yes, there he was—the“lively one,”well named indeed!—grazing for the moment off there to the south-east. Could not the señorita see his brown back among the grey and black ones, farthest away? But she had only to call. Vivillo knew her voice and would answer to it as to no other. It was really a marvel. And was it true that she had begun negotiating for his purchase? Ah, it was a pity that such atoro bravowould not have his chance to fight in some splendidcorrida, where the noblest bulls of Spain must meet the most skilled of theespadas. He—Mateo—had[pg 239]often thought what a grand spectacle it would be to see Fuentes and Vivillo together. But—well, better waste the best bull that ever grazed on these pastures, and please the señorita. For her interests it was a good thing that the Señor Duque seldom or never troubled to come and seelos toros, for if his eye once lit upon Vivillo he would never part with him for any money, except for the honour of thecorrida.

“Then be sure you don't let the Duke have a hint!”laughed Pilar, happy and fearless as a boy, as she squeezed through the hedge and tripped across the plank, followed by Dick.

“She is perfectly safe,”said the Cherub, in answer to an uneasy look from me.“She's as well known over there almost as the herdsmen who tend the bulls from their birth; besides, she has some curious influence over animals. I have never seen anything like it in another human being, though I have read of such things. Since she was a child, I have no longer had any fear for her over there; and Señor Waring is safe also, while he keeps with her and Mateo, unless he were foolish enough to make some demonstration. But for me, I am no friend oflos toroswhen they are at home.”

Dick and Pilar were in Carmona's pasture now, moving towards a troop of grazing bulls, magnificent creatures whose terrible horns and silken hides (branded with double circles under a crown) glittered in the sun. Scarcely a head was tossed in honour of the new-comers; but as Pilar raised her girlish voice to give a peculiar call, I saw a dark form in the distance separate itself from a group. Then a brown, lean-flanked bull, nobly armed with horns grand as the antlers of a stag, bounded away from his companions, and rushed in so straight a line towards Pilar, that in spite of the Cherub's words, my heart was wrenched.

But I need not have feared. While the young herdsman and Dick stood by passive and admiring, thistoro bravoof famous fighting breed reduced his run to a canter, and trotted up to Pilar as tamely as if he had been a belledcabestro.

The girl, opening a large knotted handkerchief which she had[pg 240]brought filled with sweet biscuit, took a step or two forward to meet the bull. Nestling against his huge head, powerful enough to bear up a horse and rider impaled upon his horns, she calmly fed the great beast from her store. Never could there have been a more beautiful picture since the day when another bull submitted to the caresses of Europa.

Vivillo scarcely deigned to look at Dick, who made some bids for his favour. All his chivalrous soul oftoro bravowas absorbed in pleasure at Pilar's return, gratitude for her remembrance of him. I would scarcely have believed that it could be real, had I not seen it.

For ten minutes she stayed, Dick close at her side, always ignored by the bull; then she returned and walked towards us, slowly, the herdsman keeping near and Vivillo marching after in a resolute way which would have turned grey the hair of a nervous man or woman.

But if Dick were conscious of his nerves in such an unusual situation, he did not show it. His head was bent over Pilar's, talking earnestly, and though she never looked up at him in answer, once she broke out laughing, so merrily, I wondered what he had said.

In our own meadow again, safely delivered from the bulls, Pilar slipped instantly to her father's side and began chattering about Vivillo, who stood by the ditch looking wistfully after her as he chewed his last biscuit. Dick and I were thus thrown together; and though Dick's face is no tell-tale, I guessed somehow that his mind was not as calm as his features.

“I should think that might have been a little upsetting to an amateur,”I said.

“Maybe,”answered Dick, absent-mindedly.“But it isn't that, if I'm looking queer. Say Ramón, I've done it.”

“What?”

“Proposed to a girl for the first time in my life. What's more, I grovelled. I called Vivillo a lamb, though at the moment he was looking more like several dozen lions. I told her if she'd[pg 241]marry me, she could have him and any other bulls sitting about on our hearthrug; that we'd have a nice big one on purpose.”

“That ought to be an inducement—even from a heretic.”

“Oh, confound you, don't harp on that. I'm mad about the girl. I know all you're suffering, and if I ever put on superior airs, I take them back and swallow them.”

Even a man heartbroken would have had to grin; and Pilar had persuaded me not to be heartbroken yet. If I laughed, I sympathized too, and liked Dick better than ever because we were eating the same bitter-sweet orange of which the voice had sung. It seemed that Pilar had neither accepted nor refused him, but had asked for time to think; and he would have been a little encouraged if she had not suddenly said,“Don Ciprianolovesbulls.”

At five o'clock we spun into Seville, with the car, for nobody knew at what time the procession might begin; nobody ever did know, it appeared. And Pilar was no longer merrily boyish, but feminine and seductive again in her black mantilla.

The vast oblong of the Plaza de la Constitución was already humming with the excitement of a moving crowd. The lane between chairs and tribune was thronged with the poor of the town and peasants from the country, who would have no seats and must press for places to see the procession; but there was no ill-natured pushing, and gentlest care was taken not to crush the toddling, star-eyed children who tumbled under people's feet. Soldiers laughed and edged their way past clinging groups of pretty girls. Civil guards, looking as if they had stepped out of old pictures, strove to keep order, their shouts lost among the cries which filled the air; cries of water-sellers bearing big earthen vessels; cries of those who wheeled cargoes of roasted peanuts in painted ships; cries of crab-sellers; cries of shabby old men, and neat, white-capped boys, hawking fresh-friedcalientes, sugared cakes, and all kinds ofdulceson napkin-covered trays.

English and American tourists in panamas wandered through[pg 242]the throng searching for their numbered chairs; vendors of seats shouted reduced prices; bareheaded women with brown babies in their arms offered programmes of the week's processions; tattered boys shrieked the daily papers, and coloured post-cards; while from the balconies of private houses ladies in black mantillas, children in white, and foreigners in gay colours looked down upon the scene.

So passed an hour, while the boxes and best seats began to fill. Spanish families of the middle class, men and women in black, took front seats of the tribune, where the empty royal box made a brave splash of gold and crimson; but more slowly came members of the aristocracy and officers in blue and gold; and, jostled by the crowd, I waited in suspense.

Colonel O'Donnel had gone to his club for news of the box which, by strategic means, he had been trying to get. Pilar and Dick had gone with him, to remain in the car chaperoned by Ropes, until he should come out; so that I had no means of learning whether the Cherub had triumphed or failed. All I knew was, that a club acquaintance whose wife was ill, might be induced to offer his box, close to the royalties, to a second acquaintance in exchange for one directly behind that which the Duke of Carmona had taken. If this could be arranged, the O'Donnels would be given the latter, in exchange for—only the Cherub knew what. Borne back and forth with the moving throng, like a leaf in an eddy, my eyes seldom strayed for long from the tribune. Would the Carmona household come? Would the O'Donnels be their neighbours?

At last I saw Pilar and the two men entering the tribune. Yes, they had succeeded, I could tell from the Cherub's description of the Duke's box. But Carmona's was still empty.

The procession had not yet appeared, though the firstcofradiahad been due in the Plaza an hour ago, and twilight was falling over the vast square, ethereally clear and pale. Only the figure of Faith on the soaring Giralda, turned as if to watch the scene, still glittered in the sun; and its dazzling brilliance had faded[pg 243]before a bugle note rang out, poignant as a cry of bitter sorrow from a breaking heart.

This was the herald of a brotherhood with its sacred images; and the police began to sweep the crowd before them out of the lane between the chairs and tribune. Slowly the flock was forced along by the shepherd dogs; and as the way cleared, forth from the dim tunnel of Las Sierpes marched, with arms reversed, a squad of civil guards; then a company of mounted soldiers, their bugles still wailing that sad warning of some piteous spectacle to come.

The cavalry passed; it was but a modern preface to a mediæval poem which, following closely, brought with it into the Plaza sad ghosts, grim ghosts, sainted ghosts of long past days.

Headed by one of their number bearing aloft an exquisite crucifix, walked a band of penitents carrying great lighted candles. Their white robes of linen swept in long pointed trains over the cobbles, the silver buckles on their black shoes glinting with each step; through the narrow slits in the bluecapuchas, whose conical peaks tapered far above the wearers' heads, their dark eyes burned with mysterious intensity. Two and two they moved, noiseless as bats save for the tap of silver batons, making an avenue of gliding stars, like will-o'-the-wisps, from the black mouth of Las Sierpes across the length of the Plaza.

Then suddenly, in that dark, distant tunnel flashed something luminous, something that moved, swung in air higher than the heads of men, something that was like a great blazing casket of jewels or a cloud of fireflies.

It came on, halting, starting again, reaching the open square, and revealing itself as an illuminated platform supporting a crucified Christ, life size, with no detail spared of tragedy and torture.

One of those fine sculptures of painted wood, such as I had seen at Valladolid, the sixteenth century artist had spent his soul in showing to believers what Christ had suffered that they might be saved; and so startling was the appeal of this terrible[pg 244]figure to the sympathies, that for an instant I found myself forgetting everything except a wild desire to rescue it.

As thepaso, with its quivering silver lamps and strewn flowers, came near to where I stood, I could see, beneath the long velvet curtains which draped the platform, twenty pairs or more of slowly moving feet; and the frequent pauses were accounted for.

I watched the heart-rending figure pass round the corner of the Plaza, out of sight, swallows wheeling overhead as if once more to pluck the thorns from that bleeding brow; and as it vanished, far away in the dusk of Las Sierpes appeared another illumined mystery of clustering stars. Out from darkness into hyacinth twilight it floated, a canopied platform of purple velvet, crusted with silver and gold; under the glittering roof a virgin, who seemed to stand praying in a garden of tall lilies, lit by a sacred silver flame.

The crowding lilies, as thepasocame nearer, were only white, waxen candles after all, but in their light the image of the Virgin gained a womanliness and beauty extraordinary. Her gorgeous trailing robe of gold-embroidered velvet, her under gown of satin scintillating with diamonds, her blazing crown of jewels, the sparkling rings on her delicate fingers, her necklaces, her bracelets, were such as the Mother of Christ never dreamed of in her simple life; and half the watchers knew grinding poverty, which a few of her gems might relieve.

That thought, I knew, would leap to many minds; but they would be the minds of foreigners; and I, being Spanish, understood. I saw what this procession of emblems meant to these people, rich and poor alike. They were being reminded, in the realistic and dramatic way which appealed best to their imaginations, of all Christ had suffered for them, of all the mother-woman had endured. The gems, which to alien minds were incongruous, crystallized their tears, their love, their gratitude; and Our Lady's jewels were the jewels of the poor—rich possessions which could not be taken from them, joys for ever, objects of their highest pride.

[pg 245]Bending in gentle grief, the fair face bowed, the graceful figure passed in fragrance of lilies, perfumed wax, and incense sending blue clouds from silver censors swung by white-robed boys. With her, as she moved, went music—our Lady's own music, sad and beautiful as moonlight on a lonely grave, cool as peace after hot pain.

Now the box in the tribune I had watched so long was filled with strangers. Pilar had been right. Carmona had given his place to friends. But with that soft, haunting music in my ears, sweet as remembered days of joy, I could not fear anything. Somehow I was at peace, with good thoughts in my mind and hope in my heart.

Brotherhoods in black, brotherhoods in purple, andpasoafterpasowent by; Christus bending under the weight of the cross, Christus praying among sleeping disciples in Gethsemane, Our Lady of the Rosary, Our Lady of Tears, flaming rivers of light, suns rising out of purple clouds.

Night folded over the great square, with its crowd of people. No one had gone away. Electric lights burst out and made the scene like the auditorium of some vast theatre; but the stage and auditorium were one. Then the full moon, yellow as honey, looked over the thronged roof-gardens of tall houses opposite the tribune, and sailed high in heaven.

It was past nine o'clock when Colonel O'Donnel touched me on the shoulder.

“We saw you long ago,”he said.“You are so tall. Shall we go home to dinner? But on Thursday you will have another chance.”

Thursday! and there were three days in between. I wished that he could have left me in my dream of peace as long as it might last.

[pg 246]XXXThe Hand Under the CurtainsLike a dream the three days passed; but not a dream of peace, for that I lost with the last echo of the Virgin music and the fragrance of her lilies.Dick thought himself miserable, but I would gladly have changed my state of mind for his. Sometimes he hoped, sometimes he despaired, but at all times he was really very happy, if only he had known it. He enjoyed visiting the Murillos with Pilar and the Cherub when I had no heart to go. He borrowed the motor to whisk them out to Italica. He went with the O'Donnels late every afternoon for the drive in the fashionablepaseoalong the river side, as pleased with the five handsome mules, in their smart Spanish harness of white and crimson rope and brown leather, as if they had been his own.As for me, I would not go, although Dick urged that, in the never-ending double line of fine carriages, we might meet the Duchess of Carmona's. But I did not dare to see Monica again after what had happened unless there were some hope that Pilar could speak for me, or that I could speak for myself. Still, I could not resist questioning the family in the evening. Had they heard tidings of her? Had they seen her?Presently there was news, but not good news. The engagement was known, and was being talked of everywhere. The story was that the wedding would be soon, as the Duchess was not strong, and professed herself anxious to see her son married. Gossip said also that the marriage would be celebrated in Madrid directly after the festivities of the royal wedding were over, so[pg 247]that the young duchess, as the wife of a grandee of Spain, could become lady-in-waiting to the bride-queen, whenlos Reyesreturned from their honeymoon at La Granja.The Cherub told me these things only because I insisted on hearing all; and on Wednesday evening I dragged further details from Pilar. They had passed the Duchess, Lady Vale-Avon, and Monica in the Carmona carriage, the handsomest in Seville; and the Duke had been on horseback, looking more attractive than Pilar had ever seen him in thechulocostume, worn at times as an amusing affectation by some young aristocrats of Andalucía. I could picture him in the wide-brimmed grey sombrero, the tight short jacket, and trousers fitting close as a glove until they widened below the knee. Yes, the dress would suit him; and Pilar admitted reluctantly that he was a perfect rider. I was horribly jealous, ready to fancy that, after all, Monica had actually begun to care for him.There had been a procession on Wednesday, but it was not an affair of importance; and with Thursday, and the presence of the King, all the greatest events of thisSemana Santawere to begin.Early in the afternoon there was washing of poor men's feet by the great ecclesiastics in the cathedral, the King remaining at theAlcázarto bathe—as Dick put it—a few carefully selected feet on his own account, as a sign of humility. Later, would come the most splendid procession of the week, the King walking with his owncofradia; in the evening, the Miserere in the cathedral, and processions all night, till mass on Good Friday morning. To myself I said, therefore, that I was to have two more chances: the one for which I depended upon Pilar in the afternoon; the one for which I depended on an inspiration of my own in the evening. For all the world was going to hear the Miserere.Though it was a week for penitence and fasting, Seville—honoured by the King—thrilled with excitement. Thousands of strangers had poured into the town for this day, and the crowds were three times as dense as on Sunday. Though there had been[pg 248]disquieting rumours, whispers of anarchist plots and bombs, the police had been alert; the King had taken a swift gunboat up the Guadalquivir, instead of arriving by special train from Cadiz, had reached Seville safely; and now anxiety was forgotten. All the town poured into the Plaza de la Constitución more than an hour before there was any hope that the procession might begin; and I was in the crowd.The boxes filled earlier than before, many of the ladies no longer in black, but wearing Paris hats and pale-tinted dresses, though to-morrow there would be black mantillas again, and red carnations. Pilar, Dick, and Colonel O'Donnel were in their places, and though the Duke's box was still empty, I was sure I should not be disappointed to-day.“He'll appear about the time the King does,”I was saying to myself, when suddenly there came a stir in the royal box. The mayor and town councillors walked in, looking important; four giant halberdiers of the royal guard took position, each in a corner of the box. Then rose a shout,“Viva el Rey!”and against the crimson velvet draperies the figure of the tall young King in white uniform stood out like a slender statue of marble.He was accompanied by his sister, the Infanta, and her husband, three or four ladies, and a retinue of decorated officers; but for an instant I saw only the King, because—rebel as I was supposed to be—my hat waved as high and my cheers rang as loudly as any in the crowd.I had not seen his face—that day at Biarritz long ago—when his automobile stopped for want of petrol. He had worn his motor-mask, and had not removed it, for he was incognito; but now, as he bowed in answer to the people's greeting, the young face was noble under the silver helmet. His smile brought a deep dimple to either cheek, and a pleasant light to the brown eyes. I was proud of my King, and found myself wishing that I could serve him, though it seemed that that could never be; and with a sigh for the perversities of fate I looked away, only to receive a shock of surprise.[pg 249]Among the ladies with the Infanta were the Duchess of Carmona, Lady Vale-Avon, and Monica. With the officers and friends of the King stood the Duke, his dark face radiating satisfaction, as if this were the crowning moment of his life.Not only was Monica with the man as his fiancée, but she was dressed, in compliment to him, like a girl of Spain. She wore a mantilla such as the Infanta wore, and so bright was her hair, so fair her skin framed in the black flounce of lace, that she was almost as much stared at as the King. On her breast, pinning the folds of the mantilla, there was a glint of crimson; and looking closely, I made it out to be a large brooch of rubies, forming the famous“No. 8 Do,”the motto of Seville. Only the Duke could have given her this, I thought; and she had accepted it!There was no more hope, then. It did not matter that her unexpected presence in the royal box would prevent Pilar from speaking, or giving her my letter. Still, I clung desperately to the one chance left; the cathedral and the Miserere.Hardly were the royalties and their friends settled in the red-draped box when the next brotherhood marched out from Las Sierpes, and halted their firstpasobefore the King, that he might see it well. He was on his feet, his head bared and bowed; and while he stood veiled in rising incense, some emotional soul in the audience broke into a Moorish wail, the prayer song orsaetaof the people, improvising words which caught the popular fancy.A murmur of approval ran through the crowd, which pressed close, in spite of the police; and as all eyes for the moment turned upon the King, or upon the white-haired peasant singer, a thing happened which caught my attention.The velvet curtain which hid the bearers of thepasoresting before the royal box, parted very slightly at one side, as if someone were peering out; then a hand darted forth and received from a man in a black coat, who stood with his back half-turned to me, a faded bouquet of flowers, arranged Spanish fashion in a hard, stiff pyramid.Quick as that darting hand a thought flashed through my[pg 250]brain. In a few seconds thepasowould be moving on; the bearers were bracing themselves for a new effort. That bouquet! if it should hold the threatened bomb? This was the moment for such an attempt at wrecking the royal box, for the King was a member of the next brotherhood that must pass; and soon he would be leaving his sister and friends to walk with it, perhaps not returning to his box that day.The passing of light is no more swift than was the flight of these thoughts; and without waiting to calculate the cost to myself, thinking only of the King and of the girl I loved, I instantly thrust both hands between the curtains, following the flowers as they were passed in. I grasped the bouquet firmly round the stiff base of the pyramid, and pulled it out before the hidden man who had received it knew that it had not been withdrawn by his confederate. It was all over in a second, and I had the bouquet. Also I had identified the man who pushed it through the curtains of thepaso, though which among the twenty or twenty-five concealed bearers had taken it from him I could not tell.Whether my act had been wise or foolish, it was done, and thepasohad moved on, carrying the secret of one beating heart under the curtained platform.Prying cautiously among the tightly banked flowers, my blood quickened as I touched something round and hard, a thing about the size of a large orange, fastened into the centre of the pyramid by a network of thin wire. Intuition had not played me a trick. There was death in this bunch of roses, death for many, perhaps. Though it was of first importance to get the bomb as far away as possible from the King and from Monica, and to render it harmless, I would not give up my pursuit of the man in the black coat, who was fighting his way through the crowd, only a few yards in front of me,—a square-set figure, in the holiday clothes of a respectable workman. I saw only his back now, every muscle tense in his desire to escape the vengeance on his track; but I had seen his face for an instant, and could identify it anywhere.[pg 251]What if, in his desperation, he turned, and in the hope of saving himself accused me of the crime he would have committed? It but needed that to ruin me—after Barcelona, and this long journey to Seville, where the King was due. Would any explanation I might make be credited, when the bomb was in my hand?I pushed the crowding thoughts out of my mind. There were other things to think of—the bomb itself, what to do with it; and the man to be followed.Meanwhile I was moving on after that broad back of which I must not lose sight, and away from the neighbourhood of the royal box. I was in the lane of the procession, close in front of the long ranks of occupied chairs, and opposite the tribune. There were only two persons abreast in the moving line which carried me along, driven on by the police, but we were tightly packed, pressed against on one side by the knees of people in the chairs, on the other by the purple brotherhood preceding anotherpaso. The situation seemed desperate, since to give an alarm would endanger the crowd as well as jeopardize my future; and a panic would be a calamity.Suddenly the cry of a water-seller struck my ear sharply.“Agua!—clear as crystal and cold as mountain snow. Agua!”He was just before me with his earthen vessel.“Sell me your jar,”I said.“No, I don't want a glass of water. I want the jar—for a curiosity. Twenty pesetas for it.”This offer saved questionings. The vessel with its contents was worth two pesetas to the vendor, perhaps, and, lest I should change my mind, its owner hastily handed over his jar and pocketed my silver. Even now I had to wait for an opening in the throng, till I had been pushed on as far as the lane leading from the square to the Plaza de San Fernando; and there, to my joy, I jostled against Ropes. Without a word of explanation, I said,“Follow that man in the cloth cap with the black coat and red tie. Get hold of him; take care he doesn't knife or shoot you. Don't let him go—and wait for me.”This was all Ropes needed.“Right, sir,”said he, and forged[pg 252]after the black back, which in this freer space was gaining distance.Unexpectedly relieved of my second task, carefully shielding the bouquet with the water-jar I worked my way into the lane, and struck the head of the earthen vessel against a stone coping.The porous clay cracked like an egg-shell, the top coming off in one piece, with a few flying splinters; and I pressed the bouquet deep into the water.This was the best I could do at the moment, though, if the bomb was made with picric acid, I had accomplished nothing. I could only hope; and pressing on I came up with Ropes, who had collared his man and jammed him against a wall.Not a sound had the wretch uttered. He knew that, if he resisted, he would be instantly denounced and torn to pieces by a crowd not likely to wait for clear proof of such an accusation. Since he had failed, it was better to trust to the mercy of his captor and of the police than to the thousands wild with enthusiasm for the King. Fortunately for him, as for us, the crowd had something better to do than stop to watch what they took for some trifling private quarrel.“He tried to knife me,”said Ropes;“but I stopped that. Knife's in my pocket. What next, sir?”It was characteristic that he did not ask what the man had done.“Give the brute up to the police,”I answered in English.“He was with another chap whom I've lost, in a plot to throw a bomb at the royal box; and the bomb's in this water-jar.”For the first time Ropes' face lost its imperturbable expression.“What, sir!”he exclaimed,“after your troubles—excuse my mentioning them—you concern yourself in an affair like this!”“I've no choice. We can't let this beast escape. If they have him, the police may get his mate. He looks a coward and sneak.”“Beg pardon, sir, you have a choice. I've got the man. Give me the jar with the bomb, and I'll take the whole thing on my shoulders with the police, though it's a shame you should lose[pg 253]the credit. I've a clean bill; chauffeur to Mr. R. Waring, American newspaper correspondent. No need to bring you into it.”“If you're blown up by the bomb—”“Would get blown up just the same sticking to you, for Iwouldstick like a burr, sir. (Now, no good wriggling, you beast, or gabbling about a mistake. There's no mistake, and you won't get away!) Better tell him what's in that jar, sir—my Spanish doesn't run as far—and that'll quiet him.”“You can't manage the man and the jar.”“Could manage two of each. There's a couple of civil guards. Now, if you've any kindness for me, sir, let go that jar; and don't be seen with me.”I gave Ropes his way. But I lingered near enough to watch the scene which followed; and had that innocent-looking jar been broken, or had the contents of the soaked bouquet exploded of its own accord, I should have been near enough to share my chauffeur's fate.He explained in broken Spanish, eked out with gesture; and the fact that he was English, with the most honest of English faces to vouch for his sincerity, helped him. The man in his grasp was Catalán, which was not in his favour at Seville. The civil guards looked at the jar with respectful interest, but did not offer to take it; and, after a moment of lively conversation, Ropes and his captive marched rapidly away with the men in red, black, and white.At least, whatever happened now, the King was safe; and Monica was safe.It was not until eight o'clock, when I went to the quiet hotel where we had appointed to meet and dine, that I found out anything more. Then they told me that the King returned to his box after walking in the procession, and that, soon after, Dick had been surprised by a visit from a member of the police in plain clothes. The man had come to the O'Donnels' box, inquired if the American gentleman were Mr. Waring, asked if he had a[pg 254]chauffeur named Peter Ropes, and being answered in the affirmative had told the story of the bomb. Dick had then gone with the policeman to see Ropes, had made a statement concerning himself, his business, his car, his chauffeur, his occupation in life, and the friends with whom he was staying. All had proved satisfactory. Ropes had been thanked by the police for his promptness and presence of mind, and threatened with active gratitude from higher quarters. Both had been asked to remain within reach for a few days; and the episode was over.But it was not until they heard my part of the story that Dick or the O'Donnels knew precisely where and how Ropes had come into the drama.

Like a dream the three days passed; but not a dream of peace, for that I lost with the last echo of the Virgin music and the fragrance of her lilies.

Dick thought himself miserable, but I would gladly have changed my state of mind for his. Sometimes he hoped, sometimes he despaired, but at all times he was really very happy, if only he had known it. He enjoyed visiting the Murillos with Pilar and the Cherub when I had no heart to go. He borrowed the motor to whisk them out to Italica. He went with the O'Donnels late every afternoon for the drive in the fashionablepaseoalong the river side, as pleased with the five handsome mules, in their smart Spanish harness of white and crimson rope and brown leather, as if they had been his own.

As for me, I would not go, although Dick urged that, in the never-ending double line of fine carriages, we might meet the Duchess of Carmona's. But I did not dare to see Monica again after what had happened unless there were some hope that Pilar could speak for me, or that I could speak for myself. Still, I could not resist questioning the family in the evening. Had they heard tidings of her? Had they seen her?

Presently there was news, but not good news. The engagement was known, and was being talked of everywhere. The story was that the wedding would be soon, as the Duchess was not strong, and professed herself anxious to see her son married. Gossip said also that the marriage would be celebrated in Madrid directly after the festivities of the royal wedding were over, so[pg 247]that the young duchess, as the wife of a grandee of Spain, could become lady-in-waiting to the bride-queen, whenlos Reyesreturned from their honeymoon at La Granja.

The Cherub told me these things only because I insisted on hearing all; and on Wednesday evening I dragged further details from Pilar. They had passed the Duchess, Lady Vale-Avon, and Monica in the Carmona carriage, the handsomest in Seville; and the Duke had been on horseback, looking more attractive than Pilar had ever seen him in thechulocostume, worn at times as an amusing affectation by some young aristocrats of Andalucía. I could picture him in the wide-brimmed grey sombrero, the tight short jacket, and trousers fitting close as a glove until they widened below the knee. Yes, the dress would suit him; and Pilar admitted reluctantly that he was a perfect rider. I was horribly jealous, ready to fancy that, after all, Monica had actually begun to care for him.

There had been a procession on Wednesday, but it was not an affair of importance; and with Thursday, and the presence of the King, all the greatest events of thisSemana Santawere to begin.

Early in the afternoon there was washing of poor men's feet by the great ecclesiastics in the cathedral, the King remaining at theAlcázarto bathe—as Dick put it—a few carefully selected feet on his own account, as a sign of humility. Later, would come the most splendid procession of the week, the King walking with his owncofradia; in the evening, the Miserere in the cathedral, and processions all night, till mass on Good Friday morning. To myself I said, therefore, that I was to have two more chances: the one for which I depended upon Pilar in the afternoon; the one for which I depended on an inspiration of my own in the evening. For all the world was going to hear the Miserere.

Though it was a week for penitence and fasting, Seville—honoured by the King—thrilled with excitement. Thousands of strangers had poured into the town for this day, and the crowds were three times as dense as on Sunday. Though there had been[pg 248]disquieting rumours, whispers of anarchist plots and bombs, the police had been alert; the King had taken a swift gunboat up the Guadalquivir, instead of arriving by special train from Cadiz, had reached Seville safely; and now anxiety was forgotten. All the town poured into the Plaza de la Constitución more than an hour before there was any hope that the procession might begin; and I was in the crowd.

The boxes filled earlier than before, many of the ladies no longer in black, but wearing Paris hats and pale-tinted dresses, though to-morrow there would be black mantillas again, and red carnations. Pilar, Dick, and Colonel O'Donnel were in their places, and though the Duke's box was still empty, I was sure I should not be disappointed to-day.“He'll appear about the time the King does,”I was saying to myself, when suddenly there came a stir in the royal box. The mayor and town councillors walked in, looking important; four giant halberdiers of the royal guard took position, each in a corner of the box. Then rose a shout,“Viva el Rey!”and against the crimson velvet draperies the figure of the tall young King in white uniform stood out like a slender statue of marble.

He was accompanied by his sister, the Infanta, and her husband, three or four ladies, and a retinue of decorated officers; but for an instant I saw only the King, because—rebel as I was supposed to be—my hat waved as high and my cheers rang as loudly as any in the crowd.

I had not seen his face—that day at Biarritz long ago—when his automobile stopped for want of petrol. He had worn his motor-mask, and had not removed it, for he was incognito; but now, as he bowed in answer to the people's greeting, the young face was noble under the silver helmet. His smile brought a deep dimple to either cheek, and a pleasant light to the brown eyes. I was proud of my King, and found myself wishing that I could serve him, though it seemed that that could never be; and with a sigh for the perversities of fate I looked away, only to receive a shock of surprise.

[pg 249]Among the ladies with the Infanta were the Duchess of Carmona, Lady Vale-Avon, and Monica. With the officers and friends of the King stood the Duke, his dark face radiating satisfaction, as if this were the crowning moment of his life.

Not only was Monica with the man as his fiancée, but she was dressed, in compliment to him, like a girl of Spain. She wore a mantilla such as the Infanta wore, and so bright was her hair, so fair her skin framed in the black flounce of lace, that she was almost as much stared at as the King. On her breast, pinning the folds of the mantilla, there was a glint of crimson; and looking closely, I made it out to be a large brooch of rubies, forming the famous“No. 8 Do,”the motto of Seville. Only the Duke could have given her this, I thought; and she had accepted it!

There was no more hope, then. It did not matter that her unexpected presence in the royal box would prevent Pilar from speaking, or giving her my letter. Still, I clung desperately to the one chance left; the cathedral and the Miserere.

Hardly were the royalties and their friends settled in the red-draped box when the next brotherhood marched out from Las Sierpes, and halted their firstpasobefore the King, that he might see it well. He was on his feet, his head bared and bowed; and while he stood veiled in rising incense, some emotional soul in the audience broke into a Moorish wail, the prayer song orsaetaof the people, improvising words which caught the popular fancy.

A murmur of approval ran through the crowd, which pressed close, in spite of the police; and as all eyes for the moment turned upon the King, or upon the white-haired peasant singer, a thing happened which caught my attention.

The velvet curtain which hid the bearers of thepasoresting before the royal box, parted very slightly at one side, as if someone were peering out; then a hand darted forth and received from a man in a black coat, who stood with his back half-turned to me, a faded bouquet of flowers, arranged Spanish fashion in a hard, stiff pyramid.

Quick as that darting hand a thought flashed through my[pg 250]brain. In a few seconds thepasowould be moving on; the bearers were bracing themselves for a new effort. That bouquet! if it should hold the threatened bomb? This was the moment for such an attempt at wrecking the royal box, for the King was a member of the next brotherhood that must pass; and soon he would be leaving his sister and friends to walk with it, perhaps not returning to his box that day.

The passing of light is no more swift than was the flight of these thoughts; and without waiting to calculate the cost to myself, thinking only of the King and of the girl I loved, I instantly thrust both hands between the curtains, following the flowers as they were passed in. I grasped the bouquet firmly round the stiff base of the pyramid, and pulled it out before the hidden man who had received it knew that it had not been withdrawn by his confederate. It was all over in a second, and I had the bouquet. Also I had identified the man who pushed it through the curtains of thepaso, though which among the twenty or twenty-five concealed bearers had taken it from him I could not tell.

Whether my act had been wise or foolish, it was done, and thepasohad moved on, carrying the secret of one beating heart under the curtained platform.

Prying cautiously among the tightly banked flowers, my blood quickened as I touched something round and hard, a thing about the size of a large orange, fastened into the centre of the pyramid by a network of thin wire. Intuition had not played me a trick. There was death in this bunch of roses, death for many, perhaps. Though it was of first importance to get the bomb as far away as possible from the King and from Monica, and to render it harmless, I would not give up my pursuit of the man in the black coat, who was fighting his way through the crowd, only a few yards in front of me,—a square-set figure, in the holiday clothes of a respectable workman. I saw only his back now, every muscle tense in his desire to escape the vengeance on his track; but I had seen his face for an instant, and could identify it anywhere.

[pg 251]What if, in his desperation, he turned, and in the hope of saving himself accused me of the crime he would have committed? It but needed that to ruin me—after Barcelona, and this long journey to Seville, where the King was due. Would any explanation I might make be credited, when the bomb was in my hand?

I pushed the crowding thoughts out of my mind. There were other things to think of—the bomb itself, what to do with it; and the man to be followed.

Meanwhile I was moving on after that broad back of which I must not lose sight, and away from the neighbourhood of the royal box. I was in the lane of the procession, close in front of the long ranks of occupied chairs, and opposite the tribune. There were only two persons abreast in the moving line which carried me along, driven on by the police, but we were tightly packed, pressed against on one side by the knees of people in the chairs, on the other by the purple brotherhood preceding anotherpaso. The situation seemed desperate, since to give an alarm would endanger the crowd as well as jeopardize my future; and a panic would be a calamity.

Suddenly the cry of a water-seller struck my ear sharply.“Agua!—clear as crystal and cold as mountain snow. Agua!”

He was just before me with his earthen vessel.“Sell me your jar,”I said.“No, I don't want a glass of water. I want the jar—for a curiosity. Twenty pesetas for it.”

This offer saved questionings. The vessel with its contents was worth two pesetas to the vendor, perhaps, and, lest I should change my mind, its owner hastily handed over his jar and pocketed my silver. Even now I had to wait for an opening in the throng, till I had been pushed on as far as the lane leading from the square to the Plaza de San Fernando; and there, to my joy, I jostled against Ropes. Without a word of explanation, I said,“Follow that man in the cloth cap with the black coat and red tie. Get hold of him; take care he doesn't knife or shoot you. Don't let him go—and wait for me.”

This was all Ropes needed.“Right, sir,”said he, and forged[pg 252]after the black back, which in this freer space was gaining distance.

Unexpectedly relieved of my second task, carefully shielding the bouquet with the water-jar I worked my way into the lane, and struck the head of the earthen vessel against a stone coping.

The porous clay cracked like an egg-shell, the top coming off in one piece, with a few flying splinters; and I pressed the bouquet deep into the water.

This was the best I could do at the moment, though, if the bomb was made with picric acid, I had accomplished nothing. I could only hope; and pressing on I came up with Ropes, who had collared his man and jammed him against a wall.

Not a sound had the wretch uttered. He knew that, if he resisted, he would be instantly denounced and torn to pieces by a crowd not likely to wait for clear proof of such an accusation. Since he had failed, it was better to trust to the mercy of his captor and of the police than to the thousands wild with enthusiasm for the King. Fortunately for him, as for us, the crowd had something better to do than stop to watch what they took for some trifling private quarrel.

“He tried to knife me,”said Ropes;“but I stopped that. Knife's in my pocket. What next, sir?”

It was characteristic that he did not ask what the man had done.

“Give the brute up to the police,”I answered in English.“He was with another chap whom I've lost, in a plot to throw a bomb at the royal box; and the bomb's in this water-jar.”

For the first time Ropes' face lost its imperturbable expression.“What, sir!”he exclaimed,“after your troubles—excuse my mentioning them—you concern yourself in an affair like this!”

“I've no choice. We can't let this beast escape. If they have him, the police may get his mate. He looks a coward and sneak.”

“Beg pardon, sir, you have a choice. I've got the man. Give me the jar with the bomb, and I'll take the whole thing on my shoulders with the police, though it's a shame you should lose[pg 253]the credit. I've a clean bill; chauffeur to Mr. R. Waring, American newspaper correspondent. No need to bring you into it.”

“If you're blown up by the bomb—”

“Would get blown up just the same sticking to you, for Iwouldstick like a burr, sir. (Now, no good wriggling, you beast, or gabbling about a mistake. There's no mistake, and you won't get away!) Better tell him what's in that jar, sir—my Spanish doesn't run as far—and that'll quiet him.”

“You can't manage the man and the jar.”

“Could manage two of each. There's a couple of civil guards. Now, if you've any kindness for me, sir, let go that jar; and don't be seen with me.”

I gave Ropes his way. But I lingered near enough to watch the scene which followed; and had that innocent-looking jar been broken, or had the contents of the soaked bouquet exploded of its own accord, I should have been near enough to share my chauffeur's fate.

He explained in broken Spanish, eked out with gesture; and the fact that he was English, with the most honest of English faces to vouch for his sincerity, helped him. The man in his grasp was Catalán, which was not in his favour at Seville. The civil guards looked at the jar with respectful interest, but did not offer to take it; and, after a moment of lively conversation, Ropes and his captive marched rapidly away with the men in red, black, and white.

At least, whatever happened now, the King was safe; and Monica was safe.

It was not until eight o'clock, when I went to the quiet hotel where we had appointed to meet and dine, that I found out anything more. Then they told me that the King returned to his box after walking in the procession, and that, soon after, Dick had been surprised by a visit from a member of the police in plain clothes. The man had come to the O'Donnels' box, inquired if the American gentleman were Mr. Waring, asked if he had a[pg 254]chauffeur named Peter Ropes, and being answered in the affirmative had told the story of the bomb. Dick had then gone with the policeman to see Ropes, had made a statement concerning himself, his business, his car, his chauffeur, his occupation in life, and the friends with whom he was staying. All had proved satisfactory. Ropes had been thanked by the police for his promptness and presence of mind, and threatened with active gratitude from higher quarters. Both had been asked to remain within reach for a few days; and the episode was over.

But it was not until they heard my part of the story that Dick or the O'Donnels knew precisely where and how Ropes had come into the drama.

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