IN WHICH THERE SEEMS SOME CHANCE OF A TRIANGULAR DUEL.
Harry and Ashby, transformed from bosom friends to mortal enemies, now occupied the same room, but with an armed guard to prevent further intercourse. Such intercourse was, however, more effectually prevented by something far more powerful than any armed guard—namely, by mutual hate, and by the consciousness that their hostile meeting, though interrupted, had not been terminated. It had only been deferred; and yet again, at some future time, they must meet and settle this quarrel. Even this prospect, however, important though it was, did not by any means form the most important part of their thoughts as they stood thus apart absorbed in themselves.
Each one turned his thoughts rather to the events which had last occupied him before they had encountered one another; and so, while Harry wandered in fancy back to Katie's room, Ashby was taken up with tender reminiscences of Dolores.
In the midst of such sentimental meditations, they were startled by the sudden outburst of that loud alarm and wild tumult already mentioned. In an instant they both were roused out of their abstraction, and brought back to the stern realities of life. The guard, too, were roused, and, springing to their feet, they stood waiting for orders. But after a few minutes the uproar became so tremendous that the position of the guards grew unendurable, and they went to the door and tried to open it. This they could not do, for it was fastened on the outside, so that departure from the room by that way was not possible; yet the sounds which came to their ears were sufficient to inform them of the whole truth, and tell them that the castle had been surprised by an attacking party, which was evidently victorious.
The longer they listened the plainer did this become, and from this there arose the inevitable conclusion that they—that is, the Carlist guard—were prisoners. Upon this, restiveness and uneasiness began to be visible among them, and a dread of their coming doom from the hands of merciless enemies quite demoralized them. They exchanged looks of terror; they looked wildly around to see if there were any chances of escape; but to their eyes the stone walls, the stone floor, the narrow windows, and the vaulted roof offered not a chance of escape, or even of a partial concealment.
As for Harry and Ashby, they passed in one instant from depths of despair to the highest hope. They recognized the shouts and the watchword of the Republic, and felt that in the hands of the soldiers of the government they would be safe.
Suddenly the door was opened. Outside were armed men with blazing torches, from among whom there advanced into the room an officer.
The Carlists were immediately disarmed, and their arms taken outside. But the officer took no notice of them. His eyes, searching on every side, soon perceived Harry and Ashby, who had drawn near.
"Señor captain," said Harry, "I rejoice that you have come to save us from captivity and death. We have been here as prisoners for two or three days, and an immense ransom was exacted from us, which we could not pay. Had you not come, we should undoubtedly have been shot."
Ashby said not a word. He had recognized Lopez at a glance, and dreaded the worst from this vengeful enemy.
Lopez kept his eyes fixed on Ashby as he spoke, though he addressed Harry.
"Señors," said he, "I am glad that I have come in time to avert so horrible a crime. You, señor," he continued, addressing Harry, "may retire: you are free. You will be respected and protected by my followers, and may either go, or remain till our return to Vittoria. As for Señor Ashby, I wish to have a brief conversation with him."
At this Harry bowed, and with some further expression of gratitude went out of the room a free man, his heart swelling with exultation and joy and hope.
"Señor Ashby," said Lopez, "we have met again."
Ashby bowed.
"Señor Ashby," continued Lopez, "insults have been given and received on both sides, and we are already under engagements to have a hostile meeting. Is it not so?"
Ashby bowed again.
Lopez had spoken these words in a low tone, which was inaudible to his men. He now turned and ordered them to withdraw, and stand outside until further orders.
They obeyed.
"Señor Ashby," he continued, "the lady is here for whom we both are seeking. It was about her that our quarrel arose."
"I am ready now," said Ashby.
"For the quarrel?" said Lopez. "Ay—but I am not;" and he gave a bitter laugh.
"A man of honor," said Ashby, scornfully, "will always be ready."
Lopez again gave a bitter laugh.
"Dear señor," said he, "I have had too many affairs to be afraid of risking my reputation as a man of honor by postponing our little meeting. I have other things to attend to first. And first I must have a little leisure to get rid of that bitterness and gall which you, señor, with your English superciliousness, have poured into my heart. For a time you had your hour of triumph, and I was made to feel by you all the insolent superiority of a man of wealth over a man of the people. But now, señor, our positions have changed. I have the power, and you are nothing. Even your wealth will not save you; for while you are my prisoner all the gold of Mexico will be unavailing to deliver you until I choose."
Ashby had now a sudden thought that his position was very peculiar and very unenviable. He had just quarrelled with his best friend, and had just been saved from murdering him, for the sake of a girl whom he had ceased to love (or whom he believed he had ceased to love, which was the same thing just then); and now here was another of Katie's numerous lovers, full of love and jealousy—the one as strong as death, the other as cruel as the grave; which lover was evidently now regarding him as a tiger regards his helpless victim, and was playing with him for a time, so as to enjoy his torments before devouring him. These thoughts passed through his mind, and he had nothing to say.
"Señor," said Lopez, "our quarrel was about that young lady, and our meeting may take place at any time. For the present, I have to say that if you will consent to give up all claim to her hand and leave the castle, I will send you at once with a sufficient guard to any place you name, or to the nearest station. But if not, then I shall be under the painful necessity of detaining you."
"May I ask," said Ashby, "upon what ground you propose to detain me?"
"Certainly," said Lopez. "I arrest you as a spy."
"A spy!"
"Certainly. What are you doing here? You were seized by the Carlists, it is true, but what of that? You may have betrayed your party to them. I find you coming North on no good or reasonable errand. You certainly were following that party—as a spy, or something like it—in your private interests. I am therefore at liberty to arrest you as a spy, perhaps in league with the enemies of Spain. It is a charge of which I can prove you guilty, and for which you will be shot."
"And that is a gentleman's satisfaction!" said Ashby, with a sneer.
"Gentlemen," said Lopez, "obtain satisfaction in many ways. It will give me no small satisfaction, for instance, to know that you are here while I urge my suit for the young lady's hand, for which I have the good wishes and co-operation of her guardian. It will give me no small satisfaction to inform you when, as she surely will, she grants me her consent; and, finally, the highest satisfaction of all will be afforded when I request your presence at our wedding—a compliment which, I am sure, señor, you will appreciate. For, señor, we shall be married here, and immediately, since I have brought a priest with me, so as to put the whole matter beyond the reach of accident."
Having fired off this heavy shot, Lopez watched to see the effect upon his victim.
Ashby showed not the slightest emotion. Neither in face nor in gesture did he evince any agitation whatever; nor in his voice, for he said, in a perfectly cool and indifferent way,
"Very well, señor. I can do nothing against all that."
Lopez felt disappointed. He had expected to see agonies depicted on his helpless victim, and to exult in the sight. But he concluded that this was owing to Ashby's "English phlegm," and that he was thus preserving, like the Indian at the stake, a proudly calm exterior, while really suffering torments of hidden pain.
"Since you are so calm," said Lopez again, "perhaps you will consent to purchase your freedom by formally relinquishing all claim to that young lady's hand. That is the shortest way of regaining your liberty, and it will be quite satisfactory to me."
Lopez spoke this in an ironical tone, taunting Ashby thus on his cool demeanor.
Now, the giving up of all claims to Katie was in itself so far from being repugnant to Ashby, that, as the reader knows, he had already virtually renounced her, and formally, too, by word of mouth to Dolores. But to do this to Lopez was a far different thing. It would, he felt, be base; it would be cowardly; it would be a vile piece of truckling to an enemy, who would exult over it to the end of his days. The idea could not be entertained for a moment.
"Señor." said Ashby, with his usual coolness, "you are well aware that, apart from all other considerations, your proposition could not be entertained for a moment by a man of honor."
"Perhaps not," said Lopez; "but I had to make mention of it, merely as a form, and not supposing that you would entertain it."
"I am in the hands of fortune," said Ashby: "I'll take my chances as they come."
Upon this Lopez said nothing more, but, with a formal adieu, took his departure.
Ashby was left with the six unarmed Carlist prisoners.
CHAPTER XLI. — HOW THE UNHAPPY RUSSELL FINDS THE DANGER OF PLAYING WITH EDGE-TOOLS.
When Lopez, with the assistance of Rita, had burst into the castle, he had left his prisoners in the tower in the charge of a couple of guards, these prisoners being Brooke, Talbot, and Russell. During the attack on the castle there was a time in which Russell might very easily have escaped. The two guards were eager to join the mêlée, and as their instructions had reference principally to Brooke and Talbot, they paid no attention whatever to the "Hungarian lady." They knew that Rita had done an act for which the captain would reward her, and concluded that the "Hungarian lady" was a friend rather than a prisoner. Under such circumstances escape would have been easy enough to Russell, had he been bold enough to attempt it.
Yet, after all, how could he really escape? To go back over the same road would be only to encounter fresh perils, perhaps worse than any with which he had met hitherto. To go in any other direction would be simple madness. There was, therefore, no other course open to him than to remain where he was.
After a long time some of the men came back, at the command of Lopez, with orders to bring the prisoners into the castle. The guard obeyed and followed, taking with them Brooke and Talbot. Russell was about to accompany them, and was just hesitating as to the path, when suddenly he found himself confronted by Rita, who had just come up.
"H-s-s-s-sh!" she said. "All is safe. I haf my reward. The captain haf pay me. Now we shall go. Alla right. Come!"
Russell felt a strange sinking of heart. As to going away with her, that was not to be thought of, and he only sought now for some plausible excuse.
"I—I'm too tired," he said; "I'm worn out, Rita. I cannot walk."
"Bah!" said she. "Come—you shall not go far: I take you to where you shall restar."
"But I'm tired," said Russell. "I want to rest here."
"Bah! you not too tired to go one two mile; that not mooch to go. Come!"
"I can't," whined Russell.
"But you will be captar—you shall be a preesonaire—you shall be deescovaire—alla found out by the capitan; so come—fly, you haf no time to lose."
"I can't help it," said Russell, in despair. "If I'm caught again I don't care. I'm worn out."
"But you moos!"
"I can't!"
"Come—I shall carry you; I shall lifta you, and carry you to your safetydom.
Come!"
"It's impossible," said Russell, who, in addition to his fear, began to feel vexation at this woman's pertinacity.
There was something in his tone which made Rita pause. She stood erect, folded her arms, and looked at him. The moonlight fell on both. Each could see the other.
Russell did not feel pleased with her appearance. She looked too hard—too austere. She seemed to have an unlimited possibility of daring and of vengeance. He began to think that he had been playing with edge-tools, and that in trying to make use of Rita he had only gained a new master for himself. The vague fears which had been gathering through the day now grew stronger, and he realized his full danger.
"You not want to fly? You not want to 'scape?" said Rita, with a frown.
Russell thought it best to own up.
"Well, n-n-no," said he. "On the whole, I do not."
"Why?" asked Rita, in a hard voice.
"Oh—well—I've—I've—I've changed my mind," said Russell, in a trembling voice.
He began to be more afraid of Rita than ever.
"Ah!" said Rita. "It is so—very well. Now leest'n to me; look at me. What haf I done? I haf betray my maestro—I haf betray my friends: this castle is took; my friends are run away, many of them dead; their bodies are over there—they are dead. Who kill them? I—I the traidor! I the Judas! I betray! And why? I betray—because you tempt me! Do you know that? You tempt me! You ask me to helpa you! you promise me all the world! I helpa you! I make mysef a traidor, and now it haf come to this!
"Where are my friends?" continued Rita. "Gone! fled! dead! They sall haunt me—their ghosts—they sall call for venganza; and I haf make mysef a traidor to the friends that lofe me an' was kind! See me, what I am! You haf make me to this—you! you! you! What! do you think I sall let you turn false to me? No! nevaire! You sall be true to me—what—evaire! You haf promis to gif me all the world. You haf promis to gif me youselfa. You sall be what you say—'my man!' I sall haf the recompensa, if I die from remordimiento. If you be a traidor to me, I sall haf the venganza!"
During this wild harangue Rita seemed transported to fury—she seemed a madwoman. Russell trembled in every limb from sheer terror. He never had in all his life seen anything like this. His only hope now was to escape from her insane rage, no matter under whose protection.
At length she stopped and grew calmer. Then she said, in a low, stern voice:
"Now—will you come? Will you fly?"
Russell shuddered more than ever. Fly? Not he! She might tear him to pieces, but he would never fly with her. Fly? Why, it was impossible! He might, indeed, fly from her; but as to flying with her, that could not be thought of.
He shrunk back, trembling in every limb.
"I can't," he said—"I can't; I'm too weak—I'm old—and weak and worn out.
"But I say," continued Rita, impatiently, "that I sall take you to a place where you sall restar."
"I can't," said Russell.
"Do you intendar to keep you promeese?"
"What promise?" said Russell, hesitatingly.
"To marry me," said Rita, coldly.
"Marry you! I never said that," replied Russell.
"You did."
"I did not. I have a wife living—you know that surely. She is in the castle."
"She? Bah! She is dead. I know that," said Rita, triumphantly.
Russell shuddered more than ever. Dead! dead! he thought. What a thought of horror! And how? Was it this woman that did the deed—this fiend from the robbers' hold—to make room for herself? Russell felt that she was capable of any enormity, and his soul sickened at the thought. He groaned, and was silent.
"Dead, I tell you! dead! She is dead! Aha! you think me fool, simple, aha! But I know, I know to take car' of the number one! Aha! how you like that, meestaire?
"And now leest'n," continued Rita. "You not fly? Very well. You sall come to the castle. You sall stay with the capitan. You sall tell him all—I tell him all. He sall judge and decidar. Come! come! You sall not stay here. You sall go and restar you old bone."
Rita motioned to him sternly to follow, and Russell obeyed. He was not at all disinclined to move in this direction, since it led him to the friendly protection of the castle. It was with uncommon vigor and nimbleness that he followed his tormentor down the steep side, and across the brook at the bottom, and up the other side. Rita noticed this, and said, scornfully:
"You too weak to go one two mile on the level groun', but you strong enough to descendar and ascendar these cliff. But wait, ola man—remember if you falsami I sall haf my venganza. Now you go and spik to the capitan, and you see what he sall do for you."
Rita said no more, but led Russell along until they reached the castle. There Russell seated himself on the stone floor among the soldiers, feeling safer here than anywhere, while Rita went away. Russell supposed that she had gone in search of Lopez to tell her own story first.
He was right. Lopez had been very busy, but Rita was able, after all, to obtain a hearing from him sufficiently long to enable her to plead her cause in her own way.
She told Lopez all.
Now Lopez was under great obligations to Rita, and was willing to do almost anything for her. At the same time, he was the bitter enemy of Russell. Here there was an opportunity open to him to evince gratitude and to obtain vengeance. He appreciated the situation most fully. He promised Rita that he would do whatever she wished.
"I only wish one thing," said Rita: "make him keep his promise."
"I will," said Lopez.
"Will you make him marry me?"
"I will," said Lopez. "I have a priest here. I have brought him here, for I expect to be married myself to a lady whom I have long loved in vain. I have rescued her from these foul brigands, and she will not now refuse me. And I promise, Rita, that you shall be married to your dear one at the same time that I am married to mine, and by the same priest."
Upon this Rita was voluble in the expression of her gratitude.
Lopez now went to seek out Russell. He found the good man wearied and worn out. He led him away to a room that happened to be the very one in which he was confined before. Brooke and Talbot were both here. Russell entreated Brooke to intercede for him with Lopez. Lopez saw the action and understood it.
"What does he want?" said Lopez.
Russell then explained, through Brooke, what Lopez had already learned through Rita, namely, that he was Mr. Russell, and that Rita was claiming his fulfilment of a promise which he had never made, and could never fulfil—first, on the ground that Rita had not freed him; and, secondly, on the more important ground that he was already married.
To all this the answer of Lopez was brief and stern.
"She did free you," said he, "for you are now out of the power of the Carlists, and may be your own master on the performance of your promise. Moreover, as to your being married already, Rita assures me that your former wife is dead."
At this Russell groaned.
"She is not dead," he said.
"Oh, well," said Lopez, "I don't care. Rita is willing to run the risk."
Russell now pleaded for Katie's sake.
But this roused Lopez to worse anger.
"If you were merely a cruel father," said he, "I would forgive you for her sake; but you are a guardian, and not over-honest, as I believe. She has no love for you. She never wishes to see you again. Nor do I. You are nothing to her. She is nothing to you. You have made your bed, and must lie on it. You must blame yourself, and not me."
With these words Lopez retired, leaving the unhappy Russell in a condition that may be better imagined than described.
CHAPTER XLII. — IN WHICH DOLORES REAPPEARS IN THE ACT OF MAKING A RECONNOITRE.
Harry had already been set free, but Ashby was held as a prisoner. At first he remained in the room where Lopez had found him, along with the Carlist guard, but after a few hours he was removed to another chamber. This was chiefly to prevent any possible attempt at escape which Ashby might make with the assistance of the other prisoners, who, knowing the weak points of the castle, might be able, with a bold leader, to strike an effective blow for liberty.
The moonbeams now were streaming in upon the stone floor where the six Carlist prisoners were lying. They were sound asleep, and their deep breathing was the only sound that might be heard. Two of them were in the bed, the other four were on the floor. But these men were used to roughing it, and on the flinty pavement they slept as soundly as on a bed of down.
Suddenly, in the neighborhood of the chimney, there was a slight noise.
No one in the room heard it, for they were all sleeping too soundly.
The noise ceased for a time; then it was renewed. It was a rustling, sliding sound, as of some living thing moving there.
After this the noise ceased.
There was another long pause.
Then came a whisper—
"Assebi!"
No one heard. The sleepers were all far away in the land of dreams.
The whisper was repeated:
"Assebi!"
There was no answer. Nor did any of the sleepers awake. Out of such a sound sleep nothing could awaken them that was of the nature of a mere whisper.
Of course this moving body was our friend Dolores. There is no need to make a mystery of it. She alone now had access to this room; she alone would come here. She alone, having come here, would utter that one word,
"Assebi!"
It was Dolores.
She bad come back to this room to seek after Ashby, to see him; if not, then to hear of him, and, if possible, to help him.
After assisting "His Majesty" to effect his royal escape, Dolores had thought for a few moments of surrendering herself. After further thought, however, she had concluded not to. She saw that nothing could be gained, and much might be risked by such an act. The knowledge which she had of all the interior of the castle gave her an immense advantage so long as she was free; and until she saw how things were it would be better for her to remain free. There would be great danger in confiding too readily. She knew that the Republicans were no better than the Carlists, and perhaps these were merely a rival band of the same ferocious marauders. Ashby, being a foreigner, was perhaps in as great danger as ever; and if so, she should preserve her freedom, so as to be able to help him.
This was a very sensible decision; but as Dolores was a very sensible girl, and a very brave one too, it was only natural that she should have decided in this way.
After waiting until the noise in the castle had ceased, Dolores approached the room and reached the place of descent. Here she waited and listened.
She heard the deep breathing of the sleepers. By this she knew that several men were now in the room.
But was Ashby there?
She could not tell.
That he was not asleep she felt sure. He would be expecting her, at any rate; and that would serve to keep him awake.
She determined to try still further. So she began, as cautiously as possible, to make the descent. She succeeded in doing this without awaking any of the sleepers. For a while she stood in the deep, impenetrable shadow and surveyed the apartment. She saw, where the moonbeams fell, the outline of figures on the floor and on the bed. The remoter parts of the chamber were hid in gloom.
Then she called, in a low and penetrating whisper,
"Assebi!"
There was no answer.
Dolores now felt sure that Ashby was not there; but in order to make assurance doubly sure, she repeated the call.
There was still no answer; and now Dolores felt certain that he had been taken away.
Once more she determined to satisfy herself as to the people who were in the room. It was a hazardous thing to do, but it had to be done. She must see. She had matches in her pocket. She resolved to throw a little light on the subject.
She struck a match. The flame burst forth. Holding it above her head, Dolores peered into the room. The flame illumined the whole apartment. A second or two was enough to show her the whole. There were six men. They were Carlists. They were prisoners. Ashby had been taken away.
So much was plain enough.
Ashby was not there. He had been removed—but how? That was the question, and a most important one. Was he free, or was he still a prisoner? This must be ascertained before Dolores could decide anything. It was not a question to be decided by mere conjecture. It was certainly possible that the captors of the castle, finding these prisoners held captive by the Carlists, had released them all; and if so, it was all very well; but Dolores knew the suspicious nature of her countrymen, and felt very much inclined to doubt whether they had set the prisoners free upon the spot. They were foreigners, and she knew that Spaniards of every party would consider that a sufficient excuse for detaining them.
The only way in which she could satisfy her curiosity and decide upon her own future course was by communicating with these Carlist prisoners, and learning the truth from them.
But how?
They were sleeping so soundly that something louder far than any ordinary cry would be needed to reach their ears. To call to them would, therefore, be useless. Some other way would have to be adopted. But in what way? That was the question that Dolores had now to answer. There was only one way. A risk must be run. It could not be helped. She would have to rouse them, and the most effective way, as well as the one most inaudible to those without, would be to venture into the room and rouse them in some way by touch.
A rapid view of all the risks of the case made her resolve to encounter them. She felt able to awake the sleepers without being discovered, and quickly made up her mind.
Gliding swiftly and noiselessly to the nearest sleeper, Dolores caught his hair, and giving it a sudden, violent pull, she darted back as quickly, before she could be discovered.
It was effectual.
The sleeper started up with a violent oath, and began abusing his comrade. This one also awaked, and a fierce altercation went on between them, wherein the one charged the other with pulling his hair, and the other denied it with oaths. In the midst of this Dolores had ascended into the passage-way, and stood there waiting for a chance to be heard. At length the noise subsided, and the two began to settle themselves for sleep, when Dolores, seizing the opportunity, called out, in a low but clear and distinct voice,
"Viva el Rey!"
The Carlists heard it.
"What's that?" cried one.
"Some one's in the room," cried the other.
"Viva el Rey!" said Dolores once more, in the same tone.
At this the two men started to their feet.
"Who goes there?" said one, in a low voice.
"A friend," said Dolores.
"Where?" asked the man, in surprise.
"Come to the chimney," said Dolores.
The two men went there, till they reached the fireplace.
"Where are you?" asked they.
Dolores did not think it necessary to tell them the truth just yet.
"I'm in the room above," said she. "I'm speaking through an opening in the flue. I can help you, if you will be cautious and patient."
"Who are you?"
"A prisoner. I know the way out. I can help you. Be cautious. Is the English prisoner with you?"
"No," said the Carlist, wondering what sort of a prisoner this could be, and why this prisoner asked after the Englishman.
Dolores questioned them further, and the men told all they knew. They had overheard the words that had passed between Ashby and Lopez, and told what they had heard.
From these Dolores gained new light upon the facts of the case. Having been a witness to the scene in the station at Madrid, she at once perceived that this enemy of Ashby's could be no other than that man in civilian dress, but of military aspect, with whom he had had the quarrel, who had been forced to leave the carriage of the Russells. This man had travelled in the same train. He had been captured, plundered, and then set free with the other Spaniards. Dolores conjectured that he had obtained somc soldiers, surprised the castle, and freed Katie. She also felt that Ashby was now a prisoner once more, in the hands not of a mere robber, but of his bitterest enemy.
Thus the whole truth flashed upon her mind.
But where was Ashby?
That she could not tell as yet. She could only hope, and make plans.
"Can we come up to you?" asked the Carlists.
"No," said Dolores. "Besides, there's no escape here. I can come to you, and I will do so before long. Do not sleep too soundly. Do not wake the others. Be ready to act when I come."
The men readily promised this.
"But why can't we go now? why can't you help us now?" they asked.
"We can't go away from this," said Dolores, "without the English prisoner. But with him we shall surely escape; so be ready to act when I give the word."
CHAPTER XLIII. — HOW KATIE FEELS DEJECTED, AND HOW LOPEZ FEELS DISAPPOINTED.
There is no need to enlarge upon Katie's feelings, as she sat in her lonely chamber, buried in thoughts which were both sweet and painful. We all know perfectly well what they must have been, for we all understand about that sort of thing. We've dreamed love's young dream, you and I, haven't we? and so we'll let this pass. As for Katie, I'm afraid she must, in her short experience, from all appearances, have dreamed a great many of love's young dreams; but never among all her dreams or waking thoughts had she known a sadder or more sorrowful hour than the present. Even her soul—volatile, buoyant, and lively—found it impossible for a time to rally. She sat with clasped hands and bowed head, looking care-worn, dejected, and utterly miserable; and it was in this state of mind that Lopez found her on the following morning.
He felt again disappointed (in fact, Lopez was apparently always feeling disappointed), though why he should feel so is somewhat singular, since Katie would have been more than human, or less, if she had shown a joyous face in such a situation.
Lopez gave a sigh by way of salutation. Katie did not look up, but knew perfectly well who it was and what he wanted.
"I hope you have found this room more comfortable than the last," he began at length, after the usual salutation.
"I'm sure I don't see what comfort one can expect in such a place as this," was the reply.
"I'm sorry that I haven't anything better to offer," said Lopez; "anything that is in my power to grant I will do for you."
"Those are merely idle words," said Katie. "There is one thing, and one only, that I wish, and that you can give: that one thing you have no right to keep from me, and yet it is useless to ask you for it."
"Useless—oh, do not say that! Tell me what it is."
"My freedom," said Katie, earnestly.
"Freedom!" said Lopez; "why, you are free—free as a bird!"
"Yes, as a bird in a cage," was the bitter reply.
"Ladies must always be under some restraint," said Lopez: "otherwise you are perfectly free."
"This, sir," said Katie, hotly, "I consider insult; it is nothing less than mockery at my distress. Is it freedom to be locked up in a cell and cut off from all my friends?"
Lopez gave a gasp. He was anxious to please Katie, yet this was a bad, a very bad beginning.
"Why," said he, "where can you go?"
"You will not even let me go about the castle," said Katie. "If you barred your gates, and let me move about inside, even then it would be imprisonment; but you lock me in this cell, and then you come to mock me."
"Great Heaven!" said Lopez. "Oh, señorita! won't you understand? Let me explain. This castle is full of rough, rude men. It would not be safe for you to move about. They are not trained servants; they are brutal and fierce. If you went among them you would be exposed to insult."
"My attendant comes and goes," said Katie; "she is not insulted. Why may I not be at least as free as she is?"
"Because," said Lopez, "you are a lady; she is only a common woman. Things would be insults to you which she only laughs at. I cannot allow you to expose yourself to the brutal ribaldry of the ruffians below. If a father had his daughter here, he would lock her up, as I do you, out of affection."
At this Katie turned her head away, with the air of one who was utterly incredulous, and felt the uselessness of argument.
Lopez was silent for a few moments. Then he went on.
"Listen," said he, "and see if you have reason to be angry with me. Let me tell you some little of what I have done. But for me, you would still be a prisoner in the hands of a remorseless villain, a common brigand. Listen to me, I entreat you, and then tell me if you are right in blaming me. As soon as I was freed I hurried on to Vittoria, the nearest military station. I had but one idea—the rescue of you from the hands of those villains. At Vittoria, after incredible effort, I succeeded in getting a detachment of men from the commandant. With these I set forth on the following morning, trying to find my way to you. It was an almost impossible task. The country, never thickly inhabited, was literally deserted. I could find no one to ask, and could find no trace of your captors anywhere. I did, however, what I could, and sought everywhere most painfully and perseveringly. At length, just as I was beginning to despair, chance—the merest chance—threw in my way a couple of fugitives. These, fortunately, were able to give me the information I wanted. One of them knew all about this castle, and knew that you were here. With this help I was able to find my way here. And now I was once more favored by the merest chance. Had I tried to capture the place in a regular fashion I should have been driven back, for this castle is impregnable, except to artillery; but my guide knew of a subterranean passage-way, and guided me through this into the court-yard. Once here, I found all the men in a careless condition, and made a rush upon them before they could get their arms. Over and over again I risked my life in the fight that followed, while pressing forward in my eagerness to find you before they could get you off. I found you at last. I was full of joy and triumph at the thought of rescuing you from a loathsome captivity. Judge of my surprise and bitter disappointment when I saw you so indifferent, when you met me so coolly; and, instead of showing gratitude, seemed rather angry at me than otherwise."
Lopez paused here to see the effect of his eloquent speech.
Katie looked up.
"It was not captivity, as you call it," said she; "and if it was, it was not loathsome. That word, señor, is far more applicable to my present condition."
"You don't know," said Lopez. "You can't understand. You must have been under some fatal misapprehension. Is it possible that you were ignorant of the character of your captor—a mere brigand—one who pretends to be a Carlist, merely that he may rob passengers, or capture them and hold them to ransom? Have you been all this time in such ignorance?"
"No, señor; I knew in whose hands I had fallen—he is a man of honor!"
"A man of honor!" cried Lopez, in amazement.
"Señor, you cannot know yet who he is. I must tell you. He is the King of Spain—His Majesty King Charles!"
"Don Carlos!" cried Lopez.
At this information he stood transfixed with amazement. Nothing was more probable than that Don Carlos had been in the castle, though he did not suppose that Don Carlos would rob travellers or hold them to ransom. And then there came upon him the bitter thought of all that he had lost by the escape of this distinguished personage. Had he captured him, he would have been certain of immortal glory—of advancement, of high command, honor, wealth, everything which a grateful government could bestow. And all had slipped out of his hands by the narrowest chance. The thought of that lost glory well-nigh overcame him.
"I didn't see him," he groaned, as he stood clasping his hands in an attitude of despair. "He must have left before I came."
"He left," said Katie, "while you were in the castle."
"Ah!" said Lopez, "how do you know that?"
"Because," said Katie, "I saw him when he left."
"But you were in that room. How could he leave that room?"
"I saw him when he left," said Katie, "that is all. You need not believe me unless you wish, but it is true."
Lopez had to believe her.
"And what is more," said Katie, "you will not remain here long. He will soon be back."
"Pooh!" said Lopez, "he can do nothing. He can't get in here. This castle is impregnable to anything less than an army."
"But you got in."
"But I've guarded that passage so that others cannot," said he.
"Do you think," said she, "that there are no other secret passages than that?"
Katie had drawn a bow at a venture. She knew from the statements of Dolores that there were secret passages all about; but whether there were any others that ran out into the country outside she did not know. Still, she thought she would try the effect of this on Lopez. She was fully satisfied with the result of her experiment.
Lopez started and stared.
"Other secret passages!" he said. "Do you know of any?"
"If I did I would not tell," said Katie.
Lopez was much disturbed. He did not know but that there really were other secret passages. The escape of "His Majesty" seemed to point to this. He determined to institute a thorough search.
"I'll find out every passage in the castle before evening," said he.
Katie smiled. She did not believe that he would find one. Lopez felt nettled at her smile.
"You don't believe I shall find them," said he. "If I don't find them I shall conclude that they are not there."
"A very safe conclusion!" said Katie.
Lopez felt angry. He had come hoping to make an impression on Katie by telling her of his love and devotion. In this he had been miserably disappointed. He had become angry and excited. He was no longer in a fit mood to appeal to her feelings, and he felt it. He therefore concluded that it would be best to retire for the present, and come again after he had grown calmer.
CHAPTER XLIV. — HOW LOPEZ HAS ANOTHER CONVERSATION WITH KATIE, AND FEELS PUZZLED.
It was not much more than an hour afterward when Lopez paid Katie a second visit. By that time he had overcome all his excitement, and had settled upon a plan of action of a different kind. It was of no use, he saw, to appeal to Katie's feelings, and so he thought that he would try the effect of a little pressure of a moral character.
"I hope you will pardon me," said he, "for troubling you again, but it is necessary for us to understand one another, and I think you do not see exactly how I am situated."
At this Katie made no observation, but drew a long breath, and leaned back with the air of a martyr. This was excessively aggravating to Lopez, but he managed to smother his irritation, and proceeded:
"Pardon me, señorita, if I have to recall the past. I saw you, as you remember, some months ago for the first time, and found you not unwilling to receive my attentions. From the first moment of my acquaintance with you I loved you, and thought that I had reason for hope. Lovers are always sanguine."
"I can assure you, señor," said Katie, "I do not see how you could have found any reason to hope in this case."
Lopez felt this rebuff very keenly, but kept his temper.
"I was merely speaking of my own hopes," said he, mildly, "and you certainly were far more amiable than you now are."
"I'm sure, señor, I should be sorry to be otherwise than amiable, but sleepless nights and solitary confinement must necessarily affect one's temper. I can only say I do not wish to be rude."
"Pardon me—rude? That is impossible," said Lopez, grasping eagerly at this as at some small concession. "I only want you to give me now a fair hearing. Let me say, once for all, that I loved you then, and have loved you ever since, most devotedly."
"I suppose I have to listen," said Katie, "as I am your prisoner; but I will only hint that before speaking of love it might be as well to set me free."
Lopez drew a long breath. It was hard indeed for him to keep down his anger.
"Very well," said he, taking no notice of her words. "In the midst of my hopes there came this English Ashby, and at once I felt that I was pushed into the background. I bore my disappointment as well as I could, and in addition to this I put up with things of which you never knew. That man had a most insolent manner. He was wealthy. He was purse-proud, and excited universal hate by his overbearing ways. There was always the clink of gold in his voice, and even in his step. I have even received insults from him."
"Why did you put up with insults?" asked Katie. "I thought that no Spaniard ever allowed himself to be insulted."
"For your sake," said Lopez, in a tender voice. "For your sake I endured all."
"For my sake! I am at a loss to see why you should allow any one to insult you for my sake."
"Ah! there were many reasons why I had to be very, very patient for your sake. In the first place, I saw that you preferred him to me, and I feared that if I quarrelled with him you would hate me; and that would have been worse than death. Again, if I had quarrelled with him, you would have been known as the cause, and would have been talked about; and in Spain it is a great dishonor to a young lady to be talked about. But do not suppose that I would have allowed him to insult me with impunity. No; a day was to come for a settlement, and he knew it. When we left Madrid we had agreed upon a meeting."
"I didn't know that," said Katie, carelessly.
Lopez was struck with this careless tone with regard to a matter which affected the life of Ashby; for it was hardly possible that Ashby could have come unharmed out of a mortal combat, but he took no notice of it.
"Such," said he, "was the state of affairs up to the hour of our journey. Then the train was stopped, and I moved heaven and earth to follow you and effect your rescue, with what success you perceive; for here I am, and this castle is in my hands."
"I must protest," said Katie, with much dignity, "against your using such a word as 'rescue' with reference to me. I consider that I have been seized and thrown into prison. I do not wish to be unkind; I merely say this in justice to myself, and also to "His Majesty" the King, of whom I was merely the honored guest, with plenty of friends around me."
At this Lopez was struck dumb with vexation. Never could Katie be brought to look upon his really gallant and daring exploit in its proper light. And yet he could not disprove her assertion. He did not know what had been her position here. If the King had really been here, it was, after all, quite possible that she had been, as she said, an honored guest.
"'His Majesty,'" said Katie, in a calm and placid tone, "was most attentive. He did his utmost to alleviate our dulness. He paid us constant visits, and assured us over and over again that our stay was to be but short. Never have I met with one who was more kind, more considerate, and at the same time more lively. Always laughing and cheerful, he seemed more like some well-known friend than the great king of a great country. With us he forgot all the cares of his situation. He was gallant, chivalrous—more, he was even pleased to be merry, and to indulge in many little pleasantries. And now you perceive, Señor Captain, what the real change in my situation has been. It has been from sunshine to gloom; from laughter to tears; from bright and pleasant society to loneliness and despair."
This was putting it strong—very strong indeed, and Lopez felt it in his very soul. He at once gave up any further efforts in this direction. He had nothing more to offer in answer to such a statement as this. He felt it to be a fact that Katie had been happy before he came, and that she was now miserable. Whatever the cause was, there was the unanswerable fact.
He now adopted a severe tone.
"You are aware, señora," said he, "that when I captured this castle there were several prisoners."
Katie nodded.
"I suppose so," said she. "I don't know."
"Very well. Among them was your dear friend—"
"My dear friend? Who? Not 'His Majesty?'"
Lopez laughed bitterly. "How transparent that little trick is," he said to himself.
"By 'your dear friend,'" said he, "I mean, of course, Mr. Ashby."
"Mr. Ashby! Oh!" said Katie.
To tell the truth, by this time Katie had almost forgotten his existence. She seemed to herself to have lived years since last she spoke to Mr. Ashby. So she said, in an indifferent tone,
"Mr. Ashby? Oh!"
Lopez, of course, thought this a part of her assumed indifference, and smiled at his own penetration. He could see through her little arts; and he knew something which would soon force her to tear away her mask.
"He is arrested as a spy," said Lopez, abruptly.
"A spy!" said Katie; "Mr. Ashby a spy! Why, he hasn't been a spy. I don't understand."
"Whether he is one or not," said Lopez, harshly, "will soon appear, as he will be tried by court-martial to-day. In times like these no mercy is shown to spies. The country is swarming with them. They have a short trial, a quick sentence, and a summary execution."
"Still," said Katie, "I don't see how you can make out that Mr. Ashby is a spy."
Katie showed no horror at all, no excitement whatever, and Lopez was proportionally amazed. He had not expected this.
"I can't tell," said he; "the court-martial will deal with him. I dare say he is a spy, and I fully expect that he will be shot."
"Well," said Katie, "I dare say he must be. You seem to hate him so, and you say he has insulted you, so you will take this way of being revenged. All the same, I shouldn't like to deal that way with my enemy. Poor Mr. Ashby! It's very, very sad! Oh, what would "His Majesty" think if he were to hear this!"
Once more Lopez was struck dumb. He had counted with certainty upon producing a strong effect on Katie. By holding Ashby's doom over her head, he hoped to influence her. But this tremendous blow had fallen, and had evidently not been felt. For Ashby and for his fate Katie had nothing but the most commonplace expressions of pity—no horror, no grief, no despair, nothing of the sort.
In fact, so completely overcome was Lopez by this unexpected result of his interview with Katie that he left abruptly.
He was full of wonder. "Is it possible," he thought, "that this is her English stubbornness? Can she have so much of that infernal English stolidity as to be able to conceal so perfectly her deepest feelings? Impossible! Does she love Ashby? She cannot! Does she love anybody? No! Can she love? I don't believe it! What a girl! what a girl! And she seems so gentle, so timid, but in reality she's as bold as a lion, and as fierce as a she-tiger. By heavens! she shall be mine, if she's the Evil One himself.
"And that poor fool Ashby thinks she loves him! Bah! she cares no more for him than she does for me. The idiot! This is a sweeter vengeance for me than anything else. And, by heavens! he shall still be present at our marriage. For married we shall be in spite of fate, even if I have to gain her consent with the muzzle of my pistol against her brow."
CHAPTER XLV. — IN WHICH HARRY ASKS A FAVOR, AND LOPEZ BEGINS TO SEE A LITTLE LIGHT.
While Lopez was thus chafing and fuming he was accosted by Harry.
Harry's position was peculiar, and not particularly enviable. He had been informed that he was a free man, and master of his own actions. Lopez had nothing against him, and by this time had forgotten even his existence. After his deliverance, Harry had gone mooning about, stared at by all in the castle, until at length he had fallen asleep.
In the morning he made a great discovery. This was the fact that his freedom to go was useless, and that he was still a prisoner here—a prisoner, though a voluntary one—a prisoner bound to this place by bonds stronger than iron manacles or walls of stone. These bonds were the feelings which had started up within him before he was aware, and now held him fast tied to Katie. He awoke to feel that his present freedom was far less sweet than his late captivity—that delightful captivity with its stolen interviews, and the sweet thoughts of her who was so near.
And where was she now? He had seen nothing of her. Had she fled? But how, and why, and where would she have fled from him? Had she been captured? But why? Who would capture her? Yet where was she? These were the questions that came thronging upon him to vex his soul and destroy his peace; so that it was for the purpose of finding out something definite about her that he had sought out Lopez.
He looked pale and agitated. Lopez, preoccupied though he was, could not help noticing this, and he thought that Harry must be suffering from anxiety about his friend Ashby. This, however, he immediately found, from Harry's first question, to be a great mistake.
Harry was far from suspecting the state of mind in which Lopez was—how full of love and jealousy and suspicion; how at that very moment he was eager to penetrate into the secret of Katie's heart. In fact, Harry suspected nothing at all, and so was not at all on his guard, but blurted out all his feelings.
"Captain Lopez," he began, "did you see a young English lady here last night—a Miss Westlotorn?"
"Yes," said Lopez.
"Did you? Is she—Did—Is—is—is she in—in the castle?" stammered Harry, in distress and deep agitation.
There was not one expression on Harry's face nor one tremor in his faltering voice that was not instantly marked by Lopez. There seemed in this to be some clue to the mystery.
"She is in the castle," said Lopez.
"Where—when—where?" said Harry, excitedly. "I've been looking for her everywhere. I've gone over the whole castle. I hope she isn't hurt! Is she safe? Did she fall into the hands of the soldiers?"
"She fell into my hands," said Lopez, bluntly.
Harry fastened on him a look of devouring anxiety.
"Did you—Is she—What did—When—that is—is she safe?"
"She is safe," said Lopez.
Harry drew a long breath.
"You see," said he, with a little more composure, "I have felt anxious about her. I have been worried, you know, and I have felt anxious about her—in fact, you know, I have felt anxious about her."
"She is kept out of the way just now," said Lopez, "on account of the riot in the castle and the dread we have of an attack. I don't care about letting the men know she is here."
Harry drew a breath of relief.
"I'm glad," he said.
Another sigh followed. Then he looked wistfully at Lopez.
"Would it be too much to ask—if I were to ask—if you would present me—to—to pay my respects to her, as an old friend?"
"Impossible, señor," said Lopez. "She is with the women; you couldn't visit her. You will be able to pay your respects to her after she reaches Vittoria, or some other place of safety. Until then it is impossible. As for yourself, I hope you are comfortable; and whenever you wish to go you may go."
Harry sighed, and stood as one in a dream.
"I think," said he, "I shall not go—just yet. Perhaps I may wait till the rest are going."
"Good-morning, señor," said Lopez, walking away.
Harry stood rooted to the spot.
As Lopez walked off, he felt that he had got hold of something which might be used against Katie. "Another"—he said to himself—"another poor fool who has become infatuated, like myself, but now the power is mine, and I will use it. Yes; perhaps she herself may feel toward this man something of what I feel toward her. If so—if so—I'll drag the secret out of her. But, by heaven! that poor fool is standing there yet. There's a mad lover for you! Ha, ha! Is he any worse than I have been? Let me see. Suppose I had been taken prisoner as he has been, shut up with her in a castle, then freed; would I not long to see her? Would not liberty be useless without her? That man can't leave his prison-house. She is here—she is here; that's enough. Yet what is she to him? Is not this man Ashby's friend? I saw them meet at the hotel in Burgos as I watched Ashby. They greeted like brothers, and went off together for the night. And he—why, he has fallen in love with his friend's betrothed! his friend's—ha, ha!—betrothed—ha, ha!—and, by Jove! why not? That girl could make a saint fall in love with her. That girl—why she oughtn't to be allowed to go at large, and therefore I've shut her up; and shut up she shall be for the remainder of her days, like a good Spanish wife. But I must have a few more words with my moon-struck lover."
With these thoughts Lopez sauntered back to where Harry was standing, fixed upon the spot where he had left him.
"Pardon, señor," said he, "but it seems to me that you take a deep interest in the señorita. May Ï ask if she is a relative? In that case some allowance might be made: she might not object to see a relative."
"Oh," said Harry, eagerly, his whole face gleaming with joy, "she will never object to see me. Ask her; ask her. She will be delighted to see me."
At this there were two distinct feelings struggling for the mastery in the breast of the Spaniard; one was exultation at the ready way in which Harry had fallen into his trap; the other was one of jealousy at Harry's easy confidence. He had never felt such confidence at finding a welcome reception from Katie. However, he was now on the right track, and he determined to follow it up.
"Are you a relative of the lady's?" he asked.
"Well, no—not exactly a relative," said Harry.
"Ah! perhaps a connection by marriage?"
"Well, no—not exactly a connection, either—"
"Well, you see, señor, in Spain etiquette is very strict, and our ladies are under more restraint than with you. I must treat this lady in accordance with my own feelings, and a Spanish gentleman would feel as if he were slighting a lady if he were to act out of accordance with Spanish etiquette."
"Oh," said Harry, earnestly, "she is an English lady."
"But I am a Spanish gentleman."
Harry drew a long breath. He was in despair. Oh, how he longed to be Katie's third cousin for a few minutes.
"I am very sorry," said Lopez, "but you see I have to be guided by my own sense of propriety. I suppose you are a very old friend, señor; yet I have been quite intimate with the señorita myself, and never heard her mention your name."
"Well," said Harry, "I have not known her very long."
"She used to speak freely of all her English friends," continued Lopez; "for you see she had not many, having lived so long in Spain; and so I was surprised to hear you speak of her as so intimate a friend."
"Well," said Harry, "my acquaintance with her is not of very long standing."
"You were not acquainted with her at Madrid?" said Lopez.
"No," said Harry, dreamily.
"Nor at Cadiz?" continued Lopez.
"No—not Cadiz."
"Then, señor, you could only have made her acquaintance on this journey," said Lopez, with a smile, which was not merely put on for a purpose. He felt like smiling, so successful had he been in getting at the truth.
Harry looked confused.
"Well, you see, señor, in captivity, or on a journey, people are very much thrown together, and they make friendships very fast."
"Oh yes," said Lopez, "I understand. In short, it amounts to this, that one day of such intercourse, so free, so unconventional, is equal to a whole year, or even a whole lifetime, of the formal intercourse of ordinary social life."
"Well, señor, I am sorry. I came back thinking that you might be some near relative or connection. My own ideas and habits do not allow me to permit what you ask; but the señorita will be her own mistress in time, and then of course she can see whom she chooses."
And now, for a second time, Lopez walked away, thinking that he understood all. Another victim, he thought. And in two or three days: in that time she has turned his head. And does she return his passion? Is she as indifferent to him as she is to me, and to Ashby? I will soon find out.
CHAPTER XLVI. — IN WHICH LOPEZ MAKES A FRESH ASSAULT, AND KATIE BREAKS DOWN UTTERLY.
Once more Lopez called upon Katie: it was about two hours after his last call. This was his third call in one day. She looked surprised and also vexed.
"A little matter has occurred to me," said he, "which I thought I would mention to you, as it ought to be of some concern to you."
"Ah!" said Katie, languidly, as Lopez paused. She seemed to be more indifferent, if possible, than ever; more self-absorbed, and more bored with his society.
"It's about a certain Mr. Rivers," continued Lopez.
It was not without very careful premeditation that Lopez had entered upon this interview, and the result of his thoughts was that he had decided upon introducing this matter in the most abrupt manner possible. But in all his speculations as to the possible effect of this new scheme, he had never imagined anything like the reality as he now witnessed it.
At the mention of that name Katie's manner changed instantly and utterly. From languor, from indifference, and from boredom, she started up erect with wild excitement and terrified interest. In her face there was a perfect anguish of fear and apprehension. Her eyes stared upon him in utter horror; she gasped for breath, and it was not until some time that she could articulate a few words.
"Mr.—Mr.—Rivers!" she gasped. "Did you say—Mr. Rivers?"
However amazed Lopez was at Katie's intensity of excitement, he made no reference to it, and answered in a quiet and matter-of-fact tone.
"He said he was acquainted with you, and wanted to see you."
"To see me? Mr. Rivers?" said Katie, still agitated. "And can—can he—will he—will you let him? Did you consent?"
"Well," said Lopez, "you see, there were reasons—"
"Reasons!" repeated Katie, all tremulously, and in dire suspense—"reasons!" she waited his reply breathlessly. The thought of Harry being in the power of Lopez, of the hate and malignant vengeance which Lopez might pour forth upon his devoted head, had all occurred to her at once at the mention of his name, and still overwhelmed her.
"In Spain, you know," said Lopez, "there is not such freedom of social intercourse between young unmarried ladies and gentlemen as in England, and I did not think that you would feel like violating our Spanish etiquette."
"Spanish etiquette!" cried Katie, with nervous eagerness; "oh, that is nothing—Tell him he may come—he may come; tell him he may come—I shall be most happy to see him—I shall be so glad to see him! I shall—oh, I shall—be—I shall be—oh yes, glad to see him!"
Katie was struggling with intense feeling. Her feelings carried her away completely. Lopez saw this plainly, and felt, as he had felt in Ashby's case, partly triumphant exultation, partly the bitterest jealousy. But he had a careful guard over every exhibition of his own feelings. And yet, in the midst of his exultation, his jealousy, and his efforts at self-control, he marvelled greatly at the intensity of feeling displayed by this girl whom he had believed to be so immovable. And for whom?—for an acquaintance of three days' standing.
"Oh, but you see," said he, "there is something else to prevent, unfortunately."
"Something else!" repeated Katie, in a low, trembling voice: "and unfortunately! did you say unfortunately?"
"I said unfortunately," said Lopez. "You see—I forgot to mention it before, as I did not know that you were acquainted with him—but this Rivers has been arrested as a spy."
This was, of course, untrue; but Lopez was merely trying an experiment on Katie.
The experiment was fearfully successful.
In an instant all that Lopez had said at their last interview about the fate of spies rushed to her mind. Ashby's fate she had regarded with mild pity, but the fate of Rivers seemed to crush her down into the dust.
She clutched the arm of Lopez convulsively with both her hands; she raised up her face—white with horror; she gasped for breath.
"Oh, señor! oh, señor!" she cried, "what is it that you mean? A spy! Harry a spy, and arrested! Oh, you cannot mean it! Say that you do not mean it! Oh, say it—say it!"
She could say no more. Her grasp loosened. She fell back, and, burying her face in her hands, burst into a passion of tears. Sobs convulsed that slender frame. Lopez sat with a bitter smile regarding her.
"You seem to value the life of this Rivers," said he at length, after a long silence.
Katie lifted her face, and regarded him with eyes all red and swollen.
"His life!" she exclaimed, with a shudder—"his life! Ah, that is it! And I see in your face that there is—no—hope. Oh, Harry! oh, Harry, Harry!"
Her voice died away in a low shudder. Lopez himself was moved. He had not been in the least prepared for such an utter break-down as this. Ah! now he saw that Katie could love, and how she could love! At the force of that love all else passed away—pride, shame, hate, all; everything was forgotten except that name, upon which her voice dwelt with such longing.
"Yes," he said, "he is a spy. He is now being tried, or rather, he has been tried—for I may as well tell it—and has been condemned. I need say no more about it; I have already said enough. You know the fate of a condemned spy. Before another hour all will be over."
At first Katie seemed about to faint, but the last sentence roused her. She started up, and again seized his arm with her convulsive grasp. With white, tremulous lips she said, in a low voice which had sunk to a whisper,
"An hour! an hour! Did you say—another hour?"
Lopez bowed his head in silence.
"But you—you—you," said Katie, fiercely—"you do not believe him guilty?"
"I have nothing to do with it," said Lopez, coldly.
"Nothing to do? Are you not commander here?"
"Yes."
"Can you do nothing?" she asked again.
"No. The trial is over. His fate has already been decided; in another hour all will be over."
The repetition of these words roused Katie to a fresh outburst of despairing grief.
"Oh!" said she; "in so short a time! so short!"
"It was because he was so near his doom," continued Lopez, "that the condemned prisoner requested to see you, and I thought I would mention it. Had it not been for this request he would have been shot without your knowing it."
Katie wrung her hands, in a blind passion of despair.
"Oh!" she burst forth, "something must be done! He shall not die! He must not! Oh, heavens! how can I live, and think of it? Harry! Harry! was there no one to speak for you? A spy! It's false! He was a simple traveller. Oh, Captain Lopez, there must be some way of saving him, or at least of deferring his doom. Can it not be put off—for one day?"
"That would be of no avail," said Lopez.
"One day!" pleaded Katie, in eager tones.
"It's useless," said Lopez; "it's impossible. The sentence of the court cannot be revoked."
"But time flies! Oh, Captain Lopez, can you not let him go?"
"Oh yes," said Lopez, "I can do that easily enough. I could let him out, so that he could escape."
At this Katie fell on her knees, and clasped the hands of Lopez.
"Oh, Captain Lopez, I kneel to you! I pray to you! On my knees I pray for his life! Let him fly! Oh, let him fly! Oh, I pray—I pray on my knees!"
Lopez drew a long breath. This scene was terrible to him in many ways; but, above all, it was terrible to see what love was thus lavished on this comparative stranger, when he would risk his life, and had risked his life, for a single smile.
"Think," said he, "what it is that you ask. The moment I let him go, that moment I myself am a criminal, I myself am condemned. I must fly—I must become a ruined man! Ruined? Worse: dishonored, disgraced in my native land; I who have had high ambitions, and have won no mean distinctions. And yet do you ask this of me?"
Katie bowed her head down; she kissed his hands, and in tremulous tones said,
"Oh, I must—I must! I do!"
Lopez was trembling from head to foot. He himself could now scarcely speak from agitation.
"And may I," he said, in a low voice—"may I—ask—nothing from you—when I give up—honor, life, hope, all—for your sake?"
There was a suggestiveness in this question which flashed at once in all its fullest meaning into Katie's mind. She dropped his hands; she sank upon the floor; she bowed her head tremblingly and despairingly. Lopez looked at her with an agitation equal to her own, and a despair only less. She loved another—she could never love him; she loved another—oh, how vehemently, how dearly she loved him! Yet she must be his!
"One hour was allowed him," murmured Lopez—"one hour to prepare. Much of that hour has already passed. Say, will you save his life? and shall I set him free? Say, shall I go to ruin? Say, will you give up as much for me as I am ready to give up for you? Quick—another minute, and it may be too late!"
Katie started up wildly.
"Go! go!" she said, in a hot, feverish whisper. "Haste—fly—save him!"
"You promise?" said Lopez.
"Oh, my God! yes!" cried Katie, and fell senseless to the floor.
"See to your mistress," said Lopez, in a faltering voice, as he went outside and met the attendant there.
Then Lopez went away, not to free Harry, for he was already free, but to a lonely room, where he flung himself on his face on the stony floor, and lay there long, weeping like a child.
For the agony of this man at winning Katie thus was equal to that of Katie over her act of self-sacrifice.