Sarita, the Carlist

by Arthur W. Marchmont

I decided to go with him therefore, and he led me to a drawing-room at the back of the house where there were some dozen people. The eyes of all were turned upon us as the door opened, and the doctor, having misinterpreted my silence, exclaimed joyously—

"News at last from Saragossa!"

The words were not off his tongue before Sarita, who was sitting close to the door, jumped to her feet, looked at me in the deepest consternation, and, turning pale to the lips in the greatness of her surprise, faced me with a look of such unmistakable fear and dismay that it brought gathering clouds of suspicion to the faces of many of those present.

"You here!" she said at length, in a tone that was scarcely more than a whisper.

I paused for one supreme moment of doubt, while I glanced at the faces bent anxiously and now sternly upon me, and then answered in a firm voice—

"Where should Ferdinand Carbonnell be at the crisis of peril such as this, if not here?" and I looked at her as though daring her to betray the secret of the double meaning of my words.

The impression created by the announcement of my name was unmistakable. A murmur of astonishment passed from lip to lip, while glances were travelling backwards and forwards from me to Sarita, who stood battling with her agitation.

I could understand her trouble well enough. She had either to denounce me as an impostor and a traitor to the cause, and with probable consequences to me from which would shrink with fear; or she had to cover and confirm the fraud and vouch for my truth to her companions. To distract attention from her while she made her decision, I went on after a short pause, speaking deliberately and incisively, wishing to create the deepest impression possible—

"Only such an emergency as this could have induced me to throw aside my incognito and come to you openly. I bring you the worst possible news. Everything has failed; and the cause never stood in higher peril than at this present moment, when the success we have striven, worked, and fought for seemed actually in our grasp—seemed?—nay, was actually in our grasp. The great event of to-day, so cunningly planned, so patiently waited for, was successful. The young Pretender was captured by our comrades, and was actually in their hands; I myself was present—as I strive to be everywhere in the moment of crisis—and saw it done. They carried him away, and all seemed to have gone gloriously, when just before the village of Podrida was reached, by means which have yet to be discovered, the whole scheme was wrecked; our comrades were struck down, overborne probably, after fighting valiantly, by a vastly superior force." (I reckoned that this was the account of the rescue the men would be likely to bring back.) "The young Pretender was snatched from them and brought back to the capital. I returned when I knew of it, and I come now hot foot from the Opera, where he has just made a public appearance, amid the cheers of those sycophants among the people who persist in upholding his wrongful claim to Our Master's throne."

I did not look once at Sarita while delivering this harangue, and by the time I had reached that point the news I brought had not only convinced everyone of my sincerity, but had set them quaking on the score of their own safety.