Mrs. Curwen and Mercy were waiting for me in a condition of nervous excitement, and Madame Chansette was with them. But as I had more than half dreaded, Sarita was gone. She had slept with Mercy and had got up early, dressed, and written a note for me before Mercy had awoke.
"She was just leaving, and her kiss woke me," said Mercy, who was in sore trouble. "I did my utmost to persuade her to stay, at all events until you came, but I could do nothing against her resolve. I asked her where she was going, but she would not say. 'I am going to my friends, who are in trouble and have need of me. I have work to do, and under no circumstances could I stay with you. Give your brother a note I have written,' was all she would answer. I am so sorry, Ferdinand."
"It is not your fault, Mercy; I more than half feared it, and blame myself for not having stayed here in the hotel. Do you know anything of her movements, Madame Chansette?"
"She did not come home. I sent here the first thing in the morning for news of her, and when word came that she was no longer here, I hurried to the hotel myself. I meant to tell her I will not stay any longer in Madrid. I cannot. I am miserable. It will kill me, this incessant danger," and she wrung her hands.
"She will be sure to let you hear from her," I said, quietly, wishing to calm her anxiety.
"How can she if she is in one of those horrible prisons?"
"She is not there, and I shall find her, be assured," I answered, with much more confidence than I felt. "Do you know where Ramon is?"
"I never know where he is," was the helplessly spoken reply. "But I believe some days ago he was somewhere near Saragossa, or Daroca, or some such place. But I don't know. I know nothing."
"Do you know what name he is using?"
"No—yes—I think so. I believe it is Solano."