Sarita, the Carlist

by Arthur W. Marchmont

"You told me Lord Glisfoyle was waiting for me," she said, scarce knowing in her growing alarm what to say.

"Don't speak that name to me," he cried fiercely, his eyes gleaming and his face flushing. "Any name but that. I lied to you, I know it. I am not ashamed. A man must lie when love demands it. I used him to win you away from Escorias; and you came—came, never to leave me again, Sarita. I love you too well. If you will not love me, you shall live to love no other. I swear it. But you don't want to die, and will learn to love me. And if you won't, here is the love draught for us both;" and the brute took his revolver from his pocket, and held it, looking from it to Sarita, with eyes wild with craving, love, madness, and the menace of death.

"You mean you will murder me as you have murdered Sebastian Quesada?" Her voice was perfectly calm as she spoke. No higher proof of her consummate courage could she have shown than this exclusion of fear from her voice. And she smiled and added gently, "I don't think you would do that." But even as she spoke she glanced hurriedly at the broken window in the hope of escape.

I stole away then without waiting for more. I was confident she could hold him in check long enough for me to effect her rescue if only I could get into the house without arousing his suspicions.

I tried the door again, but it was too firmly fastened for me to force it, and feeling my way by the walls I went round to the back, thinking to find there a door or window by which I could enter. But the back door was as firm as that in the front, and I had seen too much not to know that the crash of my entrance, if I burst it in, would be the signal for him to shoot.

There was a small window on the floor level, but this was not made to open, and I was afraid to smash the glass. In the storey above there was also a window, and to my intense satisfaction, I saw the casement was open and creaking in the wind. In a moment I had my plan. I ran to my horse and led him to the back of the house, making a circuit sufficiently wide to prevent his steps being heard, and fastening him under the window I quieted him while I stood up in the saddle. I was still some way below the window, but calculating the distance as best I could in the dark, I sprang up and managed to catch hold of the sill. The rest was easy. I drew myself up, and in a minute was inside the room.

Then I slipped off my boots, and striking a light found my way out of the room and down the narrow rickety stairs, pausing at almost every step, in fear lest the creak of the boards should give notice of my presence. But no one heard me, and as the floor at the bottom was stone paved, I could move with greater freedom. All was still well with Sarita, and when I reached the door of the room where the two were, I heard her voice, still calm and firm with courage, as she reasoned with Livenza.

"Love is sweet and life is sweet," I heard him say in answer to something from her; "but death is sweeter than all if love be denied. If we cannot live and love we can die together, Sarita," he said, in the dreary tone of a crazed dreamer.

I ran my fingers softly and noiselessly round the door in search of the fastening, and when he began to speak again, I lifted the latch noiselessly by imperceptible degrees, and found to my inexpressible relief that it was unlocked. The sands of my patience had now run out, and I drew my revolver and held it in readiness for instant use. The seconds that followed formed a pause of acute suspense. I could hear Livenza brushing against the door on the inside as he moved when speaking, and taking advantage of a moment when he was in the midst of one of his mad rhapsodical harangues, I nerved myself for a tremendous effort, thrust the door open with all my might and main, and dashed into the room.

Thank heaven, the attempt was entirely successful. The door in opening struck Livenza with such sudden violence, that it sent him staggering forward against the table in the centre, overthrowing the candle and extinguishing it. Before he could recover himself, I had found him in the dark, and grappling him dragged him to the floor, where he writhed and strained in a fierce and desperate struggle for the mastery.