Sarita, the Carlist

by Arthur W. Marchmont

"No, Dolores, you were wrong there. What he did for you was English work. Had he been our countryman he would have been talking, gesticulating, and scolding the rabble. But, instead, he acted. There was one thing possible to do, and with British practicality he saw it and did it instantly. No one but an Englishman would have thought of it. A Frenchman would have rushed to the door and defied the crowd; but that wouldn't have saved you. A German might have thought of what Carbonnell did; but he'd have been only half-way round the carriage by the time Carbonnell had the door open and had whisked you out. One of these confounded Americans might have done it—but he'd have tried to dash through the crowd, in at the wrong door and out at the right—too much in a hurry to go round the carriage first. He'd have done it, however. But it was the English character to see just what to do, and how to do it most easily, and then to do it in the same moment."

"You are still resolved to make too much of it," I cried, with a laugh at his comparisons.

"Can we make too much of a cause that brings us a new friend, and, indeed, a new relative of such mettle? What think you, Dolores?"

"I think too much for mere words. Senor Carbonnell will feel, I am afraid, that I am very clumsy with my thanks."

"You were speaking about relationship?" I put in, as a diversion.

"It makes a sorry page in our family history; for in truth we committed a series of blunders. Your grandfather had three sons, Carbonnell; and the youngest of them—I fear something of a scapegrace—settled here in Madrid under the name of Castelar, fell in love with my father's youngest sister, Sarita, and married her against the wishes of all our family. You see we regarded him as an adventurer, knowing nothing of his being an Englishman and the son of an English peer. Besides, there was the religious difficulty, I was a lad at the time, about ten or twelve—it's five-and-twenty years ago now—and remember the thing only vaguely; but I know I was as indignant as the rest of us;" and he laughed, frankly and openly.

"The marriage was a very disastrous one, I have heard," said I.

"Very. Could not have been worse; and we did not learn who your uncle really was until after his wife's death. She died professing herself bitterly sorry for her disobedience to the family wishes, and was reconciled to us; but the children——" and he tossed up a hand as though the trouble were too great for words.

"I have seen Sarita Castelar," I said; and the remark brought one of those lightning gleams from his eyes which I had seen before.

"Have you seen the brother, Ramon?" he asked, changing instantly to a smile. "He should prove interesting to you, if you knew all. But they both harbour the worst opinion of me; and Ramon's opinions have taken the pointed and substantial shape of a dagger thrust uncomfortably close to my heart, and a bullet that proved him, fortunately for me, a very poor shot. But I could not endure that, and when we catch him he will have his opportunities of pistol practice cut short." He made light of the matter in his speech, but there was that in his looks which told plainly how bitterly and intensely he hated.