“I am.”
“Well, then, come to the door with me—ask the gentlemen very politely what they want; of course they will invite you to accompany them to prison or somewhere or other—answer without hesitation you will be with them in one moment. This you will do with your cloak and hat on: give me then your cloak and hat—bid them advance;—I follow, with your cloak and hat on, as Don Luis Mendoza, and damn all consequences—pistols versus knives,—hurrah!”
“But, sir,” commenced Mendoza.
“Not a word, sir, I have no family, and I would die to serve an honest man or bonny lassie: and, Thorne, you look after the ladies—never mind me, I have two pistols for their two knives.”
The thing was arranged as quickly as this has been told. And away went Griffin followed by the “friends of liberty.”
“Now, Mendoza, you must out at once,—it’s all Le Brun’s doings,—cut for your life,—cut,” said Thorne, “and run for my house. Ladies, this is no safe place for you—excuse me, will you honour my house. There is no time for ceremony, rather on with your cloaks. Young gentlemen, you’re escort—servant, your master’s pistols—Now then, ladies, are you ready?—Anita, my arm—friend, give Mariquita yours—you for the look-out, now heave a-head.” “Patricio,” cried Anita, “secure my father’s papers, and then look out for yourselves.” And the whole house was clear in less than ten minutes from the first rap at the door.
Mr Thorne and his interesting convoy arrived safe at the Calle Derecho without any interruption; but great was their dismay as time passed on and no Mendoza made his appearance. Early next morning Thorne was on foot to make his inquiries, but not a word could he hear of his whereabouts. The only consolation he could hold out to his fair and trembling guests was the probability that he might be concealed in some friend’s house, or might find his way on board of some vessel. “But cheer up, ladies, you at least are safe, both from Rosas and Le Brun; and what a comfort that would be to your old father if he knew it! Ladies, you are the mistresses of the house. I must send for a female servant to attend you, and you may send for some lady friend to keep you in countenance, if you can find one, or think it proper.—You will see the propriety of not moving out of doors for a few days. The only restriction I impose upon both of you is, that you never drive me away from your presence by even whispering a word about thanks. And now, ladies, excuse me—I am going to sally out on another voyage of inquiry,” and, before a word could be said in reply, he hurried from the room.
After running about till he was almost exhausted, Thorne repaired to the Sala de los Estrangeros residentes, or club-room of resident foreigners, for a little refreshment; and scarcely had he entered when Le Brun stood before him, pale, breathless, and wo-begone.
“Le Brun,” cried Thorne, “you are a spy, a traitor;—you are worse than I even conceived you to be. Leave me—fly this moment, or you meet your deserts from my hands and in this very place.”
“Thorne,” cried Le Brun with the most abject air, “I am the most miserable man in existence. I swear to you, by every thing that binds man to man, I was not the cause of Mendoza’s capture last night;—my life, sir, is in more peril than his. At this moment the emissaries of the police are at my heels, and ere sunset, I shall be in prison,—ere sunrise probably a corpse;—where is Mendoza?”