A Castle in Spain: A Novel

CHAPTER XXX. — HOW SEVERAL OF OUR FRIENDS FIND THEMSELVES IN A MOST EXTRAORDINARY

SITUATION.

So Harry stood, with his retreat cut off, staring into the darkness, while Katie, clinging to him, awaited the result. Harry expected every minute that lights would be produced and everything revealed. But the lights did not come, and the discovery was delayed. There occurred a pause, during which Harry waited, after which the sliding, shuffling sounds recommenced.

They now came nearer. Then came the sound of a stealthy footfall—very slow, too, and very cautious. The new-comer, the supposed pursuer, whoever he was, seemed now to be in the room, and cautiously advancing. As yet he was under the shadow, and was, therefore, invisible in the gloom; but he was approaching the place where the moonbeams fell—where he might be seen. Harry noted this, and wondered how many more of them there might be. Katie also looked up now, and stood listening. Both of these were waiting for a chance to separate, if possible—Katie to go back to her own place, and Harry to fly back to his room.

At length the advancing figure reached the place where the moonbeams fell, and here he entered the moonlight, so that it was possible to see his outline, though not to distinguish features. It was a man—he was unarmed, and all his gestures and motions indicated excessive caution and watchfulness. Harry and Katie both saw him, as he groped about and peered through the gloom.

"It's 'His Majesty,'" said Katie.

"H-s-s-s-h!" said Harry.

The slight, whispered sounds seemed to catch the ears of the visitor. He stood and listened. But the sounds were not repeated, and he resumed his progress.

"I know who it is," said Harry, in the faintest possible whisper.

"Who?"

"It's Ashby," said Harry.

Katie said not a word in reply, but the effect of that name upon her was none the less manifest. The hands which had been clasping Harry's arm relaxed their hold; she moved away from him. Harry caught her hand and tried to detain her, but Katie snatched it away, and Harry was afraid to insist. It was evident that she was offended; and at what? Was it at the mention of Ashby's name? And but a moment before she had said that she would share his fate—"Then if you are lost, I will be lost with you!" Those were her words. And now she was offended!

Harry could not believe it. He took a step after her and found her again. He sought again to take her hand. It was not now refused. Katie seemed to have overcome her irritation. The quarrel was over. So overjoyed was he that he put his arms round her slender form, and unconsciously pressed her close to his heart, while her head sank down on his breast. And there, all the time, only a few paces off, was Ashby himself!

But the beauty of it was that Ashby just then was not thinking of Katie at all. He had come here to see Dolores. For her he was making this venture, having stolen in through the passage-way which she had shown him. He had promised, it is true, not to visit her except in cases of extreme necessity; but as he had felt very lonely, he concluded that this was the necessity in question, and had come to this place.

The room seemed to him very silent. He had come down the chimney with very little noise, and had surveyed the scene from the dark recesses of the fireplace. The corners of the room were all in darkness, but the floor was illuminated here and there by the moonbeams. Having thus taken a general view, Ashby could do nothing else but go forward; and this he did, thinking that every one was asleep, and that by some happy luck he would find Dolores.

As for Dolores, she was not asleep at that time, nor had she been asleep at all.

Katie had taken for granted that the beautiful Spaniard was in the land of forgetfulness; but Katie had never in her life been more entirely mistaken. Dolores was wide awake, and had been engaged in thoughts and speculations which made sleep impossible. It was nothing less than a plan of escape, over which her busy brain was occupied, and there were certain difficulties about it, through which she could not see her way clearly. It was over these that she was puzzling her brain when her attention was roused by certain strange movements in the room.

These were, first, the movements of Katie as she stole to the fireplace and waited there.

Secondly, the movements of Harry as he shuffled down to Katie's side.

Thirdly, the preliminary whisperings of Harry and Katie.

Fourthly, the movements of these two out of the fireplace into the corner of the room.

Fifthly, their continuous whisperings, which sometimes were so animated that they might have wakened any sleeper.

Over all this Dolores was deeply agitated. Who, she asked herself, was this visitor to Katie? It could be one, and one only. That one was Ashby? She had shown him the way. He alone knew it. He had promised her not to come, but he had broken his word and had come. And why? Not for her, but for his English maiden! There were these two now plotting and whispering in her presence, and that, too, after Ashby had disowned with scorn this English maiden, and had spoken such words to her! What could she do now? For such outraged love, such treachery, and such intolerable insult, what revenge could suffice?

Revenge! Yes, nothing less than revenge! For Dolores was not one of those tender and sensitive creatures who could lie down and die under a cruel wrong. Her ardent Southern nature was roused to fury, and she remained there motionless, but—like some wild beast ready to start from its lair when the prey is at hand. Away now went all thoughts of flight with Ashby. Vengeance alone remained for her to think of—vengeance full and complete, which should involve both Ashby and the English maiden. What this vengeance was to be, however, she could not think of as yet; but she knew that in order to make it as full and complete as possible, it would be necessary to think it all over from every point of view.

In this amiable frame of mind Dolores was thus waiting and listening—stung to madness by every new whisper, and nourishing her own rage all the more every moment—until at length she became gradually aware of a sound proceeding from another quarter, and not coming from the two whisperers in the corner at all. There was some one in the fireplace—some newcomer who had approached by that way. What did this mean? Who could this be? Did others know of the secret passage-way? If so, then her surroundings were very different from what she had supposed, and her whole course of action would have to be changed.

Dolores watched, and at length saw the figure of the new-comer quite distinct in the moonlight, yet not so distinct as to enable her to ascertain who it was. The idea was so firmly fixed in her mind that the first comer was Ashby, that she could only suppose this new visitor to be one of the Carlists, perhaps "His Majesty" himself.

Meanwhile this new-comer had been stealthily moving along, and Dolores watched and listened. Now was the time which she might seize, if she chose, as the time for vengeance. If this were really one of the Carlists, above all, if this were "His Majesty," she might have sweet revenge by denouncing the false traitor Ashby on the spot, before he could escape. It would be sweet to see the dismay of the traitor when thus discovered under her own eyes. Still, even in that hour of her madness and her fury, she felt that before taking the irrevocable step and denouncing Ashby it would be necessary to be perfectly sure. So Dolores waited.

Meanwhile Ashby in his progress had passed beyond the place where Dolores was, and had traversed more than half the apartment. At this moment he was at fault, and felt anxious to know where to direct his way. He thought the best way would be to try first if Dolores was awake. And so, in a thin, low, but very distinct whisper, he said:

"Do-lo-res!"

Dolores heard it. Well she knew that in the castle there was no one who called her by that name—save one. Instantly a wild revulsion of feeling took place. She had mistaken—the first visitor was not Ashby. Ashby was not false. He was true. He had come, but he had come for her—herself. It was her name that he called. In that sudden revulsion of feeling she almost shouted for joy. She started up, and, regardless of everything but her own heart, was about to steal toward Ashby, when suddenly she was arrested in her attempt.

There arose another sound from some one near the door.

"Here, here," said a whisper—"here I am. How long you've been!"

Ashby heard this voice, and thinking it was Dolores, hurried there. Dolores heard it, understood Ashby's action, and sank down in consternation and despair. Katie and Harry heard it, and thought it was "His Majesty" on his way to Mrs. Russell. And they thought that others of "His Majesty's" followers were in the chimney.

Ashby saw a figure dimly defined in the gloom. It was indistinguishable. He took it for Dolores. So he folded that figure fondly in his arms, and the "figure" reciprocated to the fullest extent.

"Oh, my own love and darling!" sighed Ashby, in Spanish.

Mrs. Russell understood not a word of Spanish. She thought, however, that if "His Majesty" could express himself more freely in that language it was certainly quite natural for him to use it; yet it did seem rather unfair to her to come here and talk love and use endearing expressions in an unknown tongue. "His Majesty" seemed very eloquent and strongly agitated, yet Mrs. Russell could not make out what he said, nor had she a chance to explain.

For in the midst of all this there occurred a new interruption. This was the sound of a key turning in the door. The door opened immediately behind Mrs. Russell, and a soft voice, said in familiar tones and in a husky whisper:

"Whis-s-s-s-sht, darlin'—are ye awake, thin! Sure I hope the gyerruls are aslape."

CHAPTER XXXI. — IN WHICH THE WHOLE PARTY FIND THEMSELVES IS A HAUNTED CASTLE.

At the opening of the door and the sound of the voice Ashby started back and retreated. He was very much puzzled at the Irish brogue, and could only think that a stray Paddy might be among the Carlists. However, there was no time to wait, so he sought to regain the fireplace. But as he did so a figure came in his way, arms were flung about him, and a low, faint whisper came close to his ear:

"Oh, Assebi! I am Dolores; that other is Mrs. Russell. Fly, or you are lost!"

Here was a new shock for Ashby, but he did not lose his presence of mind. The new-comer was still at the door. He was not followed. At this he noted as he stood for a moment or so holding Dolores in his arms.

As for Mrs. Russell, nothing could exceed her amazement and terror when "His Majesty" came in behind her at the very moment when she supposed herself to be in "His Majesty's" arms. It was unintelligible—nay, even frightful.

"Weren't you—your Majesty—here—just now?" she stammered.

"Me! Us! Here? Divil a bit av us! We've just come," was the reply.

"But who was it? Some one was here."

"Some one?" said "His Majesty." "Oh, maybe it was our r'y'l footstep."

"No—but some one was talking Spanish."

"Walkin' Spanish, ye mane," replied the august monarch. "Sure nobody's been talkin' Spanish here at all at all."

"But, your Majesty, some one was here—talking to me—close to me."

"Shure it was one av the gyerruls."

"No; it was a—a man!"

"A man!" exclaimed "His Majesty," in surprise.

"Yes."

"What! here in this room?"

"Yes."

"Shure ye've been dramin'—so ye have; or else—maybe it was the castle ghost."

"The ghost!" groaned Mrs. Russell. "Oh, your Majesty! Oh, my own one! Oh, save me! Don't—don't let it come near me!"

And, flinging her arms around the royal person, Mrs. Russell clung to it, sobbing hysterically.

"Shure—whisht, will yez, or ye'll waken up the gyerruls," said the monarch. "I'll protect yez, if ye'll let me, so I will."

"Oh!" said Mrs. Russell, clinging more closely to "His Majesty," "do you hear that?"

"What?"

"That noise!"

"What noise?"

"I heard a wow—wow—whisper!" sobbed the lady.

"A whisper—nonsinse!" said "His Majesty."

"Oh, listen!" said Mrs. Russell, holding him tight, so that he could not get free. At this "His Majesty" remained perfectly still, and listened. There certainly were some low, indistinct sounds, among which were whispers.

"Shure it's the gyerruls," said "His Majesty." "That's what it is."

"Oh, look! look!" cried Mrs. Russell. "The ghost! the ghost!"

And with a loud cry Mrs. Russell fell back. "His Majesty" encircled her with the royal arms, and gently deposited her on the floor, standing thus in deep perplexity. But at this instant a sight caught his eye which made him start. It was Ashby's figure traversing the room, through the moonlight. He had waited up to the last moment and had just taken his departure, but as he moved along the floor toward the chimney the royal eye saw him.

"Be jabers!" said "His Majesty," "ghost or no ghost, I must see to this. The castle's haunted as sure as a gun, but that isn't the figure an' farrum av a maydoiayval ghost, so it isn't."

Mrs. Russell now revived, and struggled up to her feet.

"Is—is—it gig—gig—gone?" she asked, with a shudder.

"Sorra a one av me knows," said "His Majesty." "I'm going to invistigate."

"Oh!" wailed Mrs. Russell, "leave me not—oh, Your Sacred Majesty, desert me not!"

"Shure I'm only going to get loights," said "His Majesty."

"Oh, forsake me not! Be not so cruel!"

"Crool! Ah, be off wid yer nonsinse!" said "His Majesty." "Whisht now, jool—sure I'll be back in a jiffy. If it's any one that's got in, I'll find him whin I come back; an' if it's a ghost, why, it's just as well to know it."

"Oh, your Majesty," cried Mrs. Russell, "do not forsake me! Without you it is too—too—too horrible!"

"Shure ain't I telling yez," said "His Majesty," "that I'm only goin' to get loights, an' that I'll be back in a jiffy? Be quiet, now, an' it 'll be all right."

With these words "His Majesty" tried gently but firmly to disengage Mrs. Russell's clasped arms from about his neck. This he found much difficulty in doing, but at length he succeeded in getting free. After this he went out, locking the door behind him.

After about five minutes he returned with a blazing torch, followed by half a dozen men, who remained outside awaiting his summons, while "His Majesty" alone went in. The moment that the door opened to admit him, some one came rushing into his arms with such violence as almost to extinguish the torch and upset the royal person. "His Majesty" recovered himself, however, and uttered several ejaculations which in any less distinguished person would certainly have sounded like profanity.

"Be aisy, now, will yez?" he said, in a milder voice, "an' howld away yer arrums, jool, till I invistigate the primisis. If it's a livin' man I'll fix him; an' if it's a ghost—begorra, I'll—let him go."

With these words "His Majesty" succeeded in extricating himself from the clutches of Mrs. Russell, and, holding aloft the torch, began to walk about the room, looking closely everywhere, while Mrs. Russell followed at his heels, entreating him to take care of his royal person.

"Arrah, shure, now," said "His Majesty," "we're accustomed to danger. We don't moind throifles like this—not a bit av it:

By this time the noise and the flaming torches had seemed to rouse up Katie and Dolores. Both of these now stood up, blinking and shrinking, clinging timidly to one another, and looking like two frightened children just awakened. They seemed so surprised, so confused, and so terrified, that the heart of "His Majesty" swelled with pity and compassion.

"Ladies! jools!" said he, "don't, don't give way. Shure it's all over now, so it is, an' yez needn't be a bit afraid any more."

"What's all over?" asked Katie, in a tone of alarm.

"What? Why—shure nothin'."

"There was some one in the room," said Mrs. Russell, in frightened tones.

"Some one in the room!" cried Katie, in a voice so full of terror that it became a positive shriek. "Oh! oh! oh! Who? who? What? what?"

Never was terror more eloquently depicted on any human face than on Katie's expressive countenance on this occasion. She flung herself into Dolores's arms and clung to her. Dolores said nothing, but clung to Katie in silence.

"Alarrums av this sort," said "His Majesty," "isn't shuited to their delicate, narvous systems—so they isn't. I've got a dhrop av whiskey about me, if—But I suppose they wouldn't care for it."

With these words "His Majesty" approached Katie for the purpose of soothing her, or of paying her some delicate compliment, but Katie contrived to keep Dolores between herself and the royal wooer till the R. W. felt baffled.

"Shure it's very disthressin', so it is," said he, as he turned away. "But I'll take a luk round."

He looked all around, walked by the walls, gravely peered into the fireplace, and at length came back.

"There's no one here," said he.

"But I saw some one," said Mrs. Russell.

"Shure, thin, it was no livin' man ye saw, an' there ye have it."

"No living man!" screamed Mrs. Russell.

"Shure no; how could it have been? Wouldn't I a seen him, an' me wid a loight?"

"Then it's a ghost!" said Mrs. Russell, with another scream.

"Divil a one else," said "His Majesty." "It's the castle ghost—only I don't see why he came in modern coschume. But perhaps it isn't the castle ghost. It may be the last prisoner that was shot."

This last suggestion was unspeakably horrible to Mrs. Russell. Well she knew who that last prisoner was! The last prisoner! Oh, horror! and the apparition was It! And It had come to her!—embraced her!—spoke words of love! It was He!—her once loved but now lost Johnny!

The thought was too much. With a wild yell, she flung her arms around "His Majesty" and fainted.

"It's mesilf," said "His Majesty," placidly, "that 'ud be the proud man to shtay here an' watch wid yez agin the ghost, but juty calls me elsewhere." As he said this, he tried to detach the arms of Mrs. Russell, who now clung to him with rigid and death-like tenacity. This, however, he could not do, and as her weight was considerable, he gravely seated himself on the floor, and implored Katie and Dolores to help him. This they did, and their united efforts succeeded in loosening Mrs. Russell's grasp. The stricken lady gave a gasp and raised her head, but "His Majesty" was too nimble for her. By a desperate movement he withdrew from her reach, and stood for a moment at a respectable distance.

"Ladies," said he, "it's mesilf that 'ud be the proud man to shtay; but there's no danger in the worruld—not the laste in loife, an' this lady requires your care. So I'm thinkin' I'll be off, an' if anythin' happens agin, you sing out."

Saying these words, "His Majesty" left the room somewhat more hurriedly than he had entered it. His departure completed Mrs. Russell's prostration. For the remainder of the night she refused to be comforted, but remained terrified, lamenting bitterly, and exclaiming incessantly: "Oh, why did he leave me!—why, oh, why did he leave me!"

CHAPTER XXXII. — IN WHICH HARRY MAKES AN UNPLEASANT DISCOVERY.

Harry had been the first to escape from the room. He had waited long, fearing lest others might be in the chimney; but at length, as the actions of the new-comer did not seem consistent with those of a pursuer, he had concluded to risk it. He had then entered the chimney, and was able to reach his own room in safety. Ashby had not left until the very last moment, when the door had already opened to admit "His Majesty," so that the two had not met. But Harry, on reaching his own room, stood for a long time in the fireplace, listening; and as he listened, he felt sure that he heard sounds, and these sounds seemed as though made by pursuers. Upon this he flung himself upon his bed, where he lay motionless for nearly an hour, until it seemed scarcely possible that there could be any further danger.

He now thought of returning to the room, but after a little consideration decided not to. No doubt they would all be awake, perhaps also others might be there, and to go back might lead to discovery, and destroy all further chances of seeing Katie. Still, the thought would not be dismissed. Sleep was impossible, and he lay awake, recalling the events of the night.

At length there occurred to his mind the thought of those Spanish bonds which he had found and hidden away so carefully. He had not visited the place since, or rather, he had not looked at the hiding-place. He determined to do so now merely for the sake of reassuring himself as to the safety of those precious papers. For Katie's fortune lay wrapped up in that parcel, and he was anxious that he should be the means of saving it for her. In addition to this, he was anxious to search carefully along the passage-way, to see if there might not be openings which had thus far escaped him—which might possibly lead to the outer world.

He provided himself with his torch and found that he had matches enough. He then climbed up into the passage-way, and lighted his torch; after which he proceeded onward until he reached the chink where the package had been deposited. Here he stooped down and held the light close.

The first sight showed nothing. But the string which he had left hanging out was, as he knew, not very perceptible, so he held the light closer and felt for it. Even then he found nothing.

He now thought that perhaps the package had fallen by its own weight a little farther in, drawing the string after it. In order to find whether this were so or not, he reached his hand into the chink.

No sooner had he done this than he snatched it away, and sat there staring.

The chink was very much larger than it had been before.

There was no doubt about this. Then it had been barely wide enough to admit the package. Now he could easily thrust his whole arm into the opening.

It was utterly unaccountable. By some incomprehensible means that crevice had been enlarged. The whole stone, he now saw, had been thrust forward several inches into the passage-way. It seemed as if nothing short of an earthquake could suffice to move from its place such a stone as that. In itself it appeared to be of vast size and weight, and below it, and above it, and on either side, were others equally vast. How was it possible for such a rock to be thus dislodged? By an earthquake? But nothing of the kind had occurred. He was a light sleeper, and was easily aroused by anything unusual. Could the castle have "settled?" Impossible. It was too old. It had long since shaken down into its deep bed. Still, old buildings do often settle, and in fault of any better explanation he was compelled to adopt something like this.

In any event, there seemed very great danger that the package had been lost. Again and again he thrust his arm far in, but found only vacancy. Then he put his hand downward as far as he could. It touched something which felt like a stone pavement.

This pavement was about eight inches lower than the one upon which he was. All this made the matter still more incomprehensible.

But Harry had come forth to seek after this very thing, namely, some mysterious opening into a side-passage, and after the first surprise it occurred to him that this might be what he wished to find. And now the fact of the stone jutting forth became intelligible, though this new explanation promised ill for the safety of the package. It was evident that this stone was movable, and afforded in some way an entrance to this passage. It seemed strange that so vast a stone should be movable, yet there was the fact. Perhaps also it was less massive than it seemed. Perhaps it was a mere slab and opened like a door. But how?

He now examined its surface with the most careful and minute scrutiny. In vain. Over all the surface and over all the edges there was nothing that indicated any means by which such a stone could be moved—nothing of the nature of hinges, and nothing of the nature of a handle, by which to grasp it so as to move it. Yet it was movable, and had been moved lately. Perhaps it could be moved without any help from a handle.

He now thrust his arm through, and, grasping it, pulled at it with all his strength. His utmost effort, however, made no impression. He found that the stone was massive within as without, that it was no thin slab, but one which his arm could not surround—at least eighteen inches in solid thickness where his arm held it. Yet the stone did move, and had been moved. The matter became now more incomprehensible than ever. It could be moved. It had been moved, yet there was a secret contrivance here into which he could not penetrate.

Again the thought came to him of the package which contained Katie's fortune. Some one had been here. Had that one found the package? It must be so. Fool that he was!

A second time had that precious package been deposited in what seemed a secure hiding-place, and a second time had the hiding-place proved almost a public thoroughfare.

For what seemed a long time Harry examined that stone. In vain. The wall arose before him impenetrable. The stone was immovable. Yet that stone seemed now to him to hold within itself the secret not only of the package, but also of escape and of liberty and life.

Harry at length felt like giving up. Once more, however, though now quite hopelessly, he examined the stone in every direction, pressing with all his strength upon every part. And now in this, the very moment of his utter hopelessness, as often happens—at the very time when not expecting it, he found what he sought.

At the extreme end of the stone, more than six feet from the crevice where he had hidden the package, he pressed upon it, and found that it gave way. The pressure was not at all strong; yet to that slight effort the apparently massive rock yielded like a door, and moved inward several inches.

In unspeakable amazement and intense excitement Harry pushed it in farther, until he saw the whole move in, at his pressure, for about two feet. An opening was disclosed. He stepped in and looked around.

He found himself in a kind of chamber which was about four feet wide and eight feet long. At the end of this was a stone stair-way which went down. Harry looked around, and took all this in at a glance. His first thought was about his package.

The package was not there.

He had been prepared for this, yet the disappointment was bitter. Still there was consolation in the discovery which he had made, and his excitement and curiosity were yet strong. He naturally turned his attention to that stone which formed so wonderful a door-way, and which had so long baffled him.

He saw that at the end, near the crevice, the stone was about eighteen inches thick, but that it was all cut away toward the other end, till it ended in a slab of only two inches in thickness. One end of the stone was thus a vast block, while the other was a comparatively thin slab. He now understood the whole construction.

At the thick end the door was set with stone pivots, into sockets above and below, by means of which it was easily moved. The reason why he could not move it at first was because he was exerting his strength near the hinge, or pivots, where, of course, it was thrown away; but as soon as he had touched the farther edge, it yielded to a slight pressure. Here, inside, there was a stone handle by which it was easily opened, while, outside, he thought that it was closed by swinging it as one went out, so that it went by its own weight into its place.

After all, there was nothing very strange in this. Harry had read about such stone doors. In the accounts of the Moabite cities, mention is made of something of the sort; and as those have lasted for three thousand years, this one might well lust for several hundred.

But the package!

There were no traces of it. At the hinge end of the slab there was a wedge-shaped stone, by inserting which here the door could be secured against opening from without. Into this wedge-shaped crevice he had thrust the package. He saw also that in pushing it far in he had only secured its discovery, for he must have pushed it so far that the first one who passed had found it.

Now who could that have been?

Whoever it was, the package was gone. No doubt it was one of the Carlists, who had taken it to their leader. It was gone beyond all possibility of recovery.

Harry had been so taken up with his examination of these things that he had forgotten all about the necessity of caution. He stood there thus, in thought, the torch brightly burning, when suddenly he was roused by some one rushing up the steps. He darted back into the passage-way, and banged the stone door after him.

Too late. In an instant the pursuer was upon him and had caught at his coat collar.

But Harry was not the man to give up at the first attack. Quick as lightning, he drew forth a revolver from his breast pocket, and, hastily cocking it, turned to confront his assailant.

One look was enough.

"Ashby!" he cried.

"You scoundrel!" cried Ashby, in a fury. "Scoundrel! villain! traitor!"

CHAPTER XXXIII. — IN WHICH THERE IS A VERY PRETTY QUARREL.

In order to account for the strange and shockingly rude language of Ashby, which must be as astonishing to the reader as it was to Harry, it will be necessary to go back a little.

You see, then, my dears, immediately after Harry's flight, Ashby also had hurried away, and had reached his own room without further adventure. He now began to think that he had acted with mad folly and recklessness; yet at the same time he could not bring himself to regret it at all. He had seen Dolores, and that was enough, and the hunger of his heart was satisfied, for the present at least.

Like Harry, he had a sense of being pursued, which kept him for a long time on the watch, until at length he began to feel safe. All the circumstances of his recent adventure now came to his memory. One thing amidst it all gave him great perplexity. Who were in that room? There had been others, and he had heard the motion of one in particular behind him—some one who seemed to be moving under the chimney. Then came the arrival of "His Majesty." But who was that other one? Ashby did not like the appearance of things at all.

After a time, as his confidence became restored, he began to think of going back again, just, as he said to himself, for the sake of listening at the chimney, and seeing that all was right. Putting it in this plausible way, the thought became too tempting a one to be resisted, and at length he started on his way back.

The passage-way, with its secrets, had already been shown him by Dolores. It started from the chimney, and after a few feet came to some steps which ascended to the second floor, upon which were situated the rooms of Harry on the one side and the ladies on the other. The steps thus led upward toward the very passage-way which Harry had been traversing. How they opened into that passage-way, however, has yet to be explained.

As Ashby reached the foot of the flight of steps he became aware of sounds, which brought him to a full stop. Instead of going back, however, he waited. Hidden in impenetrable gloom at the foot of the steps, he could listen, and there was no fear of his being seen. His only idea was that the Carlists were closing up the way.

At length he noticed a faint gleam of light, and after a short interval he noticed that it grew brighter. He then saw the stone door open inward. As he watched he did not move, being too eager to know what was coming, and feeling confident in his own obscurity.

And now, as he watched, he saw Harry's face suddenly reveal itself, as it was lit up by the flaring torch. Yes, it was Harry, and there he stood, examining everything in the manner already described; and Ashby was a witness of all his proceedings.

As Ashby looked, there came to him a multitude of dark and gloomy suspicions. So then, he thought, Harry knows all about this passage, and if so, he must know where it leads to. And where was that? It was to only one place—that one room alone. And what would Harry want there, and what would he find? He would find her—Katie!

Now, although Ashby was full of bitter resentment against Katie, and was, perhaps, quite in earnest in all that he had said about her to Dolores, yet when he had this fresh confirmation of something like an understanding between these two, he became filled with the bitterest jealousy and indignation.

He had already felt something of these same feelings. He had seen Harry with his own eyes paying devoted attentions to Katie, though he knew that Katie was engaged to him. It was this which had made him turn away from her, for he had seen that she was false to him. Yet his resentment against her did not lessen his jealousy, nay, it intensified it. He regarded Harry as guilty of an offence which was at once the worst and the most unpardonable. He had been false to his friend, and that, too, immediately after he had received that friend's fullest confidence, and had promised that friend his most energetic assistance. Could anything be worse than this?

And now Ashby saw through it all. Harry had traversed that passage-way. He had been in that room. He had seen Katie. Of this he had not a doubt. And what now? No doubt he was prowling about to try to find some way out, so that he might escape with Katie.

Ashby watched with all these bitter thoughts in his mind, until at length he could endure them no longer. He determined to confront his former friend, his present enemy, and meet him face to face; to charge him with his perfidy, and seek for vengeance. With a leap, he bounded up the steps. Harry retreated, yet not so fast but that Ashby caught up with him, and grasped him as he was flying. Then Harry turned, pistol in hand, and the two stood face to face.

"Ashby!" cried Harry.

And Ashby cried out:

"Scoundrel! villain! traitor!"

His face was white, and his voice hoarse with passion.

Harry was confounded.

"Hang it, Ashby; don't you know me? Are you mad?"

"Know you!" cried Ashby, bitterly. "Thank Heaven, I do know you! I've found you out, you infernal sneak, you! Know you? Good heavens! yes, I know you for a scoundrel, and a contemptible, double-dealing interloper and villain!"

Harry stood aghast.

"What in the name of Heaven is the meaning of all this?"

"You've been in that room!" cried Ashby, pointing up the passage-way.

"Well, what if I have?"

"What if you have? You know what you went there for."

Thus far Harry had been too much amazed to understand anything. But now he began to see what it all meant.

"Oh, ho!" said he; "so that's it?"

"That's it! of course that's it!" cried Ashby. "Isn't that enough? sneaking after that girl, when you know that she is mine. What the devil have you got to say for yourself?"

At this Harry began to rouse himself. He didn't feel like defending his conduct; and now, as was natural, took refuge in a fight.

"Confound you!" he cried; "what do you mean by such insults as these? Who are you? What business is it of yours?"

"She's engaged to me. I took you into my confidence, and you've turned out a traitor and a sneak."

Harry drew a long breath, and instantly recovered his usual coolness.

"My dear sir," said he, "you have a pretty talent for scolding. Nature evidently intended you to be an old woman; but doesn't it strike you that this sort of thing isn't customary among gentlemen, and that you are making an infernal fool of yourself? Do you suppose I'm to ask your permission where to go in this castle? I found this passage-way myself, and hope to find others also. And, by Jove!" he continued, as at this moment the thought of the lost parcel came to him, "there's one matter I should like to settle with you before we go any farther."

"We shall have to settle several matters."

"I left a parcel in this place a short time ago. It was a very valuable one. I should like to ask you if you have it?"

"I? I, sir? I have your parcel?"

"I don't mean to say that you took it knowing it to be mine."

"Oh! you don't, don't you?"

"Mr. Ashby, will you give me a frank answer to a fair question? Do you know anything about that parcel?"

"Parcel? Pooh!" said Ashby, who thought that this was some transparent trick of Harry's to account for his presence here. "Confound you and your parcels! I know nothing about them. I—"

"I ask you, did you pick up that parcel?"

"And I say, confound your parcels!"

Harry was growing quite as furious as Ashby. He now felt certain that Ashby had found it and had it in his possession. He considered Ashby's answers as palpable evasions of a direct question.

"Well, then," he said, "I say that if you still keep that parcel after I claim it, that you are keeping property that is not yours, and you know what that means!"

Ashby gave a bitter laugh.

"This as a hint that I am a thief," said he.

"And a pretty strong one, too, I rather think," said Harry. "Do not imagine that you have any claims to that package arising out of any previous relations to a certain young lady."

"A certain young lady!—a package! What do you mean? I neither know nor care. I only know that you and I must settle accounts with one another."

"By Jove, that's one sentiment in which I agree!"

"If I hadn't found you here, I might have only suspected; but now that I've found you, I do not merely believe, but know that you are a—"

"Confound you! if you begin your infernal abuse again, I'll blow your brains out! I haven't got your talent for scolding. If you want to settle accounts with me, come along like a man, and don't stand here jawing like a fishwife."

"By heavens! that will I—and here—"

"Here! pooh! Come along to my room."

"Lead on—I'll follow."

At this Harry led the way, and in a short time, followed by Ashby, he once more reached his own room.

And so it had come to this! The friends who a few days before had been so intimate, so confiding, and so affectionate, now stood face to face as foes, glaring at one another with defiance in their eyes and bitter hate in their hearts. Each thought he had received sufficient provocation to seek the life of the other, and each thought that he had received from the other insults which could only be wiped out in blood.

Harry felt sure that Ashby had found the package which he had concealed so carefully, and was holding it on the ground of his engagement to Katie. Such a right Harry might possibly have conceded to Russell, as Katie's guardian, especially as he had been the one who last had held it; but to Ashby he never would surrender it. As for Ashby, his bitterness and jealousy have already been fully set forth, and they were now more intense than ever.

Harry stuck the torch in a hollow stone in the floor which appeared to have been made for that purpose. Then he turned to Ashby.

"Now, sir," said Ashby, "you have already heard."

"No more, I beg," said Harry; "not a word. Let's fight like gentlemen, not jaw like bullies. Have you a pistol?"

"No."

"That's unfortunate. There's no knowing at what time a pistol may be needed."

"No," said Ashby, bitterly. "If I had known that you would prove a scoun—"

"By heavens!" roared Harry, "if yon don't shut up I'll put a bullet through you! Do you hear? Come now," he continued, growing cooler; "we've both said enough, more than enough. Remember that when two gentlemen meet in mortal combat the time for insult is over. We have no seconds. Let us try to imitate the punctiliousness of seconds in our treatment of each other. Do you consent?"

Ashby bowed.

"And now, Mr. Ashby," continued Harry, "as you say you have no pistol, is there anything else that you can suggest? Have you a knife?"

"Nothing but a penknife."

"Ah, that's very unfortunate. If we could only get hold of a couple of rifles from our friends here outside, we should be all right, but there's no use in hoping for that. Our ransom is too high for them to risk losing it. And so, as far as I can see, the only thing left is for us to use this one pistol of mine."

"One pistol? How can both of us use one pistol?"

"We must. There's nothing else to be done."

Ashby shook his head.

"I don't see how," said he.

"It's plain enough," said Harry. "We can take it turn about."

"But the man who fires the first shot has an immense advantage," said Ashby.

"Pardon me," said Harry; "that does not necessarily follow. He may hit his foe, of course, but the wound may only be a trifling one after all; or he may miss his shot altogether. It often happens so in duels. Moreover, as you very well know, in a duel it never happens that both fire at the same instant. One always fires a little before the other. So in our case it will simply amount to this, that one of us will fire a little before the other. In that case the first man may miss, and the second man will then come in for his turn."

"But how shall we decide who is to fire first?" said Ashby.

"Oh, that's easy enough," said Harry; "we can toss up."

"Oh, very well."

"Have you a coin?"

"Not one."

"Nor I—not a copper, even. The beggarly Carlists have drained me dry."

"We must find something else," said Ashby.

"Oh, there needn't be any difficulty about that. A button will do quite as well."

And with this Harry cut one of the buttons from his trousers.

"This will do," said he. "The face of the button will be 'head,' and the back of it 'tail.' And now, will you try it?"

He handed it to Ashby, who took it without a word.

"If it falls 'heads,' the first fire will be yours; if 'tails,' the first fire will be mine."

"Very well," said Ashby; and then, poising the button for a moment, he tossed it.

It fell, head uppermost.

"Heads!" said Harry. "Mr. Ashby, the first fire belongs to you. Here's the pistol. It's loaded. I'll take my position here. Shall I measure the distance?"

"Pardon me, Mr. Rivers," said Ashby; "but I cannot accept this from one throw. It must be the best out of three times."

"I don't see why."

"I should not accept it under any other conditions."

"Oh, very well. Let us both act so as to satisfy one another," said Harry. "In that case you had better toss again."

Ashby now picked up the button, and tossed a second time. This time it fell face downward.

"Tails!" said Harry. "Once more, and that decides it."

Ashby picked up the button and gave a final toss. The button fell. This time it was in Ashby's favor. It fell face upward.

"Heads!" said Harry. "It's yours, Mr. Ashby. Will you take the pistol?"

Ashby hesitated.

"I think," said he, "we had better arrange our places."

"Very well. At what distance?" said Harry. "Shall we say twelve paces?"

"I should think so."

Upon this Harry began by the fireplace, and walked for twelve paces along the floor. Reaching this place, he stopped.

"Will this do?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Very well; and now which place will you take?"

"Either."

"In that case we must toss up again for choice of positions. But, first of all, it will be necessary to move this torch, so that it shall be equally favorable."

Saying this, Harry walked over to the torch, and carried it, together with the stone, to a place which seemed about midway between the two positions. Here he set it on the ground.

"And now, Mr. Ashby," said Harry, "we must toss up for places."

"Very well," said Ashby; "but you had better toss this time, as I did it last time."

To this Harry made no objection. He took the button, and tossed it. This time luck was favorable, and he won the choice of positions.

"Well," said he, "I'm quite indifferent; but, as I have the choice, I suppose I may as well choose the place out there in the room. In that case you will stand here in front of the fireplace."

"Very well," said Ashby, who thereupon took up his place there.

"Have you any plan to propose as to firing?"

"None whatever."

"I've been thinking of one which I will mention. You may have a better one. The unarmed one shall give the word, or drop a handkerchief. Will that do? If you prefer for the one who fires to give the word—very well. Only I think that the word had better be given."

"Certainly," said Ashby, "and I quite agree to your proposal."

"Very well," said Harry; "and now, Mr. Ashby, here is the pistol."

Saying this, he handed the weapon to Ashby, who took it with a slight bow, but in silence.

Harry now measured off twelve paces once more, and reached the spot which he had before marked out, upon which he turned and, standing erect, faced Ashby.

"Mr. Ashby," said he, "are you ready? If so, take aim, and I will give the word."

Ashby raised the pistol and took aim. The weapon covered Harry, and he knew it. He knew also that Ashby was a "dead shot." But not a nerve quivered. He stood up there as straight as a ramrod, and then, in a calm, clear voice, with his usual self-possession, said:

"One; two; three. Fire!"

For a moment Ashby stood with his pistol thus covering Harry.

Then his arm fell.

"I cannot," said he—"I cannot fire, in cold blood, on an unarmed man."

Now, had Ashby stood thus, with a pistol, in the full heat of his first fury, he would have tired, without stopping to think; but the effect of their enforced courtesy to one another, and more particularly of the somewhat tedious preliminaries, had been to calm and even chill his hot anger, and to subdue all his fierce excitement. As he stood there, with his pistol levelled, and saw Harry's cool, calm face, it seemed like butchery. He could not fire. And so his hand dropped down with this exclamation.

"But my turn is to come."

"Oh, that's nothing," said Ashby. "You may have your turn now, if you choose."

"Oh no," said Harry, "I can't take my turn until after you have fired; and the worst of it is, I don't see how we can settle this difficulty, if we don't do it now."

"Other chances will, no doubt, occur," said Ashby.

"Pardon me," said Harry, "that is hardly probable, and, besides, that will not help the matter. In fact, it will only make it worse. For you see, if some time should elapse before such a meeting, the recollection of this affair would be so faint that I could not go into it with any spirit; whereas now I am all cocked and primed. So fire away, my dear fellow, for I really don't want to have an affair of this sort hanging over me the rest of my life. We must have it out, and now's the time."

"Will you not fire first, Mr. Rivers?" said Ashby, earnestly.

"Oh no, that would make all our preparations childish," was the reply. "We have appealed to Fortune, and her decision has been given."

Ashby drew a long breath.

"Mr. Rivers," said he, "I cannot shoot an unarmed man in cold blood."

"But what can we do?" said Harry.

"Why, we may be able to borrow a couple of rifles, or even one rifle, from our friends here."

Upon this a voice rang out, full and clear, in the room:

"Begorra, an' that same they'll do. Whoroo, lads! this bates the worruld, so it does. It's mesilf that's stud by the dure for the last tin minutes, an' I've seen a soight that I won't forget till me dyin' day. It's loike the toime whin the Irish exiles at Fontenoy marched up to the English gyards an' said, 'Gintlemen av the English Gyards, fire first!' Begorra, it's mesilf that 'ud be the proud man to lend yez the loan av a couple av guns; but don't be alarrumed, darlints—afther yez pay yer ranshom, ye'll have a chance."

At the first sound of that voice Harry and Ashby started in amazement. So intent had they been on their own business that they had heard nothing; and Ashby, though facing the door, had been so intent on Harry that he had not noticed that it had been half opened. Now they saw the Carlist chief come in, followed by half a dozen of his men. Most amazing of all was the discovery that he spoke English with an Irish brogue. Katie had already mentioned this to Harry, but he had not thought much about it. Now, face to face with "His Majesty," they were able to look at him with other feelings. Had he entered under other circumstances, he would have talked Spanish; but so excited was he that he burst forth in the manner above detailed.

"For ye see," said "His Majesty"—